My wedding ring lies next to it, and I slip it back on. It’s funny how accustomed to wearing it I’ve already become. I felt weird at the clubhouse last night without it.
My stomach rumbles and I dash for the bathroom, barely making it before I heave into the toilet. When I’m through, I turn on the tap and cup a handful of water, rinsing my mouth. I feel better, and splash some water on my face, then stagger back to the bedroom. I close all the drapes, and fall back on the bed. I lie there, quietly dying for another few minutes.
There’s a tap on the door, and it opens.
Saint stands there, silhouetted like some dark angel. From my point of view, he could be an angel or a devil. He comes forward, and that’s when I notice the glass in his hand. It contains a cloudy white liquid.
He moves to the bed. “Drink this.”
“What is it?” I sit up and take the glass, sniffing it. It smells like some kind fizzy bromide.
“It’ll settle your stomach.” It tastes like shit but he makes me drink it anyway. I take a few sips and stop. It’s just too awful. “I promised I’d take care of you, remember. That’s what I’m doin’. Now drink.”
I steel myself and chug down the rest, handing it back to him.
“Sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have let you drink.”
“I’m not a child.”
“You’re not old enough to drink either. I shouldn’t have let you.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
“Yeah, I am.” The corner of his mouth pulls up and he reaches for my hand, holding up the one with the ring. “We can argue the semantics of all the things I am to you when you feel better.”
I roll my eyes.
The sound of a rumbling motorcycle engine fills the drive. I can hear its growls echo through the screen all the way to the bedroom. I look at Saint. “You expecting someone?”
“Nope. Stay out of sight.” Saint goes out the door, closing it behind him.
I drag myself from the bed, and peer out the window. I can see the back yard and spot a guy climbing off a bike. At the same time, I hear the screen door creak and see Saint walk out to greet the man. Somewhere along the line, he’s slipped his cut on. I stay out of sight, and try to listen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Saint—
“Prospect.” Sly lifts a chin to me as he climbs from his bike. “Nice day for a ride. Perfect weather; sunny and not too hot.”
I eye the blue sky. “Yup.”
He grins. “You’re a man of few words, Saint.”
“Guess so. Something up?”
“You gonna offer me a beer?”
“Sure. Come on in.”
“Where’s your sister?”
“Sleepin’ off a hangover. I shouldn’t have let her drink. Hell, I shouldn’t have even brought her up there last night. Clubhouse is no place for her.”
“Probably not. She’s caught Bear’s attention, and that’s probably not a good thing for you.”
He follows me inside and drops to a chair at the kitchen table, relaxing back. I pull open the fridge and snag two bottles of beer, passing him one.
He twists off the top and snaps it between his fingers toward the trashcan, making a perfect shot.
“I’ve still got it.” He smiles at me and tips his bottle back, draining half of it.
I take the chair across from him, and he digs in his vest pocket pulling out a baggie of weed and rolling papers, tossing it to me. “Roll us one, kid. I gotta take a piss.”
With that he stands and strolls through the house toward the bathroom. I get to work, rolling a joint. I’m twisting it off a few minutes later, when he comes back around the corner with Kami’s purse in his hands. He drops it on the table with a thud. It’s one of those soft structured bags where the top is open, exposing our gaze to the contents. He yanks a folded piece of paper out and my eyes slide closed because I already know what it is.
Shit.
“You want to explain this?”
I want to tell him to mind his own business, but hell, I can’t, so I try to joke it off. “Kind of dangerous digging through a woman’s purse. They get real pissy about that sort of shit.”
“Cut the crap.” Apparently, Sly’s not in the mood for jokes. He unfolds the paper and drops it on the table. Our marriage certificate stares back at me. What the fuck am I supposed to say?
“That girl ain’t your sister—she’s your wife.”
I nod.
“You want to tell me why you lied to me about her?” He plants his fists on the table, and growls in my face. “You want to explain to your sponsor why you fucking lied to his face?”
I’ve got no excuses, and I’m sure he’s not lookin’ to hear any.
A second later he’s got both fists in my shirt, dragging me from my chair and slamming me back against the wall. I bounce off it and he decks me with a right hook to my jaw. I fucking know better than to take a swing back, so I stand there and take it. He gives me another and blood flies from my split lip. He’s got power behind his fist, backed up by a whole lot of pissed off biker.
With his third punch, I hit the floor. He stands over me, jabbing his finger in my face. “You’re lucky I don’t yank that cut off your back, prospect.”
I lay there, staring up at him, keeping my mouth shut.
“You ever lie to me again, you’re done. We clear?”
“We’re clear.”
“Think long and hard about your decision to prospect, kid. I don’t want to see your fucking face around the clubhouse until I fucking call you.”
“Yes, sir.”
He storms out the door, and I climb to my feet. His Harley roars out of the driveway, and I hear the bedroom door fling against the wall. Kami dashes in, takes one look at my battered face and rushes to me.
“Are you okay? Oh, my God, you’re bleeding.” Her cool hand presses to my cheek, but I bat it away out of bruised ego more than anything.
I’m fine.” I drop into a chair and hold my cold beer bottle against my split lip.
She moves to the sink and wets one of the pretty dishtowels she bought, then returns to press it to my lip and cheek. “You’re swelling. You need some ice.”
“I need a shot. Get me that bottle of Jack down from the cabinet.”
She does as I ask, and I unscrew the cap and chug some down. It stings my lip and I wince.
Kami grabs some ice and rolls it in the towel and touches it to my cheekbone. I pull back, but she glares at me.
“Quit. It’s my turn to take care of you, now behave.”
I submit to her ministrations, glaring back at her, but secretly loving her attention. “You hear any of that?”
“Yes. What was he doing snooping in my purse?”
I shrug. “No clue. You left it on the bathroom vanity last night. Guess he saw the license sticking out.”
“I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”
“I think he suspected something. I think that may have been the reason he showed up here today. Last night he asked me if there was something I wasn’t telling him. Maybe he already figured it out.”
“So being in this MC is a big deal to you?”