Page 135 of Outlaws of Tulsa

“She knows her place,” I assure him, “but I don’t hurt her. She usually manages to do that all by herself.”

His shoulders relax. It makes me realize he cares about Stormy probably more than any of the guys. For some reason, it doesn’t reassure me. If anything, it annoys me. They should all just forget about her. She’s none of their concern anymore.

“Usually, he just tries to kill me with boredom,” a feminine voice utters.

Bermuda and I both snap our heads in the direction of Stormy. Goddamn woman doesn’t listen for shit. Where I thought she was hiding, her prissy ass was getting dolled up. My fresh-faced girl is gone. In her stead is a woman with a full face of makeup, a messy bun, and tits hanging out of a tight black tank. Her shorts don’t even constitute as an article of clothing because they’re nothing but a shred of frayed, holey denim that doesn’t cover shit. The black cowgirl boots don’t do anything to take away from her sex appeal. If anything, it only gives meimages of her naked with those damn things digging into my ass as I fuck her.

“No,” I growl.

Her blond brow pops up as does her lip in disbelief at my tone. “What do you mean no?”

“That,” I snap, pointing at her outfit with a spatula. “No.”

“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Copper!” she hisses back before she sashays right up to Bermuda. “Hey.”

Fucking hey?

Bermuda tenses, as if he’s holding back on going off on her or worse. It’s enough to have me flying into action. I stalk over to her and grip her by both of her bare arms, walking her away from him.

“You’re not wearing this shit around them,” I grind out, my voice low. “It’d be best if you not leave your room at all.”

Her blue eyes are icy as they cut into me like blades. “I haven’t had human interaction in forever—”

“You have me!” I explode. “That’s enough.”

Stormy is normally razor-sharp, but my words have her softening. “I just thought…”

That we could go back to old times? That everyone would forget she betrayed them all? That she would waltz back into their lives and everything would be fucking peachy?

She thought wrong.

“I, for one, have missed you,” Dragon rumbles, his heavy footsteps thudding into the kitchen. “Come give Uncle Dragon a hug.”

Stormy breaks out of my hold to face off with the dragon. Her hip pops out to the side, showing that she still has a fucking attitude problem, and she flips him off.

He laughs at her boldness. Ignoring him, she saunters past him to pat Katana on the head and then pulls both Gibsonand Bizzy into a group hug. Those two softies immediately start jabbering to her like they’re one of the girls.

“Does Prez know you’re here playing house with the mole?” Dragon asks, hopping up on the counter and looking like an evil gargoyle perched on a ledge.

“I’m not playing house,” I grumble, walking back over to the fridge to pull out the eggs. “Mind your own business.”

Dragon snorts. “Protecting Prezismy business.”

“What are you getting at?” I demand, glancing over my shoulder at him. “I know you’re not insinuating he needs protection from his own brother.”

“If his brother is cool with a lying bitch who nearly brought the heat down on everyone, then yeah, I’m insinuating that exactly.”

I walk over to Dragon, uncaring he’s now playing with a switchblade. If you give this fucker an inch, he’ll take a mile. He needs to know I’d die before I hurt my brother.

“Stormy ismyfucking problem,” I growl. “Drop it.”

His nostrils flare and his grip tightens around the handle of his switchblade. Dragon may be a psycho sonofabitch, but I pack a lethal punch. I’d knock him on his ass before he ever had a chance to use that blade.

Finally, after a long-ass stare down where neither of us retreats, he lets loose a laugh. He flips his knife closed and turns his attention to Katana, carrying on a one-sided conversation about a boat he wants to get.

Only Dragon can go from throwing out threats to talks of partying in one goddamn breath.

Whatever.

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