Chapter Twenty-Two
Kori was two seconds away from throwing up in Savage’s too-eager mouth when he ended the kiss.
“Mmm,” he whispered against her ear. “Tasty.”
Her stomach lurched again and she looked away, plastering what she prayed was at least a somewhat believable I’m-so-happy-I’m-engaged smile on her face. As long as the outside looked convincing it didn’t matter that it felt like a slow poison was killing her inside.
Savage released her and turned, shaking hands and accepting man-hugs of congratulations from his brothers. A few comments about balls and chains accompanied by some vulgar statements about her pussy followed. With no one paying her any mind for a few seconds, she scanned the crowd for Lucky.
From the second Rebel and Savage paraded her out, Lucky’s laser stare was as palpable as an actual burn. But she couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear to witness the moment he realized he’d lost her to another man. A man he’d warned her about. A man he already hated.
There he was, arm slung around another woman, headed for the exit. Her heart squeezed with a crushing pain and she sank her teeth into her lower lip to keep from screaming out how this wasn’t real. How she hated Savage, hated Rebel and saw no other option to keep Lucky out of harm’s way.
Rebel had taken her phone, her car keys, kept a guard outside his house in case she tried to flee, and turned off the internet in his house. She was a captive in her own father’s home.
If only she had time. Time to think. Time to plot. Maybe she could have come up with an out, but Rebel hadn’t granted any of that. She had time now, though. And she’d use every spare second of every day masterminding a plan to rid herself of Savage and have him and Rebel punished for their actions.
Now that she saw Lucky, there were no questions, no wondering. Only one thing was on his agenda this evening. Bang that girl until he forgot about all about Kori. After Rebel’s announcement, she had no right to judge how Lucky would spend his night, but seeing him leave with a club whore, knowing exactly what would happen in just a short time, was a breath-stealing agony. And only the beginning of the torment for her.
Now she’d get a front row seat as he got over her one woman at a time. Chances were high she wouldn’t survive this, not emotionally.
She had to talk to him. At least see if there was some way to apologize.
On trembling legs, she slipped through the crowd and caught up to him just as he and his companion reached the exit. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Rebel’s stare. No privacy, no chance to clue Lucky in in any way. “L-Lucky?”
He froze, the muscles in his arm grew rigid across his companion’s shoulders.
“Can I—I mean, is it…” She drew in a shaky breath. “May I speak with you for a minute before you leave?” There, her voice only held a moderate wobble. Best she could do under the circumstances.
For a beat, she didn’t think he’d answer, then he peered down at the woman. “Wait outside for me, doll. I’ll just be a second.”
“Sure, baby,” the slut said in a voice dripping with promised sex. She glanced over her shoulder and winked at Kori as she wiggled her long nails in a goodbye wave.
Lucky spun slowly, his expression hard as granite, jaw ticking and eyes narrowed. The strong arms that she loved wrapped around her, arms that would never hold her again, folded across his chest. The posture said it all. He was one hundred percent closed off to her. Body and heart.
“I’m sorry.” Could she sound more stupid? Like her sorrow mattered. Like it changed a damned thing. “It just…happened.” While she wanted to apologize, it was imperative he believe the ruse. Lying to him made the words taste beyond bitter as they left her mouth. “I never meant to hurt you.” Another lame and totally inadequate line. But what the hell was she supposed to say?
“Just happened, huh?” A small grunt of disbelief emanated from him. The tone was one she’d never heard from him. Icy. Full of hatred and disgust. “I know exactly what just happened, babe. I don’t do bikers, my ass. You settled for a few rides on the Lucky-go-round before aiming higher on the food chain. Can’t say that I blame ya. You whores are all the same. Legs spread, dollar signs flashing in your eyes. Have a nice fuckin’ life, Kori.” He turned and slammed through the door.
Don’t cry. Do. Not. Cry.
The mental pep talk was ineffective and her eyes flooded to the point of blurred vision. There was no choice but to pull herself together. If anyone saw her blubbering in the corner she’d be up a creek. With a fortifying breath, she vowed she’d find a way to make this up to Lucky, no matter how many trashy women he paraded by her.
As unbearable as being the target of Lucky’s hatred was, a small part of Kori was glad he was in the dark as to Rebel’s true plan. His anger directed at her was one thing, but if Lucky found out she’d been coerced, the results would be horrifying. He’d turn that anger and revulsion inward, and that would be worse.
Somehow, she’d learn to live the knowledge that he believed she betrayed him. But she couldn’t live the rest of her life knowing he blamed himself. And he would. It’s who he was.
The weight of that regret on her shoulders would be more than she could bear.
