Page 10 of Choices

I drag my gaze up the length of him. He’s tall and slim. The designer suit he wears sags on his frame like it was made at a time when he carried more weight. A stained white shirt with no tie shows through the open jacket. Reaching his face, I try hard not to wince. High cheekbones jut from his skin. Sunken eyes with dark circles beneath make him look haunted. Thin lips turn up at the corner. Does he think I’m checking him out? “I’m not going to fuck you,” I state, putting it out there, so he knows that’s off the table. The smell of sweat and chemicals wafts from him when he moves to stand directly in front of me, his shoes touching the tips of mine.

Dropping his gaze to the sliver of cleavage on display from my shirt, he asks, “Will you let me snort coke off of those fat tits?”

The request is juvenile, said with a mocking smirk.

“Hard pass. And if you try anything with me, I’ll cut your balls off and hang them from your ears. You get me?” My shoulders straighten, and I glare right up into his eyes. The blacks of his pupils eclipse almost all the color.

Holding his hands up in surrender, he licks his bottom lip and nods his head in agreement, a chuckle creeping from his lips. “Let me come with. I’ll behave. Scout’s honor.” He holds up two fingers in aVand sticks his tongue between them.

“I don’t think that’s the proper salute.”

Grasping his chest, he stumbles backward. “That’s what my scout leader told me when I had to do it to get my vag badge.” He gasps in mock horror. If there was a vag badge, I doubt he’d ever earn it.

“You can come, but the second you step out of line, I’ll boot your ass to the curb.”

“Fair enough.”

I don’t know why I’m taking him with me. He’s a massive douchebag but also lonely. And I can relate to that. I love the brothers at the club. Growing up surrounded by hard, foul-mouthed bikers isn’t every little girl’s ideal setting, but for me, it’s home. It’s where I felt the safest, the most loved. Until things with Cutter progressed into something more. Now, I find myself detaching, scared I’ll have to leave them to be with Cutter if the club won’t accept us. The thought is too painful to bear.

“So, are you related to Michael Carnell?” I ask once we’re outside Matt’s penthouse and descending in the elevator, more to distract myself from my thoughts. The ripple in the atmosphere is palpable at the mention of Michael’s name, the glass walls reflecting his shock back at us.

“He’s my brother. How do you know Michael?” He takes a step away from me like I’m going to jump him or something. A scowl creates creases across his forehead like cuts.

“Who doesn’t know him?” I say casually, noting it’s a sore subject. “He’s famous.” Kind of…a little bit, and gorgeous—and a friend of my brother’s—also the owner of the hottest clubs around.

“So, you get along well with him?”

“Why are you asking questions about Michael?” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a small silver vial and twists the top off, drawing out what looks like a tiny, thin blade no bigger than a toothpick with white powder sitting in a small groove up the middle. He snorts the substance up his nose then pinches his nostrils, blinking. “Did he send you here?”

“What? No.”What the hell?

The elevator dings, and doors open into a lobby manned by the friendly concierge who let me in earlier. I smile and wave as we pass his desk, trying to lose paranoid, coke-snorting Carnell when he stops to ask him a question. I shouldn’t have agreed to let him come. The door attendant spots me and opens the door,almost getting it fully closed before Carnell’s hand slams against it, forcing it back open.

Fuck.

“Tattoos?” he says hurriedly, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them to ward off the chill clinging to the air.

“Kitty, you good?” Tim calls out from across the street. He’s a pup. Has only been a prospect for a month.

“Who’s he?” Carnell frowns.

“Come on.” I roll my eyes and check the street for cars before jogging across the asphalt. The sun has almost completely depleted the sky of light, leaving space for the moon. I prefer the moon. The moon is flawed, full of craters and imperfections, but still beautiful like us.

“Who’s he?” Tim mimics Carnell’s question with a jerk of his chin.

“Tim, this is Car…”

“Nicolas,” Carnell cuts me off, his tone cautious.

“Okay, good. Nicolas is coming with me. Let’s go.” I tap Tim’s face as a cue for us to get going before letting myself into the passenger side. Tim follows suit, climbing into the driver’s seat and kicking the engine over. After a couple seconds, he blows out a riled breath and drums his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Is he waiting for someone to get the fucking door or what?” he scoffs, looking in his rearview mirror. His sarcasm fills the air between us before Carnell finally slides into the backseat, typing furiously on a cell phone.

“Everything okay?” I ask, turning to look at him.

“Fine,” he snaps without looking up from the screen.

Tim’s gaze cuts to mine, his hands tightening around the wheel, making the leather creak. I don’t think they’re going to become friends. Punching the address into the GPS, I tap the screen and smile at Tim as he rolls his eyes at me. I don’t thinkhe sees me as a friend either. Pulling out into traffic, we drive in silence, my buzz waning to the point of non-existent.

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