“Can I ask what the fuck is a Triple P?” Chains asks in amusement.
“Pretty Pink Pussy.” Several of them say in unison.
Hmm that sounds interesting. I might have to see this in action for myself.
“Nice name for a drink. How about we continue this inside or at the clubhouse?” Chains suggests, rubbing a hand over his chest.
“Why don’t we leave a couple guys here to watch over the girls and go to the clubhouse? Bigger space,” Ryder says his brow furrowing at Chains in concern.
We both know his ass shouldn’t be up, let alone out here, but the man never fuckin’ listens.
“Sounds good to me. Let me just tell Nora we’re heading out,” Flynn states.
“I’d maybe suggest giving her a little bit of space right now. If the fact that she threatened my balls earlier doesn’t say anything then the fact you can literally see the steam pouring off her does. She’s pissed and needs to be alone.” Fuckin’ hell why did I just say that?
This shit isn’t happening.
It can’t.
Nora might be a spitfire, but fuck if I’m about to let her get under my skin.
Nope, not gonna happen.
Chapter Four
Nora
Ignorant self-assured men. God, they’re annoying.
It’s been a week since I had my first encounter with Breaker, who is the guy that caused my blood to boil with the way he had spoken to me as if I were a child that needed reprimanding. I mean who gave him the right to speak to me that way.
Since then, I’ve tried to avoid the barbaric man as much as possible by staying cooped up in the little carriage style house. Unfortunately for me, he has a key and for some reason has spent almost every single night here. I’ve come out of my room in the middle of the night to find him either crashed out on the couch or playing on the PlayStation while drinking a beer.
It wouldn’t be so bad if he weren’t so damn hot. When he’s lying around on the couch, he’s always wearing a pair of sweats and nothing else. I’m betting he goes commando considering how low they ride on his hips.
As much as I like being inside hiding from the world, I’m going stir crazy, but I won’t go anywhere near people until the bruises and cuts heal some more. I wouldn’t say I’m conceited about the way I look by a long shot. I’m not pretty.
I’m short with average size C cup boobs and a barely there ass. When I go shopping, I can’t buy jeans without trying them on. I hate baggy jeans, the fabric always feels horrible against my skin. I also don’t like them super tight. My preference being that they conform to my body in an effort to possibly show off what I do have.
My face, when not covered in bruises, has freckles dotting my cheeks. I have a scar under one eye from a fence edge that I’d walked by without seeing it. If I’d been a centimeter higher the sharp edge would have taken my eye. The other side of my face, at my brow line, I have two scars there and directly under my eye from where my cat had bitten me because I’d squeezed him too tight. I didn’t know he was injured from someone shooting him with a BB gun. I was five.
When I look in the mirror, I don’t see a woman who’s confident in herself. But one who has to hide behind sarcasm and attitude. I know this is a defense of mine; however, can you blame me? I finally find a guy I’m interested in, he and I start something granted we didn’t get far before I’d been shot. My brothers intervened refusing to let me see Mac. Then he was killed, and my heart felt like it was torn from my chest. It was like I lost the one person who could have made me feel true happiness in myself.
Let’s not forget this last time, I finally give into someone else who’s interested in me only to find out they’re a monster.
Doesn’t make you want to put yourself out there for anyone else. At this point I’ll be a spinster with a house full of dogs and cats. Hell, let’s go ahead and add some guinea pigs and rabbits to the list.
I’ve decided to swear off all men.
Including the one in my living room right now.
Breaker.
I don’t know what it is about him that gets under my skin. Maybe it’s the fact he doesn’t seem put off by my attitude, instead he calls me on it and demands I knock it off. Not even my brothers do that. Sure, they tell me to lose it but their commands don’t hold weight like Breaker’s.
Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, I notice I’ve been lying here for almost an hour waiting to hear him leave. Normally, Breaker is out of the house by five in the morning.
Unable to hold off my need for caffeine anymore, I get out of bed and head toward the kitchen, ready for the ambrosia that I know is waiting for me.
When I enter the kitchen, I head straight for the coffee pot. Reaching in the cabinet directly above it, I lift myself onto my toes to grab one of the mugs off the shelf.
“Fuck.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Breaker’s gruff voice. Mug forgotten, I lower myself onto my feet and turn to find him staring at my body. Looking down, I realize I should probably have put on some clothes since I hadn’t heard him leave the house.
Breaker’s gaze finally meets mine after what feels like minutes instead of seconds. “Gotta say ma tendre, this is one hell of a sight to wake up to. Be even better if I woke up in the fuckin’ bed with you instead of on the couch.”
I swear if it
