The sun is just setting when I catch sight of something on the bed as I come out of the bathroom.
“What’s this?” I ask Bryce, who had appeared out of thin air and now stood leaning against the door frame. I hold up the plastic bag filled with clothes.
“Put it on. We’re going out.” I start to drill him with questions, but he disappears from my view.
The jeans, boots and long-sleeved shirt are from my own closet. As are the bra and panties. After being naked for two days, wearing clothes seems unnatural—especially the panties. My lady parts have very much enjoyed the freedom, as have I.
I don’t have any makeup, but luckily my lashes are naturally dark and my skin is clear. Without my straightener, my hair is an untamed mess, but when I walk out in my skinny jeans, brown knee boots, white V-neck shirt and wild hair, Bryce says I look good. So does he.
In jeans, a black Henley and riding boots, he’s the biker without the patch. But it’s folded in his hand. He’s wearing a hat that sits backward on his head. He looks delicious naked, but there’s something even sexier about him being dressed.
Maybe it’s the mystery of what’s hidden beneath his clothes. Or it could be the chain that loops around his thigh. Or the way he pushes up the sleeves on his shirt exposing his forearms. Actually, I’ll take him just about any way I can get him.
“So where are we going?” I ask, letting him slip my brown jacket, which matches my outfit, over my shoulders. I wonder who packed this…
“Out.”
I roll my eyes. “I know that, but where?”
“Dinner. A movie. Maybe a trip to Wal-Mart, if you’re good.” He winks at me.
“Are you taking me on a date?” I tease, flashing him a broad smile.
“Yes.”
What? His admission freezes me in place. A date? A real date? Had I ever been on one? Not in a long time. My spine tingles and my cheeks heat.
He smirks and I drop my gaze. Why am I so uncomfortable with this? Suddenly, I don’t want to go. I want to stay here, detached from the outside world. I want to live in this bubble we’ve created with just me and him. I don’t want the pressure of a date. How will I act? What if I do something stupid?
My anxiety has me fidgety. I twist the belt to my jacket in my hands. Then mindlessly, I bring one to the back of my neck. Closing it around my hair, I start to tug, but Bryce grabs my wrist. He shoots me a chastising look, but kisses my palm before closing his hand around mine.
“Calm down.” He stands in front of me, giving me a playful smile as his hand curves around the side of my face. “Why are you freaking out?”
“Well, I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t said this was a date. Now I feel all pressured.”
He breathes out a laugh. “Tell you what. Fuck all this.” He looks around the room before meeting my gaze again. “Forget it all. Let’s have some fun tonight. Just be ourselves.”
“But I get confused when I’m with you. The whole “babe” and “Love” thing completely transforms me.” I wave my hand around for dramatics, pulling another huff of laughter from him.
“If it makes you feel better, I have some business for the club I have to handle. So technically, it’s not a real date.” I sigh in relief.
“Yes. That does make me feel better. Why didn’t you just say that?”
He shakes his head, intrigued by my reaction. “You have got to be the strangest woman I’ve ever met.” I frown and look away, forcing my lip to quiver. “Hey.” His voice is pained, and I can’t follow through on my joke.
I poke his stomach and smile. “Gotcha.”
His eyes narrow. “Not funny.”
“Oh, that was funny.”
“I’ll remember that when we get back.”
This time, my frown is real. “Oh, come on,” I whine, mentally kicking myself in the ass for ruining my mood.
With a cocky smirk, he gives me a wink. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”
Great. Now I really don’t want to go.
The “date” isn’t awkward at all. Bryce still has Luke’s truck, and I sing along to every rock song that plays, while he simply listens in quiet amusement. He drives us to TGIF’s, and after a few drinks at the bar, we’re seated at a table. I order the biggest damn hamburger they have. Bryce on the other hand, orders grilled chicken and a salad.
“Your sexy meter just dropped.”
“My what?” He looks amused.
“Your sexy meter. You were a ten. Now you’re an eight.”
“Because I ordered grilled chicken? That hardly constitutes for a two point decline.”
