Page 70 of Pulse

“Call me the second you get there and the second it’s over so I can tell you how stupid you are.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled. “I’d never deny you that opportunity.” He tugged her back down with him. “Come on. You wanted me to sleep. Only way that will happen is if you’re beside me.”

They wiggled around until her back was to his front, tucked into the crook of his body with his solid arm holding her close. Physically, she’d never been so comfortable. Emotionally? Well, that was a tangled mess she couldn’t begin to unravel.

Pulse’s breath on her neck evened out within a matter of minutes, which wasn’t surprising considering the night he’d had. Talia, on the other hand, stayed wide awake. She considered Pulse to have above-average intelligence, but maybe she needed to reconsider that with how easily he’d accepted her compliance. He wasn’t the only one who would play dirty to protect the ones he lo—cared about.

She stayed that way, thinking and plotting until the sun began to show itself through his window. Pulse still slept like the dead behind her. He hadn’t shifted once. His heavy arm still anchored her to him. Talia bit her lower lip and turned as slowly as possible to her back. Once she’d flattened, she worked her wayto the edge of the bed one inch at a time, holding her breath to keep from moving his arm more than she had to.

When she’d made it about halfway free, he grunted.

Talia froze. Could he feel the pounding of her heart beneath his arm? Would that be what woke him?

He made a low snuffling noise and then rolled away from her to face the opposite wall. Talia remained as still as a statue, not daring to breathe for another five minutes before sliding out of the bed. Without a sound, she gathered her clothing and tiptoed from the room. Once she reached the foyer, she quickly threw her clothes on, slid her feet into her flip-flops, and slipped out the door like a shameful morning-after fleer.

When she got into her car, she pulled out her phone and texted Curly.

911. Need to speak to you and Spec ASAP.

She stared down at the phone. “Come on. Come on. Please be awake.”

The reply came before her screen went dark.

Clubhouse. Now.

Thank God.

On my way.

Her car started without a sound, a benefit of having an electric vehicle.

Pulse would be beyond furious when he found out what she’d done. He might never speak to her again, and she couldn’t say she’d blame him. As much as the thought of him dumping her felt like a knife to the heart, this was something she had to do.

If she had a fraction of a chance of keeping the club from viewing Pulse’s past as a betrayal, she had to take it. She’d never be able to live with herself if they cast him from the club—or worse—and she’d sat at home like the good little lady as he’d ordered.

Fuck that.

Talia had spent the majority of her life trusting her gut. She’d been kicking ass for this long, and she’d be damned if she stopped now.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

TALIA STEPPED INTO the clubhouse to find Spec and Curly sitting at a round, four-person table with two cups of coffee in front of them. As she entered, they both moved to stand.

She held up her hand. “Not necessary, gentlemen,” she said as she strode to the table. “Excuse my unprofessional attire. It’s been a night.”

Curly smiled, but it lacked its usual warmth and welcome. He knew she wasn’t there for a social visit. “We don’t give a fuck about formal or professional around here, do we, Spec?”

The enforcer watched her through narrowed eyes. His leg bounced beneath the table as though he was priming his muscles, ready to leap up and defend his president at the first sign of a threat.

“Good to know. May I sit?”

“Sure.” Spec nudged a chair out with his foot. “Coffee?”

“No thanks. Despite being up all night, I’m jittery.”

“Gotta admit, you got me wired as fuck, too,” Spec said. “I just poured this to have something to do with my hands. Can we skip the small talk, and you tell us what the fuck has you texting 911 at six in the morning?”

“Fair enough.” She placed her palms on the table and looked straight into Curly’s eyes. “Before I begin, I feel I must inform you that I am recording this conversation. Should you feel the need to end our discussion in a… let’s say, abrupt manner, you should know the file uploads to a cloud every fifteen seconds.”

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