“I know,” I snapped. “Lorenzo or some shit. Just met him in the hallway downstairs. He’s a piece of shit fancy fuckboy. What does that have to do with anything?”
Gauge and Shooter exchanged a look.
“Can someone enlighten me!” I yelled, growing more and more pissed off by the second. I didn’t like being kept in the dark; it was normally my job to find out that sort of information, and being on the receiving end of it was bullshit.
“He’s Lorenzo Bianchi,” Shooter said, “younger brother of Mateo and Carlos Bianchi, who help run the mafia’s crew in Atlanta.”
The world stopped on its axis momentarily, the second turning into a minute and turning into a life sentence. My head spun at the news and everything that it meant. The splitting headache I’d woken up with grew so loud that my eyeballs throbbed.
“So, I need to ask you again, brother,” Gauge said, coming forward. “How close did you get to the nurse? Because we’re wondering if she might have been in on the whole thing from the start, and if so, she’s going to ground just like everyone else involved.”
I shook my head, stunned. Belle couldn’t have been in on it, could she? Had she been playing me with her good girl act the whole time?
“Not that close,” I said, my mouth dry. I thought over the past twenty-four hours; her body on mine, my hands on her…
Gauge didn’t look like he believed me, but he wasn’t about to call me out as a liar either.
What had I said while she was there?
Had I been as careful as I normally would be?
I didn’t know. I couldn’t be sure.
I’d been in constant pain the past year. My tongue had been loose, but had it been loose enough to spill club secrets?
“No, no way,” the prospect said, coming forward and shaking his head. “I know her and she’s not like that. Not a bad bone in her body.”
“You can never really know a person, kid,” Shooter said, sounding full of regret.
“Belle’s not like that!” The prospect stormed toward me, his eyes full of pleading, “Beast, tell ’em she wouldn’t do that!”
Belle…
Sweet, beautiful, caring Belle.
I pictured her now, that god-awful nurse’s outfit, her hair piled high on her head, her face exhausted after another long shift. The way she flinched when I yelled. The way she made herself scarce when anyone came by.
I nodded. “He’s right; she’s not like that. She’s a good girl, Shooter.”
“Yeah, well let’s hope so, for her sakes,” Casa said, clapping his hands together, “because she’s running with the wrong crew, and if she’s not careful she’s gonna get herself killed.”
“I’ll speak to her,” I growled, “let her know how it is.”
And she’ll really hate me then, I thought. But she’d made her choice. She’d chosen him over me and she’d have to live with those consequences.
“Let me speak to her,” the prospect suggested, and I turned to glare at him. He shrugged. “We became close over the past month or so. I can find out what she knows, if anything.”
I felt myself filling with fury, my heartrate spiking. Close? Close? What did he mean by close? I started toward him and he held up his hands in defense.
“It’s not like that, brother, I swear it’s not.” He backed away, his hands still in the air. “We’re just friends is all.”
“Maybe she’s in on this. Seems like the sweet little nurse is getting it all from all over, huh?” Casa said with a smirk, enjoying the drama of it all. I knew he was winding me up but I couldn’t help but rise to the bait. “Hot little nurse playing the good little girl when really she’s getting dick from every brother, because, given how you’re reacting right now, there ain’t no way that you haven’t fucked that girl. Wonder if I can get in on the action. Harlow and I have been talking about a threesome, and she’s hot as they come. Wouldn’t mind a taste.”
I turned to him, pointing my finger. “I will fucking end you if you say that again!”
Casa laughed like this was the funniest shit he’d ever heard, and maybe it was, to him.
I was shaking, my arms and legs trembling with unspent rage at the thought of her fucking anyone but me while I could still feel her wrapped around my own cock like a fucking burrito. Goddammit, but she wasn’t mine now. She was his. Lorenzo. Italian mafia. The bastards who’d killed my best friend and ruined my life…
“Casa, shut the fuck up before you give him an embolism,” Shooter yelled. “Beast, I’m taking it you’ve gotten up close and personal with this girl.” He waited for my response, but when all he got in return was a death glare, he went on. “Did it end well? You think you can talk to her? Find out what’s going down with that boyfriend of hers?”
I thought about it, wondering if I could just order her not to be with Lorenzo anymore. Warn her of how dangerous he and his family were and make her see that she’d be safer with me. Or without me. Shit, she’d be safer with both of us out of her life and I knew it. But I also knew that wasn’t really an option. After the way we just ended things, she’d no sooner listen to me than she would the Devil.
“Let the prospect talk to her,” I said with a hard scowl, hating him for having the option of talking to her when I couldn’t.
“I can do that,” he replied immediately.
I looked over at him. “You fuck her?” I asked, ready to knock his damn teeth out if he said yes. Not that I gave a shit who Belle slept with. Her pussy was her pussy and I had no claim to it, but I wasn’t happy about her putting out to all of my brothers, despite how I’d mocked her and taunted her about becoming a sweetbutt for the club. That shit would never happen.
“No, brother, we just talked about books and shit,” he said.
“Books? I didn’t know you could fucking read,” Casa laughed, and everyone joined in, barring me. I hated the prospect in that moment. Hated that he had a connection with her that I didn’t. Hated that he’d had conversations with her that I didn’t know about. Hated that she was with Lorenzo right then, probably getting fucked in the back seat of his Mercedes like a high-class hooker. And yet the thought of her spread-eagled made my dick twitch again.
Fuck, what the hell had this woman done to me?
“We need to know everything about her,” I said, all business. My brothers didn’t need to know all the fucked-up shit going around my head right then. “Not just her address and where she works, because we know that. I want to know her friends, her family, what car she drives. Hell, I even wanna know what her lucky underwear is, brothers. I need it all, and then I’ll assess the threat level she makes.”
They shared a knowing look between themselves, Casa smirking like a fucking clown the entire time.
“Regular stalker,” Casa snickered.
I stared him down, and though he looked away, the look remained. I turned to the prospect. “I want a list of books she recommended to you. I want to know everything you two talked about.”
“Jesus, brother, let’s just get you back to the clubhouse and get you a beer before we go all Special Forces on her ass,” Shooter said. “I need a fucking cigarette, so get your clothes on and let’s get the fuck out of here before Doctor Collins blows his top. Need to keep the good doctor onside, which, after your little stunt downstairs, is going to be hard enough.”