Page 27 of Vegas Daddies

I hop onto my motorcycle and adjust my eyes to the bright, sunny outdoors.

Fresh air and howling wind will bring me back to the reality that I married a bachelorette, and that I’m about to receive a mouthful from the woman who now has my name stamped on her ass.

But no matter how fast I ride, reality doesn’t crash.

Alice’s anger doesn’t faze me—my heart’s too busy thumping with excitement at the thought of getting to see her again. It doesn’t matter if she chains me to my own doctor’s bed and makes me eat my own intestines. The girl moves something unexplainable in my chest that no word in the English dictionary can describe.

7

MATCH

Lifesaver flickson the light and we all pour into his office. It’s been a minute since I was last here. Two years ago must’ve been the last time, when I was concussed from a nasty blow to the head that one of Vlad’s men very kindly gave me. I was trying to save a schoolboy’s ass. He’d landed himself in debt from drugs the Bratva had freely handed over to him, and some Russian dude kicked my head in.

And now his boss wants the mayor of Las Vegas dead.

Holy fuck.

Not like I’d jump the gun for an individual who’s always had one cautious eye open on the Venom Vultures. The only reason he didn’t add us into his campaign is because Lifesaver is his best fucking friend.

I perch on a chair in the corner and scratch my chin. I fucked up last night, not putting a stop to the wedding. The other two think with their dicks and hearts most of the time—I’m supposed to be the brains out of the three of us.

And I let us down.

Alice too.

What nonsense possessed my head last night? Booze can only be blamed to a certain extent, because studies suggest that intoxicated actions are sober desires.

But it’s ridiculous.

I don’t want my name branded on Alice’s ass cheek.

I didn’t bump into her yesterday and feel the urge to stick a wedding ring on her.

Inhaling a sharp breath, I sit up in the chair and set my eyes on the door, waiting for our guest to arrive so we can process this annulment and move on.

Maybe I’ll entertain a brunette tonight at the clubhouse. A few simultaneously.

Come to think of it, Alice is the one girl who hasn’t begged on her knees for me to tattoo her ass cheek and brand her mine. That has to mean something, right?

Wrong.

Clearly the Fireball is still running through my system.

I’ll be myself again tomorrow after a solid eight hours of sleep.

KNOCK!

One loud thud at the door has us all holding our breaths. Brander tenses his jaw, and I look across the room to see Lifesaver rigidly lift from the exam table he’s been sitting on. His throat tenses as he crosses the room to unlock the door, a golf-ball-sized lump wedged in his esophagus. Lifesaver is supposed to be the easygoing extrovert of the group, the one who isn’tcapable of tensing up, yet here he stands looking like he’s about to open a door to another universe that will change everything.

Brander shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

I find myself doing the same when I see her. My chest contracts. Blonde locks of hair curl around her shoulders, lifting in the breeze that funnels in through the door with her. Fresh poppy-scented perfume reaches my nose, and my senses can’t get enough. I want to bathe in the stuff. Take showers only if the water runs down my body smelling like this.

A white V-neck tee drapes around her shoulders, and on her bottom half she wears distressed denim shorts that emphasize her long, slender tanned legs. Classic white Vans are the shoes she’s gone for today, which means she must drive a car. Nobody would walk five miles out into the desert wearing slip-ons in pristine condition.

But enough about her body. Her face says it all. Frustration creases her brows. They’re not as dark as yesterday, but still a few shades deeper than her hair color, so they contrast nicely against her fair features. Swirling around her green eyes are too many emotions for me to pinpoint. She’s innocent-looking still, even more so than yesterday since she’s wearing no makeup, but I see bits of anger spilling out.

Her mouth confirms the emotion when she says, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

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