Page 3 of The Big Bad's Claim
2
BLAISE
Fuck, I still remember what it felt like to ride a bike for the first time. The wind on my face made me smile so hard my muscles cramped. At that moment, nothing mattered but me, the bike purring between my legs and the road. A long, straight road into nowhere and my problems vanished into dust.
That was a long time ago. I’ve changed so much from that stocky, insecure boy, growing into the captain of the Waywards. The bigger the club gets, the more trouble we face—with other clubs, among ourselves, and with the law. Nothing I can’t handle.
Nothing I can’t handle until she shows up.
Women were a thing of the past for me. When I joined the club, I used to go all out with the sweetcheeks, searching for someone who could fill the emptiness inside me. Never worked, and I only became a real man when I understood there was no filling that hole. The one thing that keeps me busy enough to forget this is the club, so I became the captain. Ever since I did, the club, and the club only, has occupied my mind.
Until yesterday.
Wrath, my second in command, bursts into my ragtag office. He’s the only one allowed to do that—the only one I wouldn’t beat halfway to death for disrespecting their leader like this. This office is out of bounds. It’s the one place I keep records of all the favors, all the shit we’ve done these past years that could either get us all arrested or handsomely paid if blackmail is ever needed.
“You still here?” Wrath asks, arching a bushy eyebrow. He shoves a hand through his long hair, blowing out a sigh. “Good. I need to ask you something.”
I glance down at the desk in front of me. Reports from this month’s expenses are spread out, the same way they’ve been for the past hour. Shit, I’ve got nothing done. “What?” I bellow at him, shoving the papers out of the way. Another useless hour, wasted, thinking of what I shouldn’t be thinking. “Be quick. I have shit to do.”
He stops in front of me and crosses his arms. “Who the fuck is upstairs?”
I snap my attention at him. “What do you mean?”
He shows his hands with a doubtful look. “So, I arrived, and the guys are snickering like freaking schoolgirls. I asked them what was up, and they say you slept down at the bar because your girlfriend was having the room. And I was like, no fucking way, no sane woman would date Blaise. And then...”
I raise a hand to stop him. “Not a girlfriend. A client.”
Wrath blinks. “A client? As in, she’s asking for protection?”
“Exactly.”
“Then why is she in your room?”
Why, indeed? We’ve had people like this before. People desperate enough to escape that they would come pleading for us. That’s why we have extra rooms in the back, tiny things where we can keep clients for a few days before we solve their problems. Before they’re forever bound to us.
I lick my teeth, thinking of an answer. The truth is that I don’t have one. Not one I’d share. The club is made up of men, too many men, horny men that would leer and grope at her, and I can’t imagine that happening without a major headache brewing between my brows. The thought raises my temperature and my blood pressure. I’m fine and healthy, and suddenly I feel like the fifty-year-old man I am.
“Why do I have to justify the shit I do to you?” I shoot at him.
Wrath’s brows shoot up. If it was anyone else, they’d probably fall for this. Put their tails between their legs and leave the room. Apologize for fear of being beaten up. But this is Wrath. He’s not my second in command for nothing. He can take it.
“You don’t,” he replies, eyebrows still hovering near his hairline. “It’s just weird, you know. We have the back rooms for that.”
“Your point is?” And I get to my feet, straightening my spine. Shit, I’ve been sitting inside this goddamn office for too long. I should be out there, drinking beer with my brothers, or riding my bike around the city. I don’t even know what time it is. Pulling my phone from the back pocket of my jeans, I glance at the clock.
Fuck. It’s almost seven. I’ve spent the afternoon daydreaming on and off. What the fuck is happening to me? Because of a pair of pretty eyes and full curves? Get a grip, Blaise.
Wrath shrugs. “What does she want?”
“Her ex is a hitman.” Her ex. Why do I think of him as her ex? And why does my blood boil when I think of a man hurting her? “She found out yesterday. He might try to erase her.”
“For sure he will.” He takes a beat as he lets me pass him and we start into the hallway. “And what price did you set?”
I don’t answer, because I haven’t thought of it. Usually, we set the price the moment we accept the request. Something that can help us out, something that could create some dirt on the other clubs or gangs. An anonymous tip to the cops, or info. But her? I couldn’t think of anything for her. So, I don’t respond. I keep walking. Just before I reach the main hall, the voices reach me. My brothers sure are lively today, chatting noisily even when the night’s just begun.
“What’s got them like this?” I murmur, more to myself than to Wrath.
He replies either way, “They’re pumped up to have a new girl around. She’s quite pretty, too.”
