Shyla’s smile widened. “You got it.”
“And don’t worry,” Angel added, plopping her ass onto the stool beside me, “if Trampy McCuntwaffle comes sniffing for trouble, I’ll let out my claws.”
“She’s a fucking bitch,” Bryce muttered, glancing over at the blonde woman still glaring our way. “Wish The Kid would just claim her—fuck knows he can’t keep his dick in his leathers around her.”
“The Kid is too much like you,” Angel said. “He’ll never settle down.”
Bryce returned his focus to my face, his gaze softening. “A man can change.”
The happiness I’d experienced while in the cabin the previous two days returned in full force, capturing my breath. My heart stalled out as he bent down to brush his lips over mine.
“Be back soon,” he whispered and kissed my forehead.
I stared after him—smitten and a bit too warm and tingly between my thighs.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Shyla said, sitting on my other side. “You’ve got a juicy story to tell—so start talking.”
Heat infused my cheeks, and I considered my privacy I’d always held close, my inability to talk to strangers without becoming tongue-tied. Both women seemed nice as hell—and I’d become a permanent part of Bryce’s life. Interaction had to happen at some point.
I inhaled a deep breath and stepped outside my comfort zone for the hundredth time or so in the previous week. I’d anticipated having to do “peopleing” for a time, and rather than worry over acceptance, I went with the eagerness I felt inside to please Bryce. To become a real part of his family.
“I first laid eyes on him twenty-seven years ago,” I started out, my voice quiet and shakier than I’d hoped for.
“What?” Angel leaned closer, her eyes widened, and my smile wobbled as I gathered strength.
“I’d been lost in the woods for eight days.”
A half hour later, Trampy still shot glares my way as she swigged on a beer, and I couldn’t help but look at her. Gorgeous blonde hair, dark lashes framing blue eyes made up with enough makeup she probably had to peel it away at night, and a body made for the runway. Skinny as a stick—all bones and skin—except for her perfectly pert breasts.
I felt like a frumpy slob even though I’d painted up my face a bit and curled my long hair. Bryce claimed to love my curves, my big breasts, but I didn’t see the appeal. Never had.
“Who is she?” I heard myself ask.
“Trixie,” Angel replied as I studied the melting ice in my glass. “Club whore. She’s been after a mating bite from a brother for years—or so I’ve heard. Don’t take it personally—she hates every woman who snags herself a Dark Leopard badass hottie from under her nose.”
Shyla snickered. “Prepare yourself—the bitch approaches.”
The purr I hadn’t felt since leaving the cabin woke inside me—but growled rather than played frisky. Hairs on my nape rose, and I found courage to turn on my stool and face Trixie.
A sneer uglied her lips as she glanced down over my attire. “You’re lucky Big Bry’s a big mother fucker. Must have given him quite the workout dragging your marshmallow ass out of the gutter.”
My lips curled as that inner growl escaped in a whisper, giving me strength. I stood, giving her the same once over she’d given me while towering over her by a good five inches even in my flats. “Oh, I gave him a workout alright, from his head to his toes—and plenty in between. And you’re right.” I licked my lower lip while grinning and readying to toss out words I never spoke aloud. “He’s a big mother fucker, and as his mate, I’ll get to enjoy all ten inches of his cock for the rest of my life.”
“Damn,” Shyla said with a snicker.
“He’ll tire of you same as he tires of every whore around here,” Trixie said with a shrug although her eyes still shot daggers.
“You better back the fuck off before Ash here kicks your ass,” Angel said, tapping her fingernails on the bar.
I raised an eyebrow as though asking Trampy whatever-the-fuck-Angel-had-called-her if she wanted a go, and giddiness over my absurd feigned assurance and badassery tickled my funny bone. I didn’t know the first thing about fighting—fists or hair pulling—but if Trixie thought her inner cat was bitch enough to take what belonged to me, I would be ready to hiss and spit like any old barn cat.
She gave a huff and turned away, and I let her go rather than lord my authority as an officer’s old lady over her.
I sat, exhaling a long breath.
Shyla squeezed my hand. “Good for you.”
Angel just laughed and called for the patched member who’d taken Stonewall’s place to get us a couple of martinis—frilly girly drinks she called them, with a “spank you very much” tossed on at the end while batting her eyelashes at him.
Silly girl.
I exhaled the negative insecurities I always dealt with—and realized I really would be just fine.
Martini—yes, please, and spank you very much!
178
Bryce
Stonewall followed me to Church, shutting the sound-proof door behind us. The rest of the officers already sat at the round table, and we took the two remaining seats.
“You’re late,” Wraith said, smirking.
“Busy,” I grunted my reply with my usual scowl.
“She out there?”
“With your old lady and Shadow’s.”
Wraith nodded, knowing I’d left Ashlyn in good hands. “Let’s get to it, then. Tell everyone what you told me over the phone Friday night.”
I told them what I’d found while in cat form—what and who I’d smelled. No one questioned the name I tossed out. Ashlyn wasn’t the first woman to be raped by that mother fucker. He’d gone after Wraith’s woman, too, once upon a time.
“No clue on the other cocksucker,” I said, “but I’ll know him when I smell him again.”
Rooster, our VP, sat quiet for a change, his twisted sense of humor dormant as he eyed first me then Wraith as silence settled over us.
