Page 20 of Bullet

He puts up both hands, though he never loses his signature grin. “Sorry. Also too soon. Way too soon. It’s been a week, I get that. I wasn’t going to move in on your woman. What kind of brother or friend would do that? I just wanted to make sure youpulled your head out of the sand before the rest of you got fucked over by your brain.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Your brain is overthinking this. If you want her, you should let her know.” Smoke sticks his hands in his pockets, feigning innocence now that Lynette is even closer.

Tyrant and Lark head over in our direction and even Raiden and Ella stop doing weird shit with their tongues long enough to study Lynette.

“Antony and Cleopatra,” Smoke reminds me before he walks past Timothy and offers his hand to her with a charming smile. “I’m Smoke. Nice to meet you. I hope you’ll enjoy working for the club, and if you should want to take a spin later and Bullet tells you no, don’t hesitate to ask me.” He winks at me, turning his back so no one else can see, and cuts straight for the kitchen.

If the fucker is hungry, he could always eat my fists.

When I set the pool cue down and cut towards Lynette, Timothy leaves, eager to be back to guard duty. His instructions were to bring Lynette to me or Tyrant, should she happen to show up. I didn’t really doubt that she would, but honestly, it’s still damn hard to believe she’s truly here.

She treats me to a frosty glare, caramel eyes locking with mine, ready to do battle. “It hasn’t been decided if I’m working for anyone,” she states imperiously.

Fuck, she’s cold enough to freeze ice.

“Don’t mind Smoke. He’s just trying to rile you up. It’ll get a lot worse than that before the night’s out.”

Her eyes trace every inch of the lounge. She’s already been through the compound outside, where she would have been instructed to park, and brought down the long hallway from the back entrance. She’s seen the long line of rooms with the heavy doors and security keypads, and probably has already noted the brickwork, the huge beams, and open ductwork of the place.

The clubhouse used to be an old factory. Tyrant’s father, who was president at the time and bought the place, decided to salvage as much of the building’s old charm as possible.

The lounge is one of the best parts of the clubhouse. There’s rock music playing over the speakers, and while the bar on the far side has no one working it, it’s still backlit and beautiful, all the glass bottles lined up and glowing on the shelves. The leather couches in here have seen no small amount of sin, and the pool tables, and the hardwood floors, but right now, it’s still gleaming and pristine and full of old-world charm. There aren’t any bodies to distract from it, so you can still see the walls and all the black-and-white framed photos of bikes, the dartboards, and the big screen TVs.

“I expected more debauchery, honestly.” For the first time I’ve seen, Lynette’s lips twitch. Her makeup was muted the first time I saw her, but that fire engine red is a dangerous, daring shade.

It makes me instantly hard as a rock as I fixate on her full lips. I wonder how well the color would hold up against my mouth and cock.

“Just wait a few hours until last call at the bar on the edge of town. You passed it coming in. Patterson’s.”

“Right. Yes.”

“Did you notice all the bikes?”

She nods, her soft wavy hair dancing around her face and shoulders, a few strands landing near her cheek to frame the soft oval shape. She smells like jasmine tonight, a scent I didn’t think I’d ever like. It’s subtle, like the fragrant tea Lark drinks that tastes of watered-down perfume.

“Debauchery in roughly three to four hours.”

She lifts her wrist, glancing at her watch with the oval face with the tiny diamonds studded around the edges. “It’s just after eleven.” She gives the room another once over, her eyes lingering on Raiden and Ella, as well as Tyrant and Lark. They haven’t come over to introduce themselves yet. “Well? How are we supposed to kill four hours until the real fun starts?”

She asks me sarcastically, but all I hear isreal funwhich causes my brain to fixate on what Smoke was implying. The whole Antony and Cleopatra famous lovers deal, except I cut it off at the tragic ending.

“I’ll introduce you to my Prez and our VP, as well as their old ladies. We can talk about anything you’d like after that, over a game of pool, in the kitchen, out in the compound, on the back of my bike…”

She has no idea what the significance of that invitation is. It would be as good as claiming her, and in the spirit of not being a giant prick, I couldn’t do that to her without informing her of it first.

I knew she wouldn’t pick that option, which is the only reason I threw it out there.

“In the kitchen? Doing what? Cooking?”

“Sure. You can even bake cookies or a pie, if you’d like.”

The smallest laugh escapes her, though she barely smiles around it, but the sound wraps straight around my lungs and balls like a magic spell. I didn’t mean to throw down, but it’s clear by her shoulders rolling even further back, and the way she smooths both her hands over her blazer, that she’s prepping herself to win some kind of challenge.

“What kind of a pie?” she asks cautiously.

“Cherry? There’s a can of pie filling in the cupboard.”

---