Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1)(56)

“Delilah,” he warns, putting his hand out. “Give me the bottle.”

“Call him,” I deadpan. “You have two seconds.” Something in my eyes has him pulling his phone from his pocket. I don’t dwell on the thought of if I’d have actually done it or not—I’m too afraid of the answer.

I can’t hear Bryce’s voice, but know the moment he answers. Dread fills Cook’s eyes. It makes me smile. “She wants me to tell you she refuses to shower with the door open.” Silence a moment, then he speaks again. “She’s pissed. Really pissed.” His brows draw in confusion at Bryce’s reply. “No. none of that.”

It hits me then that Bryce is asking about my behavior—using the knowledge to determine whether or not I’m slipping into the darkness. My heart flips at his concern, then hardens when I remember what an asshole he is.

“Tell that motherfucker I said he’ll know when I’ve reached my limit, because it’ll be too late.”

Cook swallows hard and extends the phone to me. “He wants to talk to you.” He almost looks apologetic. Well, he can go to hell.

“I’m not talking to him.” My defiance earns me a pleading look from Cook. I give him an evil smile. Now he knows how it feels.

He puts the phone back to his hear. “You hear that?” Turning the phone in his hand, I’m thinking he’s ending the call. But Bryce’s voice echoes through the speaker phone.

“The door stays open, Delilah. That’s final.”

The sound of his voice makes my knees go weak. I don’t want to fight with him. I want to cry. I want to tell him I love him, and to please come back. That whatever demons he carries are my demons too. That I’ll help him overcome his fears, just like he helped me. After all, knowing he’s damaged is the only reason I haven’t left this world behind, and started my own life. The club can’t force me to stay here. I’m here on my own free will, and I’ll stay as long as I think Bryce and I have a chance. He didn’t give up on me, and I refuse to give up on him. I can’t. I love him too much.

“Do I make myself clear, Delilah?” My sadness starts to lift at his ridiculous demand. Only he has the power to put my emotions in such a frenzy. If he’d given me just the slightest sign of the Bryce I know, then I could play this out differently—make him feel guilty for putting me through this. But this isn’t my Bryce. This is SA Bryce. And he’s an asshole.

“How about I strip naked and shower with Cook? How would you like that?”

Cook’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head in disbelief at me—giving me the finger.

“That’s not gonna happen, babe.” Babe…hmph. “Get in the shower then go to bed. All you’re doing is making this harder on yourself.”

My anger skyrockets. “You’re a fucking coward, Bryce! You’re too big of a pussy to face me yourself, so you sic your lapdog on me. Well, fuck you!” I’m yelling, spitting, shaking with fury. I hate myself for loving him.

“You finished yet?”He seems bored by my outburst, making me that much more angry.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, really. I do.”

“Take a shower. Leave the door open. Then go to bed.”

“Or what?” I taunt. “You gonna punish me? Well.” I let out a breath of laughter. “I know that’s not gonna happen. You’d have to ask your little bitch boy here—”

“Enough!” My lips immediately snap shut at his tone. I know better than to treat any man with a patch with disrespect. It’s one thing to give a Prospect hell, and throw shit—as extreme as it may sound. But degrading him as if he’s beneath me is another.

I mouth “sorry” to Cook, but he dismisses it with a wave of his hand. I feel better knowing he doesn’t hold it against me—despite the anger and disappointment in Bryce’s voice. What the hell does it matter what he thinks anyway? It’s not like he’s here.

“Do as you’re told, Delilah. And watch your mouth with my Prospect. Or it’ll be you that’s degraded, humiliated and punished in front of the entire club.”

“You wouldn’t,” I hiss, fear prickling my skin at just the thought.

“Oh, I would. One more disrespectful word to him, and I’ll tear your ass up while everyone watches.” I swallow hard, and notice even Cook seems uncomfortable at the threat.

“I’m done,” I whisper, avoiding Cook’s eyes. I drop the bottle from my hand, and take a step. The instant I do, I realize it was a mistake. “Shit!” My hand flies over my mouth just as Cook takes Bryce off speakerphone.

