Page 115 of Choices

“And you’re knocked up by someone else. What’s your point?” He doesn’t take her bait, and her chest deflates.

“Whose is it?” I ask. “And don’t fucking lie to me, or it won’t be Monster taking teeth.”

Wiping her face with the hem of my shirt, she mumbles, “Rodney’s.”

My brain filters through every club member, trying to remember their given names to see if it rings a bell.

“Who the hell is Rodney?” Callan looks at me in question.

Hunching my shoulders, I shake my head. “I have no fucking clue.”

“He’s not a brother, and I didn’t know his age.” She picks at her fake nails, chipping the red paint.

Groaning, I throw my ass into the chair on the other side of the room. Resting my elbows on my knees, I cover my face with my hands.

“What does that mean?” Callan’s voice holds confusion.

“He’s a minor,” Claire clarifies.

I lift my head as Callan’s eyes clash with mine, his brow nearly reaching his hairline. “For fuck’s sake.” He blows out a sharp exhale, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How young, Claire?” I ask.

Jumping up from the bed, she crosses her arms. “He doesn’t look like a minor. You’d never be able to tell.”

“Until you see him on a school bus?” Callan harasses, looking down his nose at her.

“He drives,” she says with disdain.

“So, seventeen?” I ask.

“Yes. But he looks much older and has a job. How the hell was I supposed to know?”

“What kind of job? A fucking busboy?” Callan continues to mock her. I’m unamused by the U-turn this conversation has taken.

The fact remains: she tried to use Michael as a way of controlling me. She’s a liability. You can’t claim to be loyal then lie and manipulate when you don’t get your way.

“I don’t need judgment from you. Half the whores who come to party here are underage.”

That’s bullshit, and she knows it. Before she wormed her way into a ring, she was a club slut. Diamond cards every bitch who passes those doors. And regular girls are vetted. We don’t play around with that shit at our club. That’s bad news for everyone involved.

“You’re treading on real thin ice. Think before any more lies pass those lips or I’ll cut them off,” he warns her.

“I’m sorry.” She sits back down, remembering her place.

“Who is Rodney, Claire?” I ask, over this bullshit.

“One of our neighbors.” She frowns, squeezing her eyes shut.

“One of your neighbors or one of your neighbor’s kids?”

“He lives with his dad.”

“And you couldn’t have fucked him instead?” Callan asks, perplexed.

“I didn’t seek him out, it just happened. I drank too much wine, and he was working late.”

“Working late where?” I question.

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