***
~ ~ ~ ~
Lucky now had two goals for the night: numb his mind with enough alcohol to make him stupid, and take what Bitsy was offering until he could no longer taste, smell, or feel Kori in every inch of his apartment. Under normal circumstances, a club whore would not find herself in his home, but he had a demon to exorcise and planned to do a thorough job of it.
Bitsy was waiting for him by his bike, one high heel propped on his rear tire. The position showcased her long, toned leg. One hip was cocked to the side with her hand resting on it and her chest seemed pushed out to an unnatural degree. Despite his ideas for the evening, there was a small chance things wouldn’t go according to plan. And that chance lay between his legs. It literally laid there with no apparent desire for Bitsy. No matter. Once they got naked and hands on each other he’d get into gear.
He strode to his bike, swung a leg over and donned his helmet. Then, he grabbed Kori’s helmet and started to offer it back to Bitsy. She grasped it, but his hand ignored the message from his brain and wouldn’t release the protective device.
“You gonna let go, big guy?” she purred next to him.
“Um, actually,” he pulled his helmet off and handed it off to her. “That one won’t fit. Wear mine, I’ll be good.” He stuffed Kori’s helmet in his saddle bag as Bitsy secure his over her bottle-blond hair. “Hop on, babe.”
The second, the very instant Bitsy’s enhanced breasts touched his back, he shot off the bike as though he’d hit an ejection button.
Since she’d been trying to snuggle close, her momentum propelled forward. “Hey!” she cried as her hands braced on the gas tank and narrowly prevented a face plant. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Good fucking question. What was wrong with him? Kori was gone, lost to him. Never before had he had a problem jumping from one chick’s bed to another. But the thought of touching Bitsy, the brief feel of her against him proved that game plan wouldn’t work this time.
With a sigh, he shoved a hand through his hair. “Look, Bitsy, I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to happen tonight. Or ever. Just head on back in and enjoy the party. I’m gonna split.”
Her face went from hopeful to spiteful in a flash. “Excuse me?” She practically spat the word at him. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You don’t turn this down.” She pointed to herself as she spoke.
Jesus, just what he needed. A club whore with high self-esteem. “Get the fuck off my bike, Bitsy. There are plenty of other bikers in there who’d be more than happy to fuck you. I’m not one of them.”
He hadn’t thought it possible, but her sneer turned uglier. “Why don’t you make me, limp dick.”
Was it still unacceptable to hit a woman? Unfortunately, it was, but there wasn’t a hard and fast rule against scaring one. He stepped close enough to let her feel the full power of his wrath. “Make no mistake about it, Bitsy. If I have to, I will make you get off this bike, and I can promise that despite whatever you’re plotting, you won’t like it.”
Something, maybe his expression or the calm, poisonous tone he used, got through to her. Her gooped-up eyes widened and she slid off the bike.
“Come on to me again and I’ll see you’re run out of here.” It was over the top, yes, but he was in a shit mood and Bitsy was the only target around.
The helmet slamming into his gut was unexpected, but he let it slide. “Fuck you,” she muttered as she scurried—if that was possible in what had to be five-inch heels—back to the clubhouse.
Fuck this entire night. Lucky mounted his bike and sped off toward his apartment and a cabinet full of booze that was calling his name.
Minutes after arriving home, his mistake hit him full force. The entire place had Kori’s mark on it. Christ, her scent smacked him in the face as soon as he opened the door. He stomped to the kitchen, and when he saw a pile of her stuff on his table, the volcano erupted. With an enraged yell, he upended the table sending her sweatshirt, a bottle of some girly face shit, a candle in a glass jar, and a vase full of flowers he’d bought her crashing to the floor.
Shards of shattered glass shot off in every direction across the kitchen floor. His booted feet crunched over the carnage as he zeroed in on the liquor cabinet. He snatched the fullest bottle and took a long, therapeutic swallow, loving the burn of the bourbon as it slid through him.
Sleeping in the bed he’d had Kori in countless times was out of the question, so he flopped on the couch. After he’d polished off a third of the bottle, his mind fuzzed and the crushing pain in his chest dulled to an ache. The suffering would be back full force once the booze wore off, but for now, numbness was a welcome reprieve.
There were a least fifty questions he’d want answers to later. When had she had the time to develop a relationship with Savage? Were all the meals she shared with her father over the past few weeks just an excuse to spend more time with Savage? Had Rebel even joined them? Was every second Lucky spent with her a complete and total lie? How the fuck could he, a self-proclaimed womanizer, fall in so deep with one woman?
And of course, the biggie. Why? Why the fuck did she lead him to believe they had something? Why the fuck did she agree to live with him?
That was a bit of a lie. There was a bigger question. A horrifying question. Was she fucking Savage?
Questions could wait, especially the last one. For now, and for the foreseeable future, the detaching oblivion of a hard drunk was his one and only priority.