Page 222 of Outlaws of Tulsa

“Bitchy as fuck,” Dragon finishes.

I clench my jaw, trying to ignore him. That lasts all of three seconds. “You know, asshole, I’m getting really sick to death of your shit.”

Nees clutches the back of my neck. “Dude. Pull your panties out of your ass.”

Gritting my teeth together, I refrain from saying anything else that might get me in trouble with Prez. I’ve seen him punish Bizzy before by making him clean fucking toilets. My ass is not cleaning toilets.

“Dragon,” Koyn barks out. “You and Katana get Corsetti to the slaughterhouse. BP, I want you sitting in on this.”

Wonderful.

I just love watching a good torture session.

“Prez—” I start but am cut off by Koyn dropping his cigarette at my feet. He crushes it out with his boot, towering over me. All attempts to argue my case are squashed like the butt of his cigarette beneath his boot. “Y-Yes, sir.”

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs. “Tomorrow, at Church, you four can fill me in on everything. Right now, my old ass needs sleep.”

Koyn and Filter disappear back into the house. Nees, who’s apparently off the hook, saunters to the clubhouse, leaving me with Katana and his psycho bestie.

“I’m going to get my good knives,” Dragon calls out. “K, make sure Baby Prospect gets the weasel to the slaughterhouse without letting him escape.”

Katana gives Dragon a nod. It takes everything in me to cool my temper. I know he’s just goading me. Like a dog with a bone, he sniffs out weakness. My weakness is I hate being treated like a child.

Max Corsetti whimpers as Katana hauls him out of the truck and tosses him to the ground. His hands are bound, as are his feet, and rope connects the two. Katana squats next to Max and cuts through the rope around his feet. Together, we pull the guy to a standing position and drag him across the property to the slaughterhouse.

Once inside, we toss Max on a filthy mattress. Max doesn’t even try to get up. When my phone buzzes, I turn from him to dig in my jeans to find it.

Nick: I miss you.

My irritation swells as I reread his text about ten times before I let it sink in. He’s serious. He’s totally fucking serious.

Me: You just miss my mouth. What does the wife think of me choking on your cock?

Nick: She doesn’t have to know.

Me: Go to hell.

Nick: That makes me sound like an asshole. I haven’t left her yet, but I want you. Not just your pretty mouth either. I need to touch you.

Me: You lost that privilege.

Nick: God, please, Cove. I need you so fucking badly. I can’t get the idea out of my mind of me fucking you. Maybe this is the final step.

Me: Step to what???

Nick: Us.

Me: There is NO us. We sucked each other off. That’s it. Fuck off.

Nick: Because I wouldn’t let there be an us. I want it. I want to try.

I gnaw on my bottom lip, glaring at his texts. Does it make me pathetic that I’m almost inclined to tell him to meet me in our spot? I’m desperate to relieve all this tension burning like fire in my veins. Nick may be an asshole, but he’s gifted with his mouth. I could use him like he’s so clearly used me all this time.

Footsteps crunch across loose gravel and Dragon’s familiar scent floods all around me like a fog. The heat of his body burns into my back. I stiffen, my fingers frozen on my screen when the tip of a knife taps the glass of my phone.

“Is he becoming a problem? I’m great at dealing with problems.”

Whirling on him, I give him a shove against his solid chest. My mind dances with the memory of his sculpted chest colored in tattoos. Dragon, despite being a psycho-prick, is so goddamn hot. The devious smirk on his face says he knows it too.

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