Page 8 of That Girl is Trouble

“Your mom would disagree.”

“Not nearly drunk enough for your shit tonight, dude. Keep talking, and you’ll be the one getting face fucked by my Glock.”

Bane chuckles. “Buy me dinner first.”

“Enough,” Axe snarls. “And you.” He turns back to me, glowering. “Put some fucking clothes on.”

I grit my teeth, holding my black bra and tiny blouse over my chest. A year ago, I would have done exactly as he asked. I would have dropped my eyes and slunk into a nearby shadow to dress privately, to cover myself. A year ago, I would have let the shame he’s trying to make me feel wash over me. But the memory of that last conversation before I left South Bay burns through me. It was loaded with shame. Anger and hurt. And a silence that stretched so long, that pressed against me so heavily, I could barely fucking breathe.

A year ago, Axe reminded me of exactly who I am—some stupid kid. Too young. Not enough. Next to a man like him, I’m nothing.

And I promised myself no man would ever make me feel that again. Especially him.

Tilting up my chin, I drop my hands to my sides and let my bra and blouse fall to the ground.

“Jesus Christ,” Tex says, mouth falling open, but when he catches Axe’s glare, he tips his head back and presses his palms to his eyes. “Didn’t see a fucking thing, man.”

Bane lets out a low laugh. “Playing with fire, Kitty Kat. I like it.”

“You shut up. And eyes down. I catch them on her, I’ll cut them out,” Axe warns, fists clenched as he slides his focus back to me. His eyes dip. I don’t think he means for it to happen, but they drop to my chest and linger. They trace down the plane of my stomach and to the short skirt hanging low on my hips. The hunger that flashes across his face makes my skin heat. It’s the same look he used to give me when he thought no one was watching.

I’m not an idiot. I take my clothes off for men four days a week. They all wear the same look. One full of desire. Need. Want. Arousal. I pull it from strangers the same way I pull it from Axe, except Axe doesn’t actually want to see me like this. He doesn’t want to want it.

Smiling, I turn to one of the open cubbies and grab a white tank top from my duffel. “What’s with the face, Axe?” I ask, pulling my top on. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Tex clears his throat. “Come again?”

“Shut up,” Axe growls to Tex before turning back to me. “Why the hell aren’t you in school?”

I shrug. “Finished my year in the spring and dropped out. Been working here ever since.”

“Dropped out? The fuck would you do something like that?”

“It was boring.”

And quiet. Not the kind I got at home when my mom was too high to function and my sister was off at law school. This kind brought with it this emptiness. Like what I felt after Jesse died, or after I packed my bags and left South Bay and finally put the Soldiers of Sin behind me. There was a void. A hollowness I couldn’t fill no matter how many frosh parties I went to or how many keg stands I did. Nothing felt real there. Not like Jesse. Not like Axe. Not like being on stage, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. I don’t feel empty when I do that.

Axe rubs his hand over the scruff of his chin and fixes me with a hard look. “Your sister know about this?”

“No. And you’re going to keep your mouth shut about it.”

“The hell I am,” he growls. “I better not catch you here again, or—”

“Or you’ll what?” I angle closer.

His focus drops down my body for half a second, but then he catches himself and snaps it back to my face.

“We all have secrets, Axe. Even you.”

That makes his nostrils flare. He gets my message—you tell, then I will too. That threat, hell, even the tease of it, is enough to make him keep his mouth shut.

The history between us, regardless of how it ended, is the last thing Axe would want me blabbing about, he made that pretty damn clear. Too young, Kat. It’s not right. Graves will kill me. No touching. I don’t want you. Like a bad joke, the memories of his words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. One I’ve been fighting to rid myself of for a fucking year.

I smile sweetly, like I didn’t just blackmail the president of the Soldiers of Sin, like the guy couldn’t put me in the fucking ground if he wanted to.

Axe takes another step forward, but I don’t flinch. “I don’t want to see you in here again, Kat.”

“Then you should consider picking a different day of the week to come get your lap dances,” I bite. “I’m here Mondays, and Thursdays through to Saturday. Indefinitely.”

---