Page 101 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
“I knew as soon as I saw you that night that you had to be mine. Period. Nothing else was acceptable.”
He’s baiting me right now, and I refuse to rise to the occasion, downing my beer and placing the bottle aside for a prospect to clean up. Normally, it’d be the hang-arounds doing that type of menial work, but Cat’s closed down the compound. In and out privileges are strictly controlled, and nobody’s allowed on the premises but for members, their families, and prospects. No dealers, no contract workers, no hookers, no hang-arounds.
“You think I should reel him in some?” I ask as Beast moves up to stand beside me and hands me another beer. I want so desperately to ask where he’s been, if he’s found anything, if he knows where Reba is. But we don’t need words, me and Beast. I know that he’d tell me any and all of those things if he thought I needed to know. I glance back at Beast’s face, impassive but contemplative, always thinking, always calculating. The light from the bonfire paints him yellow and orange. “Don’t you want me to dump the rest of them?”
Beast crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s actually giving some level of thought to my question.
“I want you to pick me,” he repeats, glancing back at Grainger. “That’s all that I want.”
He moves away, and I resist the urge to scream. What the flipping hell does that actually mean anyway?
I let him disappear in the crowd, knowing full well that wherever he is, he can still see me. I meant to confront him about the ‘pact’ thing, but as per usual, he distracted me with that annoyingly affable stoicism of his.
My eyes swing back to Grainger. No part of me actually believes he’d pick up a groupie tonight. First off, he’s on guard-duty. In fact, only these four men are ever on guard-duty. I’m assuming they’re volunteering for the positions; my father wouldn’t normally waste his officers on such a menial task.
Second, I … had some sort of misplaced faith in him?
When he reaches out and tucks the girl’s hair behind her ear, that’s when I really start to get angry. Slamming my beer down on the table next to me, I head straight that way, past a group of out-of-towners and get my very first glimpse of the girl’s face.
It’s Dena Muller.
I come to a stop about three feet away from her. Currently, she’s still too engrossed in Cade to pay much attention to me, but as soon as her blue eyes swing my way? Shock. Disbelief. Malice.
“You,” she hisses at me, but she must know better than to start shit with me while on club property. I mean, Dena’s always been an idiot, but she has some level of social decorum.
“Me,” I confirm as Grainger’s brows draw together and he glances between the two of us. “You didn’t think you’d run into me here?” My voice gets disturbingly dark, and I recognize that I’m about two wrong words away from punching Dena in the face. “My father is the club president.”
Dena shrugs her shoulders and tosses her glossy hair, giving me a look.
“I came to a party one night after you fucked all of us up with those bad drugs,” she says, watching me but reaching up a hand to touch the front of Cade’s chest. I blink through the angry haze in my vision and try to focus on what she’s saying. I have yet to learn what the plan behind me destroying what little reputation I had with my classmates might’ve been. Still, even though I was always an outcast with Reba as my only true friend, I fit in in my own way. People liked seeing me, liked having me at parties.
Now, all of that is over. My senior year ruined and cut short. I feel a bit like I’m drifting all of a sudden and reach up to rub at my forehead.
“And now what? You’re a club-whore?” I ask, and Dena frowns at me.
“I’m eighteen,” she explains, as if I care. She has a fancy lawyer for a mother, and a million opportunities out in the world just waiting for her, and she’s here. I feel a bit like Sin must. Wanting her to leave. Feeling sorry for her. Being jealous. “I can do whatever I want.”
“You can get your hand off of my fucking man,” I tell her, and Cade laughs at me.
“Your man?” he queries back, and I look him dead in the face.
“Do not play with me tonight, Cade Grainger,” I warn him as Dena blinks stupidly between the two of us. With another smirk, a cocky laugh, and a shake of his head, he lifts up both hands, palms out like he’s surrendering.
“Whatever you say, Gidge,” he mocks, gesturing at Dena. “She’s your friend; do what you want with her.” It’s a lame excuse, a way for him to back off of Dena without revealing his real hand: he was never interested in her in the first place.
