Page 35 of Screamer
I glare at Journey, hating that he’s right.
I am fucked.
CHAPTER 17
ROXIE
No, no, no!
“Hey, Rox.”
I glance around the room until my eyes land on Saint. He’s the only one here, which is perfect. He’s married, and Rae couldn’t care less if I rode on the back of his bike. She knows it means nothing. Screamer, on the other hand… he’s gonna learn that he can’t tell me what to do.
“Hey. You busy?”
“No, what’s up?”
“Would you mind taking me to the shop to pick up my bike?”
“Not at all. Gimme a few minutes to call Rae and let her know where I’ll be, and I’ll meet you outside.”
“Thanks, Saint. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, Rox.”
Thirty minutes later, he’s parking at the curb in front of the shop. When I glance inside, I spot Screamer immediately because he’s standing at the front and looking out the window. The glare on his face only makes me laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Saint asks as he kicks his leg over the seat and helps me to my feet.
“Oh, you’re about to find out.”
We walk inside, and Screamer steps in front of Saint. “Aren’t you married?” he demands.
Saint’s eyes dart from him to me, and he chuckles. “Nice one, Rox.”
“What?” I say innocently, batting my eyelashes.
“Calm down there, killer,” Saint says to Screamer. “You know I am. Fuck, you know Rae, too. You seriously think I’d put another woman on the back of my bike if my old lady wasn’t okay with it?”
Screamer’s shoulders slump, and he focuses on me. “You said you’d be coming in the club’s SUV.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Saint beats me to it. “The SUV wasn’t there. It’s being used for club business today, so no one could’ve brought her in it.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, I’m outta here,” Saint says, turning to the door but pausing his attention on me. “You good here, Rox?”
“I’m not gonna hurt her,” Screamer snarls.
“I’m fine, Saint,” I say. “I’ll see you back at the clubhouse.”
He nods once and leaves. After he pulls away, I shift to look at Screamer.
“First off,” I begin. “You don’t own me, which means you don’t get to dictate how I get from point A to point B. Secondly, just because we swapped stories the other day, that doesn’t give you license to suddenly get all possessive.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up a hand to stop him. “I’m not done. I know you say there’s a difference between possessive and controlling, so I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and call your attitude possessive, but make no mistake… it was controlling.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And furthermore,” I say, but then his words register. “What?”
