Precarious(29)

“Why is there fence around it?” I ask.

“This used to a be a clubhouse, back when Maddox’s dad ran the club. Once it had a track running up into it from the left, for bikes.”

“Why did they change it?”

“For a few reasons,” he says, pulling a key from his pack and unlocking the fence. “The first was it’s so far out of town, and they were finding it hard to keep in the loop. Of course it had the bonus of being a secretive place.”

“And the second?”

“T-Rex died.”

“T-Rex?” I ask.

“Maddox’s old man. He died, and Maddox wanted the club closer, but I think he just hated this place. He had a rough upbringing.”

“Oh.”

“So now we keep it in case anyone needs to hide out, and sometimes the boys come up just for a break. It gets used more than you’d think.”

“How do they get up here?”

“Same way we did, babe.” He smirks, swinging the gate open.

“They walk that far?”

“Clearly it wouldn’t be just an overnight thing. They’d come for a week or so.”

Interesting.

I stare ahead as we enter the massive space. While it’s set amongst trees, it’s been cleared enough to allow for the two sheds and the cabin. I take in the cabin first. It’s old, but it’s clearly held its age quite well. It’s huge—I’d guess it has at least four bedrooms inside. The sheds off to the left and right are rusting metal, and are bolted with thick padlocks.

Krypt walks up the front steps of the cabin and I quickly follow him. The dusty porch is huge, and wraps around the entire thing. It’s got some old furniture, old beer bottles and . . . boots. I raise my brows but don’t ask; I just stay behind Krypt. The door is rickety and squeaks when he pushes it open.

At first glance, the cabin is quite nice. It needs a good dusting, and the furniture definitely needs updating, but it’s nice. It’s got a large, open living and dining area, which have been designed to incorporate pool tables, a few large lounges, and a bar. There’s a small kitchen in the corner. This all narrows off to a long hall I see doors branching off of. I’m assuming those are the rooms.

“How many rooms are in this place?” I ask, peering around.

“Six.”

“Six?” I gasp.

Krypt turns to me, and nods. “Yeah, six.”

I’m shocked. I follow Krypt down the halls. The wooden floors creak as we move. I count all six bedrooms, a bathroom and toilet, a laundry, and a large storage closet. It is a massive place.

“Take your pick of the rooms, but take it from me: go with the first or the last.”

“Do I want to know why?”

He smirks at me. “’Cause when the boys come, they like to bring whores.”

“Whores?” I blink.

“Club whores . . .” he says, nodding, as if I’m supposed to understand.

“Club whores?”

“For Christ’s sake, that’s what I just fuckin’ said.”

I cross my arms. “Keep your shirt on, I was only asking.”

“Club whores enjoy the men, and the men enjoy them. Most clubs have a group of them that hang around. They know what they are. They don’t do relationships, though occasionally one of them wants to become an old lady.”

“Does that ever happen?”

He swings a door open and points to the large space. “Yeah, it does, but she’s usually gotta have somethin’ different about her. Most whores aren’t the kind us guys want for old ladies.”

“Do you have an old lady?” I ask, stepping into the room and staring. It’s massive, with a double bed, an old couch, and a desk, with a small bathroom to the left.

“Did I just have my fingers inside your pussy?” he asks.

I blink and turn to him. “What?”

“My fingers, sweetheart,” he growls. “Were they in your pussy?”

“Ah, yes.”

“Then no, I don’t have an old lady.”

I lean my hip against the doorframe. “I thought it didn’t matter.”

He raises his brows. “To some it doesn’t; they’ll fuck around. A lot of them have a piece of ass on the side, but most of them respect their old ladies.”

“Right,” I mutter.

“Don’t believe me?”

I push off the door. “I do.”

“You’re a bad fuckin’ liar.”

I snort and stop at the bed, throwing myself down onto it. “Oh God, it’s so soft.”

“Best bed in the house.”

I sit up, leaning on my elbows. “Did you fuck in this bed?”

His brows shoot up. “Who asks those kind of fuckin’ questions?”