Resisting Ryann(7)
Reaching out her hand, I ignore it. “So, this is Luke,” she quips, her sultry voice sending a message. “I’ve heard so much about you.” If she stood any closer, we’d be touching.
“Likewise,” I reply, uninterested in her advances. I didn’t come here to make friends. Glancing at my father, I say, “I’m out.”
“What? You’re not going to fight anymore?” Rachelle asks, placing a hand on my chest and surprising me when her eyes lift to mine. “Winner takes all?”
“Not tonight.” I step back, slowly removing her hand. “This wasn’t for you, cupcake.”
“I never said it was.” She lifts her chin defiantly. Good, I’ve offended her.
My father smirks beside her. “Tomorrow maybe,” he joins, not minding that his close friend wants to test-drive the younger Ryann. Why would he bring her?
“Luke, you coming?” Marcus shouts.
I look over my shoulder and raise a finger. “Hold up.”
Back to my father. “Why’s she here?” I ask, tipping my head toward Rachelle. “What is this?”
His grin is menacing. He leans forward and pats me on the back. “If you want me to share son, just ask.”
Real smooth. “Cut the bullshit. You know this isn’t a place for her,” I spit. “If something goes wrong, they’ll take her.” Meaning the cartel. “She’ll be used as a sex slave the rest of her life. It’s a stupid move, and you know it.”
He stiffens. “Rachelle being here isn’t up to you. And you, my son, better not forget who you’re talking to.”
“Then who’s it up to? And don’t worry, I haven’t.” I glance at Rachelle, who’s in shock. “Are you scared? Cause you should be.”
“I … uh,” she stutters. I’ve put her on the spot.
“How old are you … low-to-mid twenties?” I ask.
By her expression, you’d think I’d wanted the color of her panties. “I’m twenty-five.” She’s a year younger than me.
I raise my brows. “You want to make it to your next birthday?”
Gazing at my father, she says, “Of course. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, if you walk away now, you might have a chance.”
He interrupts, “Rachelle is capable of making her own decisions. Luke is just toying with you my, dear.”
My fingers ache to hit him. “Capable.” I nod. “Like Mom … you mean?”
“Yes,” he clips, working the tension in his jaw. “Just like your mom.”
“Hanging out with Beckham tonight?” Gia asks, startling me. I just stepped out of the shower. She’s lying on my bed, gazing up at the ceiling. Beckham is the nickname she gave Sean the first day she met him. He earned it because of his striking resemblance to the soccer player … well, minus the tattoos.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” I reply, short of breath, placing a hand over my heart. “Yes, I am, but I needed to shower first. I felt gross.”
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Not because you feel gross, or because of Beckham, but for the near heart attack,” she reassures. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I slip on some jeans and a V-neck before making my way to the bed. Judging by her expression, I can easily tell that something is bothering her. “What?”
She arches a brow, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?” I’ve seen the look many times. We’ve known each other since elementary school. It’s hard to get anything past one another.
“I know that face. What’s going on?”
“Is it that obvious?” She fidgets with her necklace.
I nod.
Releasing a breath, she says, “Fine … Logan texted me.”
I roll my eyes. “Why’d I even ask?”
“He said you were going to come home and talk shit,” she quotes. “He didn’t have time to explain, but told me I’d get it from you. I’m almost afraid to ask. What’d he do?”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. It’s exhausting, and I’m not in the mood to argue. Later.”
“Wait a minute,” she replies. “What makes you think I would argue? Is this something about me?” her voice squeaks.
“No, not at all.” I hold out my hands. “I promise. The words just didn’t come out the way I meant.” I sigh, and she scoots over, so I lie next to her. “Logan was giving me crap about Sean. It’s hard when he brings up the L word. You know?” I look at her. “He has this way of making me feel guilty … like I’m doing something wrong.”