Page 53 of That Girl is Trouble

I back away from the scary biker standing in my doorway, and he matches my steps into my apartment, slamming the door hard behind him.

“That depends,” I say, swallowing. “What did I do?”

“Where do I start, Kat?”

“Probably from the beginning.” My lower back hits the kitchen table.

Axe crowds me, stopping only when he’s a breath away. “Don’t be smart.”

“I’m in trouble for being smart? If it’s an airhead you want, go back to where you came from. I’m sure there’s a line of Sinner Sluts at the clubhouse just waiting to hop into bed with the great Axel Donovan.”

Axe’s jaw flexes, and he pitches forward, pressing his hands to the table, caging me in. Nose close to my nose. Body invading my space.

“No, Kitty. You’re in trouble because you didn’t listen. I told you to keep it simple. Flirt, smile, and if it didn’t work, then leave. I told you not to push him. Instead, you played a little game that could have ended in you fucking him.”

I open my mouth, ready to defend myself, but he silences me with a look.

“You think I’d put you in there with no backup? Preach wasn’t the only one who had eyes on you tonight. And speaking of Preacher,” he grits, dropping his voice so low it sends a shiver up my spine. “You ever touch him like that again, I’ll make you both sorry.”

I smile. “Which part made you the angriest?”

Axe blows out a puff of air. “Turn around and bend over. Hands on the table.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no. No touching, Axe. Not your hands or your belt.”

I push at his chest, but his feet stay firmly planted on the floor. He’s a wall of unmoveable muscle. My hands heat as they slide over the plane of his hard chest, and he lets me linger. He lets me trace a line between his collarbones and lower to his abdomen, over the hard cuts of his muscles. Axe is all sharp lines, and I’ve never been able to resist touching them.

“Kitty,” he breathes, but it’s not one of his warnings. It’s soft, pleading. An encouragement. To keep going. To keep touching.

I don’t keep touching. The blast of ice that courses through my veins when I pull my hands away is like walking into a damn snowstorm. Not touching him hurts, just like it always has.

I sigh. “Vic Rossi is my boss.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs. “You didn’t ask.”

Anger pricks at my neck, and I clench my fists. “You told me he was a customer.”

“No. I told you he was there every Wednesday. How you decided to interpret that isn’t my problem.”

“What do you want with him?”

Axe raises an eyebrow, which is my cue to stop asking questions. Club business. Things I’m not allowed to know about. Drugs, guns, blood, bodies. Whatever dust the Sinners are about to kick up doesn’t concern me. Unless he needs another favour, of course. But I don’t get to know the why.

“You have access to the Garden’s cameras?” I ask when he doesn’t respond.

“It’s why I was there that first night. Needed to get close enough to their Wi-Fi to hack into their shit. Imagine my surprise when I looked across the club to see you dangling from a damn pole.”

“That must have been so hard for you. Seeing me naked,” I say bitterly.

He closes his eyes, just for a second, as he lets out another frustrated huff. “Did that do it for you tonight, Kat? Get your pulse working? That little game?” He drops his lips to my ear, the heat of his breath summoning goose bumps up and down my arms and across my chest, the anger in his tone sending my heart racing. “And Preacher? Touching him like that, knowing I was watching. Did you like it?”

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