Page 17 of Dark Seduction

“No need. I’m here.”

“I wish you weren’t,” I mutter under my breath before I can stop myself.

Burnt falls silent. His warm body heat radiates against my arm as we both stand in silence in the tiny bathroom.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that, but about what happened,” I blurt out.

“Don’t worry about it,” he snips, dismissing my question like it’s nothing. “I respect your little rules. Not like it matters anyway.”

His comment jars me out of my own head. I cock my head to the side as I peer over at him. “I’m glad you understand why we can’t tell anyone about what happened.”

“Like I said, Mack. It’s nothing. You made the rules. V and I have to abide by them,” he pauses before sighing. “You can have your rules. It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about V and I hovering around you. We’ll leave you alone.”

Burnt’s words hit like lead bullets to my stomach. He was just at V’s throat just a few days ago after walking in on me helping him with a car. If looks could kill, V would be dead, and I would be collateral damage. I’d fully expected them to come to blows and that I’d be kissing my job goodbye after that. What happened? Did Judge know about our night? Worry churns inside my chest.

Clearing my throat, I nod and pull myself together. “Good. I appreciate that.”

Burnt rolls his eyes. “We agreed. You aren’t worth the hassle. So consider it forgotten, yeah?”

You aren’t worth the hassle. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

He doesn’t give me a chance to ask though. Instead, he points his thumb back over his shoulder. “I’ll go take a look at the water heater, then head into town to get what I need to patch you up.”

He pivots on his heels, his warmth exiting the room with him, leaving me alone in my soaked bathroom with a worrisome pit in my stomach.

What changed?

V

The dim glowof the garage's overhead lights casts long shadows on the worn concrete floor. It's late, well past the time most of the club members have called it a night. But I'm still here, the wrench in my hand, putting the finishing touches on a bike that's been consuming my every waking moment.

The only other person in the garage with me is Mack. She's been giving me the cold shoulder all day, and I can't for the life of me figure out why. I've done what she’d asked. I’ve kept it professional, even though doing it kills me a little more each day.

I tighten the last bolt on the bike, wiping my hands on a greasy rag, and finally allow myself to glance in Mack's direction. She's over by the workbench, her back turned to me as she tinkers with something, her body language radiating frustration.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for a conversation I know I can't avoid any longer. I need to know what’s wrong.

"Hey, Mack," I say, my voice hesitant.

She doesn't turn around, but I can see her shoulders tense up. "What?"

I walk over to her, stopping a few feet away, careful not to invade her personal space. "You good?"

She doesn't respond, her silence heavy in the air.

“Seriously. What’s wrong?”

Mack finally turns to face me, her expression a mix of frustration and hurt. "What do you care, seeing as I'm not worth the hassle?"

I can't help but raise an eyebrow at her question, no closer to understanding the sudden cold shoulder I've been getting. "Babe, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but for someone who wants to keep it professional, you're doing a shit job of keeping it that way.”

She narrows her eyes at me, clearly not in the mood for my humor. "Fuck you," she fires back, her voice sharp with anger. "I'm about as professional as you are, walking around here rubbing your abs in my face all goddamn day." Her hand darts out, motioning to my bare chest. "Where's your shirt, V? Did you forget laundry day?"

Grinning widely at her fiery response, her frustration only fueling my amusement. "Well, sweetheart, I thought I'd give everyone a little something to look at," I tease, running a hand through my hair and flexing my abs playfully. "Besides, who needs a shirt when you've got these?"

Mack rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed with my attempt at humor. "You're an asshole," she mutters under her breath.

I take a step closer, my body mere inches from hers. “Maybe, but I’m the asshole you haven’t been able to take your eyes off all day.”

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