Page 49 of That Girl is Trouble

I’ve seen Kat once since that day in the church. I tried to give her Jesse’s truck. We didn’t have much use for it. Rather than leaving it in my lot where it’d do nothing but take up space, I figured Kat could drive it or sell it or do whatever the fuck she wanted to do with it.

She threw the keys in my face, so I left them with Triss. But they came back to me a few days later. She wanted nothing to do with the Sinners, Triss told me. Guess I don’t blame her, considering the last conversation we had. I made it pretty clear I wanted her gone, and while I expected her signature brand of defiance after we’d all cooled off, none came, and it was a relief. That girl gone was the best thing for her. For me.

Triss pushes up on her toes, searching for her sister in the sea of people, and I can’t help but search too.

“Sure she’s around here somewhere, B,” Graves says, following suit and scanning the crowd. “Hopefully stayin’ out of trouble.”

I snort. “Unlikely.”

Graves slings his arm over Triss’s shoulder and nods at me. “Can’t believe you let Monroe pick the honey pot this year.”

“What’s a honey pot?” Triss asks.

“Fighter only gets 5 percent of the purse. The rest goes to his club,” I say, bringing my beer to my lips. “The honey pot is his other prize. A woman. You know, to sweeten the deal.”

Triss scoffs. “A woman? And… what does she have to do?”

I raise an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“Ew, Axe. Seriously?” she says, crinkling her nose. “That’s disgusting. And a little rape-y.”

“Relax. No chick goes into this not knowing what she’s signing herself up for.”

There’s a rumble in the crowd, and Rooster’s next opponent jumps into the ring. He’s a big motherfucker. Shaved head, dark skin, bulging muscles. The man is a beast. Well over six feet tall and must have at least eighty pounds on our fighter. Rooster’s fast, but if this fucker gets his hands on him, it’s game over.

“Fuck me. That dude’s huge. Rooster’s a dead man,” Graves mutters. “Say goodbye to your cash.”

A loud voice booms over the loudspeakers as Tex dives into introductions. And then he calls on Monroe, the Sinner prez from the charter out in Erin County.

Monroe swaggers into the ring with a skirt-wearing woman thrown over his shoulder and grabs the microphone from Tex. “Brothers,” he yells, a grin sliding over his face as he drops the woman beside him and pulls her taut to his chest.

My heart fucking stops.

Dark hair. Cherry lips.

Mother fuck.

“Tonight’s sweet little honey pot,” Monroe booms.

The crowd goes nuts, dozens of men yelling and hooting as tonight’s prize is walked around the ring. Tight tank top showing way too much of her, leather jacket, short skirt, black boots.

Kat’s dressed for the part. Exactly the type that every fucking man in this place would want to bury his dick inside.

Fuck. That.

Beside me, Triss lunges forward, but Graves and I each grasp an arm and pull her back.

“Don’t,” I bark.

It’s sharp enough to stop her in her tracks, but not enough to relieve me from her anger. “Get. My sister. Out of that ring. Right fucking now,” she snarls. “She’s no one’s fucking honey pot.”

Graves squeezes her closer to his chest. It’s a warning, a silent demand to shut her mouth. To settle that fucking temper of hers before she and I get into it.

And we always get into it. Danforth women. Fucking attitude for days.

I drop my voice. “Easy. Once they’ve chosen a prize, there’s no going back on it. Rooster is a sure thing. He’s got this. I won’t let anyone touch her.”

My voice shakes a little. I want to chalk it up to my anger with Graves’s woman, who can never manage to stay quiet. But I can’t help but assess Rooster’s opponent again. That fighter is real fuckin’ big. And I know Monroe and his men like to share their women. There’s no way in hell I’ll let Kat be on the other end of that.

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