Page 23 of Bully's Darkness
“On the outside, maybe.”
“She’s dealing with it better because she isn’t blaming the club.”
I roll my eyes, sighing heavily. “We’re going around in circles, Bully.”
“Talk to her. Ask her who she blames,” he demands. “I know the club didn’t deal with things in the right way at first, but in the end, we did what was right.”
“You didn’t believe her,” I snap. “You sat on the fence.”
“He was my brother.”
“And she’s my sister.”
He runs his fingers through his hair. “Yah know, I don’t get why we’re still fighting over this. Pearce is dead and still causing me shit from beyond the grave.”
“I want to take Bria home,” I mutter.
“No. The club’s on lockdown until further notice.”
“I don’t belong to the club, and Bria certainly doesn’t.”
“Dagger is going after you to get to me.” When I frown, he sighs. “Darren. He’s the president of the Scorpions.”
“He never mentioned you. And how would he know about us?”
“Trust me, he knows. And until I know what his game is, you need to stay here.”
I scoff. “Have you ever actually thought he might like me? Is the thought so abhorrent to you that a man could actually want to get to know me?”
He rolls his eyes. “Of course not, but these bikers have been a pain in the club’s side since before I was born. The history is too much of a coincidence for me to ignore it.”
I groan dramatically. “Fine. I want a room with Bria. I’m not leaving her alone with your men.”
“Whatever,” he mutters. “I’ll have one of the whores sort it for you.”
“I can sort my own room. I don’t need your sex slaves running around after me.” I stomp from the office and head for Bria, who looks surprisingly calm considering. “Let’s go find a room.”
She jumps off the stool. “We’re staying?”
“If that’s okay with you? He’s being dramatic, thinking I’m in some kind of danger.”
She slips her hand in mine. “Then that’s good enough for me.”
We take the stairs and go to the first floor. Guests usually stay here, and the rooms that are free have doors propped open.We take one with twin beds, and I go to the cupboard to find bedding. We make the beds in silence. I have a million things racing around my head, and eventually, she laughs, “Okay, out with it.”
“Huh?”
“Your mind is working overtime. What’s wrong?”
I sit down on my bed and cross my legs. “Bully said I’m projecting.”
She laughs again. “That doesn’t sound like ayouthing,” she says, her tone teasing.
“Don’t tell me you agree with him.”
“Depends what you’re projecting about.” When I don’t answer, she sits on her bed facing me. “Pearce,” she mutters in a low voice.
“How can you even say his name?” Her fingers interlace the way they always do when she’s anxious. “Look, we don’t have to talk about this,” I add quickly.
