Page 43 of That Girl is Trouble

She scoffs. “No. I know exactly who I’m talking to. The great Axel Donovan. Fearless leader. The big bad biker. But I also know that every word that’s come out of your mouth today has been complete shit.”

Grabbing her face, I pull her so close our lips almost touch. “I’m only gonna say this one more time, so listen carefully, because I don’t like repeating myself. No more living under my roof, no more coming around, no more visits to my bed. You’re done. You understand?”

A long, heavy kind of silence sits between us. Her stare is unwavering, her anger so hot it singes my skin. But I don’t back down. I’ll wait her out. And she knows that. Kat isn’t the type who’ll wave a white flag, but she doesn’t have a choice here. She concedes or I make her.

Finally, a huff of air falls from her lips, and she nods.

I shake my head. “No, Kat. I need your words. Say it out loud. So I know you understand.”

Swallowing, she says, “I’m done. We’re done.”

More tears spill from her eyes, but I ignore them. Because those are what get me every fucking time. Her damn tears. Her face. Those sad eyes that make me want to fix whatever the hell is making the girl anything less than okay.

But I don’t fix things.

“There’s never been a ‘we,’ Kitty.”

She shoves me off, and this time I let her. “Keep telling yourself that, Donovan.”

She blows past me, slamming her shoulder into mine before she disappears through the church doors, the cold December wind blowing in and biting at my feet in her wake.

It’s better this way.

It doesn’t matter how good it felt, those nights she was in my bed. It doesn’t matter that my chest gets tight every fucking time I see the girl smile. Because that’s what she is—a girl. She shouldn’t be in this life. Shouldn’t be anywhere near me. I’m not a good man, and I don’t pretend to be. And I’m so used to making the wrong decision, the one that feels good over the one that’s right, that I have no doubt I’ll do exactly what Decker says I’m so good at doing. I’ll pull another good person into my bullshit.

And Kat is the kind who likes being pulled in.

One last time, and I’ll be the better man. For her sake, and for fucking mine. Because I know one thing for damn sure. Having that girl in my life? It’d make me a real bad man, real fast.

13

I scroll my thumb over the screen of my phone, checking Axe’s texts. They’re brief. All business.

There’s no mention of the man he hurt. The man I’m sure will never button his shirt or grip a cup of coffee again.

And they don’t say anything about the kiss he laid on me. The one that claimed my fucking soul.

Never fucking touch what’s mine.

His texts are glaringly void of any reference to that either.

Axe: Be quick about it. And remember what I said.

Me: Yes, I know. Don’t get caught.

Axe: No, Kat. BE SAFE.

Axe: Don’t fuck around tonight.

Axe: Deviate from the plan, and I’ll know. Something doesn’t feel right, you bail. Got it?

I roll my eyes and take one last look at the picture he sent before shoving my phone into my skirt. At Axe’s request, I keep it on my body tonight, close in case I get into trouble. The gun is in the dressing room, safely tucked away in my locker. Ready if I find myself in too much trouble and he can’t get to me.

Deviate from the plan, and I’ll know.

This plan is simple. I’ve dubbed my mark Mr. Rich Dude. Mid-forties maybe. Black hair greying at the sides, goatee, and from what I can tell from the picture Axe sent, real expensive taste. A little too clean for a place like the Garden. Especially on a Wednesday night, when the majority of the clientele consists of old bar flies and horny, middle-aged men who prefer gawking at me to paying for a lap dance. Not a lot of money to be made on Wednesdays.

I’m to flirt, relieve him of his phone, slip back into the dressing room to let that thing Axe gave me do its magic, and then return the device before he notices it’s gone.

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