“You really shouldn’t be up here by yourself at night.” He’s schooling me like a scorned father.
My head snaps up, my brows furrowing.
“I come here all the time, and I’ve never seen those guys before.” I’m always alone here. Not a single person stops this time of night.
He stares out into the canyon with hooded eyes and a tight jaw.
“I haven’t been here in years,” he says softly, tossing the loose hair from his face and looking at me. The moon illuminates his face. Despite the crazy spark in his eyes, he’s still handsome.
Curious if those cutthroat, scary eyes come with a name, I ask, “What’s your name?”
His lips pull into a small smirk. He runs a hand through his hair, slicking it back.
“Godric.” Oh, Jesus. I’m sure his ego knows no bounds with a name like Godric.
“What’s yours?” he asks, those sharp cheekbones and bright eyes hitting me right in the chest.
“Monet.”
“Monet,” he repeats. “I like that.” His deep voice takes an even darker dip, his head falling and eyes gleaming from the moon. And just like that, I don’t feel safe anymore. His head slowly tilts to the side, and my hero looks like a villain, scaring off the men so he can have me to himself. If I couldn’t take those four punks, there’s no way I can take him.
Jerking my eyes to the desert floor, I start to walk away from him, getting as much space as I can.
“Well, thank you for stopping those guys from…well, yeah.”
His eyes track me as I get farther away. I really need to get a gun or at least some damn pepper spray.
Taking my eyes off him and picking up my speed, I hurry to my car.
“G’night, Monet.” His voice sounds like it’s right behind my earlobe. I jerk around, but he’s still standing near the ledge.
My lungs demand a sharp breath of oxygen causing me to whimper. I look around anxiously, hoping the four guys are long gone and close the ten steps keeping me from getting out of here. Opening my car door, I climb in, lock the doors, and start my car. My hand shakes as I put it into reverse and speed off.
8
Monet
Heading into the club today, the smell of weed is heavy in the air and the loud thump from the music can be heard before I even turn my car off. Pulling down the visor, I swipe under my eyes to clear up the eyeliner that ran from the smoldering heat and flip it back up.
“This is not over!”
My head snaps toward the clubhouse, Damian’s angry voice slicing through the air. My brow furrows, and I wonder what has him in such a mood. He was just celebrating his brother’s death yesterday. It’s going to be an awesome day working for this asshole. Sighing, I get out of the car and head inside the club. The music slowly dies down and the room is filled with smoke. Damian is sitting at a table playing cards with a few of the brothers, their voices low and Damian’s face red with frustration. Stepping behind the bar, I try to read his lips, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. His eyes are near slits, his teeth nipping his bottom lip every few seconds like he has the urge to draw blood. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this pissed.
“Monet, beer! Actually, bring me the fucking whiskey!” he orders, not giving me a second glance. Normally I would say something sassy or spit in his cup, but he might actually choke me today. Bending down, I open the mini fridge, swipe the bottle of Jack from the back, and head to him. Reaching the men, I hand it to him, not sure where he wants me to place it with the cards and poker chips all over the table.
“Babe, can I get a frosted cup for mine?” Panic asks, his eyes looking up at me with a friendly glimmer.
“Sure.” I give a small smile and head back to the fridge. Panic is quiet, smaller than most of the bikers here, but he’s always been polite to me. Unlike the rest of the guys in this place.
Grabbing a glass, I set it next to him and stand for a second longer than I should.
“Godric is getting the club, that little motherfucker,” Damian hisses, and my eyes widen. Trying to act like I belong here, I snatch the whiskey from Damian’s side of the table and fill Panic’s glass.
“I didn’t think his dad would give him the damn gavel. I heard that kid is insane.”
“I guess you’ll just have to get rid of the fucker,” Panic suggests, watching my hand tip the bottle of whiskey ever so slowly.
I scoff at Panic’s statement, gaining eyes from him. Shit. My eyes drift around the table. All the men are staring at me now. I set the bottle down, letting my hair fall around my face.