Page 23 of Taming the Bad Boy

Saxon’s gaze darkens, and his lips tighten. “The Smoke and Skulls, Ivy. Right where he started out.”

So it’s true.

Hewasone of them.

I don’t know what I was expecting. For the picture to be a forgery? For it to all be some misunderstanding? And it makes sense, given his strange behavior at the shop and the way he raced out of there.

“I will fix this.”His words still ring in my mind.

But how, Slate?

I don’t want to accept it. I close my eyes and inhale, trying not to be sick. “No. Why would he not tell me about that?”

Saxon shrugs. “We all have our secrets. Maybe it’s why he had no problem bailing on the Bastards.”

I brace myself against the bar, fighting back a panic attack. “Where’s their clubhouse?” I ask.

“No,” Saxon replies. “You can’t go there, Ivy. It’s not safe.”

“If Slate is there, I’ll be safe.” I hear what I’m saying, but do I truly believe it? Slate lied to me. His old gang trashed my dad’s shop. Do I even know who he actually is?

Saxon stares back at me for a long, difficult moment. I see him processing. Finally, he speaks. “I can see you’re not gonna take no for an answer.” He reaches down and scribbles on a napkin and hands it to me. “That’s the address.”

“Can’t you go with her?” Tammy suggests. Saxon shakes his head.

“If they see a Heartless Bastard there, it’ll start a turf war.” He turns back to me and gives me an intense, compassionate look. “Please,don’t go, Ivy. Forget Slate. Move on.”

He’s right. I know he is. Letting Slate go is the rational thing to do.

But that’s the thing about love. It’s not rational.

And right now, I’m on some out-of-control spiral, desperately fighting to salvage our relationship. Because when I’m with Slate, I feel grounded. Secure, adored, treasured. And if I let go of that, if it all comes crashing down around me, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to recover.

“I can’t.”

My body is shakingthrough the long drive to the Smoke and Skulls clubhouse. This is the wrong thing to do, but I have no choice. Ihaveto know.

The clubhouse is grungy, with rusted metal walls and busted pallets and trash spread all over the place. There’s a sketchy looking guy sitting on a milk crate by the door, who looks up as I walk over to him.

“I’m looking for Slate.”

“Who the hell are you?” he barks.

“His sister. He said he’d be here.”

He eyes me up and down, sending a creeped-out shiver through me. I try not to let him see how terrified I am. My instincts are telling me to run. But after a moment, he grins, stands, and opens the door for me. “Welcome.”

Well, that was weird. And a lot easier than I expected, but I’m not about to turn down the opportunity. So I step inside directly into a wall of rough male voices, the clinking of bottles, and the grinding of metal.

And then, their eyes all turn to me.

Scarred-up men in leather jackets with Smoke and Skull patches turn and stare, their eyes keen, like they already know why I’m here. Like they were expecting me.

And then I realize–

I’ve just walked into a trap.

I spin around, my heart hammering in my chest, only to come face to face with a gruff man who looks like he could tear me in half. He’s so close I can smell the cigarette he just smoked. And he’s grinning like a murderer.

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