“Nothing,” I hear him say, shooting me a pleading look. I nod, motioning for him to wrap it up while I balance on one foot. “She’s still pissed… Got it.”

He ends the call and shoves the phone in his pocket, taking a step toward me. “Let’s agree to never discuss whatever in the hell it was going on between y’all during that phone call,” he says, sweeping me up in his arms and carrying me to the bathroom.

“Agreed. My foot hurts.”

“Yeah, no shit. You got a shard of glass in it,” he mutters, setting me on the counter and taking my foot in his hand. “Where are your tweezers?” I reach in the drawer next to me, then hand them to him. “Be still.”

From my position, I could easily kick him in the face and bolt. But guilt still weighs heavy in my chest from earlier. “Look,” I start, fidgeting with my shirt. “I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t think you’re a lapdog or a bitch boy.”

“If anyone else would’ve said it, I might’ve been offended. But I know you didn’t mean it, Delilah. And for what it’s worth, I hate this for you. Whatever in the hell this is,” he adds on a mumble.

I smile. “Thanks.” He pulls the glass from my foot, and helps me down from the counter. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” I say, when his brow furrows with concern. After watching me walk on it a moment, he’s convinced.

“I’ll clean this up. You go ahead.” He starts out, then turns and narrows his eyes on me. “Door open.”

I force a frown, drop my eyes and nod. “I know,” I whisper. I pull my shirt over my head which prompts him to leave. As I step in the shower, I’m smiling. Playing the weak, wounded role was going to be easier than I’d thought. It wouldn’t take long before I had Cook eating out of the palm of my hand. And maybe, once I earn his pity, he’ll let down his guard—giving me that small window of opportunity to escape.

****



Tonight makes the third night Cook has slept on my floor. I’ve been laying the guilt on heavy—giving him the full effect of an uneasy, depressed Delilah. And since it’s the weekend, the sadness and anxiety I’ve been showing hasn’t really been much of a front at all.

I’ve been listening to Cook snore for the past thirty minutes. Slipping out of bed, already wearing my sweats, I pull on my shoes and start my well-planned escape.

“It’s locked, Delilah.” Cook’s voice has my heart nearly jumping out of my chest. He doesn’t even sound sleepy, even though he was snoring only moments ago. “Actually, it’s nailed shut. But you’re welcome to try if it makes you feel better.”

I give my window one last look, before dropping my shoulders in defeat. “It’s been three days,” I whine, falling back into bed. “How much longer are you going to do this?”

“How much longer are you going to do this?” His question throws me off. How long indeed?

“You know what?” I ask, getting out of bed again. “I’m not. I’m done.” I start down the hall, and hear him running behind me. “I quit. I’m through. I’ve held out for as long as I can.”

“Delilah, wait. I can’t let you leave. Please don’t make me force you.”

The thought of him hitting me to make me stay halts me in my tracks. He nearly collides into me. “Oh no,” I whisper, feeling panic starting to swim slowly through me. I don’t even realize my hand is pulling at my hair until Cook takes it gently in his.

I shake my head, looking up at him with wide eyes. “It’s happening.” He has no clue what I’m talking about. The confusion on his face is mixed with fear. He’s not sure if this is some ploy, or if what’s happening is real.

But it is real. Very real. I feel it. My beast is awake. My mind burns with need for pain. My body aches for sexual release. I’m a whirlwind of conflicted emotions. I thought for sure yesterday I was only imagining my anxiety. But now it’s clear. And it scares the hell out of me.

I want Cook to hit me. Just the thought that it might be a possibility awakens the need inside me. I have to have it. How had I gone so long without it? Had the memory of Bryce been enough?

Bryce.

Fear engulfs me, bringing me nearly to my knees. The heartache is a devastating blow to my harsh reality--Bryce doesn’t love me. He knew I would break, but still he refused to release me just as he refused to be here with me. I was a fool. I’d believed the power of my love was strong enough to bring him back to me. I’d told him I loved him—told him it was okay to not love me back. And what did he do? He left. Without explanation—only orders, and only to Cook.