Griffin (Ruthless MC 3)

She made me worry that I’d been found out. Then she made me laugh when she added, “You know, if we were werewolves, we wouldn't be able to sing like this tonight!”

I remember laughing…then telling her the truth…. “You’re even more beautiful under the moonlight. You know that?”

I remember kissing her and admitting, “You scare the hell out of me.”

Then I drank some more. Straight from the head of the bottles of champagne we brought outside. One for each of us. Then…

Nothing.

I don’t remember anything after that. Just waking up here. Naked and partially cold.

I sit up so abruptly she stirs awake beside me.

At first, she just flutters her eyes open. Then she sits up too with an almost comical jerk.

“What the hell?” she gasps out, just like me. For once, she doesn’t go with the clean version of a cuss. Her hair is a tangled mess around her shoulders, and she blinks at me, confused in the sunlight. “We fell asleep out here?”

“Yeah, looks like it,” I answer. There's a lead balloon in my stomach. “And I’m wondering what else we did.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, pushing her snarled locks out of her face.

I spell it out for her. “Did we have sex? Did we use a condom?”

“I don’t know…” she whispers.

We both take a moment to look around and peep at the same thing: two empty champagne bottles and two blankets. That’s it.

There’s no gold foil or any other sign of a rubber around us. And we both know I would've had to have gone back in the house to get one. Something I don't think I would've done hopped up on Molly and champagne.

She gives me a pained but reassuring smile. “You know, I’m so hungover, and I bet you are too. It's possible we just passed out without doing anything else.”

I glance at the two empty champagne bottles again—750 ml each, with Molly on top.

It's possible, but…

“Open your legs,” I order.

She visibly stiffens. “Why?”

“Open your legs,” I command again, my heart pounding. “Remove the blanket and open your legs. Let me see your pussy.”

She looks to both sides. “Okay, I know you have, like, an insane sex drive. But I am hungover as all get out. There is no way we’re going to have more sex outside—”

She cuts off with a yelp when I rip away the blanket.

“What are you doing?” she yells. “It’s too cold to be playing games out here. Give me back the blanket.”

I don’t answer. Just glare at what I find on her thighs. Her dark skin is stained with my dry semen.

We did have sex. Unprotected sex. While I was wasted.

A new and ugly possibility occurs to me.

“What is wrong with you?” she demands. She snatches the blanket back and wraps it around herself. “It is cold out here, and I am stark naked. Plus, there are houses all around the lake. Anybody could look out the window and see me."

She’s speaking. Words are coming out of her mouth. But I’m not listening.

All my fears, all my usual suspicions when it comes to girls, rise like shadows in my side vision.

“Did you do this on purpose?” I ask her.

“No,” she answers, her voice irritable. “I did not flash your neighbors on purpose. You're the one who took my blanket.”

She’s trying to change the subject. Distract me from my real question. That was one of my mom’s favorite tricks when my dad asked her about the shady shit she got up to before their divorce.

But I’m not letting Red get away with it.

“Did you do this on purpose?” I ask again. “Did you get me wasted and then have unprotected sex with me?”

She squints, and this time it is not adorable. “What are you talking about? Usually, when conversations like this go down, it's the other way around. I’m the woman here. I should be asking you about this unprotected sex.”

Yeah, that's what the media says. But in real life, in my real life, girls are always the ones trying to take advantage of men.

“So, was that what your plan was all along?” I demand. “Is that why you stuck around? You figured you’d fuck me then hook me on the line for eighteen years of child support?”

She stares at me. And hurt—real hurt flashes across her eyes.

Then, she cracks her hand across my face. She slaps me once. Twice. Before saying, “Get over yourself.”

Then she storms back into the house without another word.

The old, suspicious rage fades as I watch her go. And that’s when I know…

I’ve truly fucked up.

CHAPTER 18

RED

I find my phone on the path leading to the lake right before reaching the cabin’s back door. It’s lying face down. I pick it up, hoping for the best, but…nope. The face is shattered, and the black screen lets me know it’s completely dead.