I shake my head. “No. The chicken is fine. You lost a point for the salad, though. The other you lost when you ordered a Long Island Iced Tea at the bar.”
“What?” he asks, shrugging in confusion. “They’re good.”
I shake my head. Only this man would be confident enough to order such a feminine drink. And he looks so damn sexy drinking it, I move him back to a ten on my sexy meter. But his ego doesn’t need to be stroked, so I keep it to myself.
The banter is fun. It feels natural and helps me forget what we’ve been doing the past couple of days. Well, it did. Now that I mention it, I’m back in that tiny house in my bathrobe getting spanked, fucked and completely dominated. My thighs rub together at the thought.
“So, what movie you want to watch?”
I let out a gasp. “You’re letting me choose?”
“Yep. Whatever you want.”
“I think they’re running an anniversary special for Titanic.”
“Anything but that.”
I laugh. “Well, what’s the point in letting me choose if I can’t … choose?”
His playful smile falters as he pulls his phone from his pocket. The air instantly changes and I know something is wrong. I’d ask, but I don’t get the chance. Sliding out of the booth, he throws some money down on the table and reaches for my hand.
“We gotta go. Now.” I take his hand, feeling a sense of uneasiness spread through me. This isn’t dominant Bryce. It’s not playful Bryce either. This is Devil’s Renegades SA Bryce. And that motherfucker is livid.
I have to bite my tongue to keep from asking the burning question in my head, as he pulls me through the parking lot. He releases me when we near the back of Luke’s truck with one simple demand. “Get in.” I’m barely in the seat before he’s slamming the truck in reverse and peeling out.
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Fuck it. I’m asking.
“What’s going on?”
“Don’t ask, babe,” he says, and if he hadn’t had thrown “babe” in there, I might have been offended. But I know how shit works. Club business is just that—club business.
The rumble of the diesel engine is loud as Bryce moves in and out of traffic at a pace that is so exciting it’s scary. I can hear my heart pumping in my ears, fueled by adrenaline. For some reason, I’m biting my cheek to keep from smiling as my knee bounces excitedly.
We’re at a red light on Hardy, the busiest street in Hattiesburg, when he flips down the console between us. “Climb back there and get my cut. It’s under my seat.”
With more grace than I thought I had, I unclip my seatbelt and scramble over the console. I feel his hand on my thigh and freeze. Then he guns it and makes a sharp left, which would send me flying in the event he wasn’t holding onto me. I giggle.
“Something funny, babe?”
Snatching his cut, I clamber back into my seat—gripping it to my chest as if my life depended on it. “Yes.”
He shoots me a curious look. Damn, he’s sexy. “What?”
“This!” I say, bouncing in my seat. “This is exciting.”
His lips twitch, but he refrains from smiling. “Glad you think so, gorgeous.” Gorgeous… That’s a new one. I like it.
I hear the rumble of pipes and turn in my seat to find a pack of bikes speeding toward us. My heart hammers against my chest and my smile widens. What I wouldn’t give to be riding on one of those. If this is exciting, I can only imagine what that would be like.
“Make me a promise,” I say excitedly, turning to face him.
“What’s that?” He seems to enjoy my distraction. Every time I speak, his jaw isn’t so tense.
“Promise me you’ll take me riding.”
“This not thrilling enough for you?” There’s humor in his voice. But he doesn’t look at me. His focus is on something up ahead.
“Please?” He remains silent, his jaw tightening again. He presses hard on the brake, sending me flying toward the dash. I reach out to stop myself, but there’s no need. His hand is fisted in my shirt, preventing me from…oh, I don’t know…breaking my face.
“Stay in the truck. No matter what, you stay in the truck. You understand?”
I’d answer, but I can’t speak. The small rundown bar we just pulled next to is filled with bikers. And they’re all fighting. I can hear the low rumble of voices through the window as fists fly and men with several different patches give new meaning to a bar-room brawl.
“Delilah!” he yells, and I force myself to look at him. “Do you understand?”