Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC #5)(56)

I spin back into his body, placing another kiss on his lips. "You really are amazing."

I don't give him a chance to respond. I head downstairs, taking them two at a time, and see the girls standing by the door. As I pass a group of brothers, I see the guy from last night and my blood runs cold, every inch of me tightening in fear as I feel his glare focusing on me.

When I reach the girls, Nikki looks at me. "Nice jacket." Her voice drops low so I'm the only one who hears. "I know it sucks, but you gotta let it go. He won't even talk to you now." She holds out a tube of lipstick to me and holds up a mirror. I take it and apply it carefully. The small cut is almost invisible under the bright red. "Now let's go blow the boys' money while we bitch about them."

Everyone starts to laugh as we walk outside. I turn back and see that Cutter has now joined the group of men. He and the other guy are exchanging words and I see how bad things could have been if I hadn't followed Nikki's advice.

We take Tracie's car and once we pull out of the lot, we're flanked front and back by prospects on their bikes.

Lucy turns toward me. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about the crap that happened last night." My face twists in confusion. How does she know?

"We may keep stuff from the boys, but there are no secrets between us," Nikki says from the front. My face begins to glow knowing that they're all aware of how stupidly I acted. Lucy's hand comes across to take mine and she gives it a squeeze. 

"Just know that most of the guys aren't like that. You get some that are super old-school, and basically assholes," Izzy says on my other side. "That's the reason Max hates that I work the bar at the clubhouse and Ambrosia."

"Max?"

"Lady's real name. We also drop the boys' road names when we're out of the club. Honestly, I think the whole thing is dumb-just like Tracie hates the 'old lady' term."

Lucy groans. "Please don't get her started. Anyway, just so you know, Whip is Jordan, Tracie prefers to just say Torch. Twisted is probably the most confusing one. His real name is Cameron, and while Izzy calls him that because he's her brother, Nikki much prefers the road name, and I actually just call him T."

"And Cutter?" I feel crazy asking. How is it that I'm falling for a guy whose name I don't even know?

"It's Jason," Nikki says. "I snooped one day when Twisted was busy. I could tell you all the boys' real names."

"Jason, I kind of like it."

"Much less morbid," Tracie says with a laugh.

We pull into the parking lot of a nearby mall. There are people everywhere. My heart begins to race. I can't remember the last time I went into a place like this. Do I even remember how to shop?

"All right, girl, you ready to buy so much stuff it takes a couple of trips to bring it upstairs?" Nikki cocks an eyebrow. "Cutter already texted me so no holding back. You never know what I might pick up for you."

Nikki's style is pure biker babe, and while I don't have an issue with it, I'm pretty sure I don't want her shopping for me. I follow the girls out and look around me, spotting the prospects behind us. Even though they hang back, dressed in their club leathers, their hair hanging down by their shoulders, their heavy boots thumping against the floor, they stand out like sore thumbs.

As we walk beside the girls, watching them squeal and point at different stores, I have this feeling that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It's an eerie sensation, almost like I'm being watched. As I follow the girls into a beauty store, I turn and look at the crowds behind us. I can't see anyone I know, or even anyone who looks like they may be paying me any attention, but the feeling remains.

Within a few minutes, the little bags they give you to shop with are full of products. I'm not even sure I know how to use half the stuff. There are large bottles, sachets, pencils, tweezers . . .

The list goes on.

Lucy nudges me with her elbow. "Don't worry, we also offer tutorials."

I make a show of wiping my brow and they all laugh.

By the time we reach the counters, the bag is so heavy I feel like this should count as exercise. In addition to the makeup and hair products, the girls have thrown in a straightener, a blow dryer, and a curling iron. The fact that I've had to ask them what certain bottles are numerous times says a lot about my level of expertise.

Between us, we must be every cashier's dream. When the total appears on the screen in front of me, I nearly have a heart attack. With shaky hands, I pass over the card Cutter gave me.

"ID, please?"

I freeze. Every piece of identification I own is still back at the house with Dylan. I have nothing to prove that I am who I say I am.