Waylon (Ruthless MC 2)

I narrow my eyes, disliking all the innuendo in his voice for more reasons than one. “I don’t think you need anything from me. Cindy? Is that the name of the woman who answered your door? She seemed very enthusiastic. Super willing to go above and beyond to give you anything you want.”

Waylon’s half-grin becomes a full-blown smile with all those perfect white teeth Lucinda didn’t know he had on display. “Yeah, she's a hell of a maid. That's why I always say it’s got to be her when the cleaning service comes through.”

The righteous indignation in my chest loses a bit of steam as I remember what Lucinda said last week about the maid service not coming until Saturday. Today is Saturday. “So, wait, you're trying to tell me that girl was your maid. And that's all?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you.” Waylon crooks his head, still smiling, like I’ve just made his day. “Who did you think she was?”

“Not your maid.” I scoff and let him know, “I find that hard to believe—what kind of maid doesn’t wear anything but a pair of panties to work?”

“A Ruthless Reapers kind of maid.” He raises an eyebrow. “You’re living with Meemaw and damn near best friends with Lucinda, from what I hear. Neither of them told you about the maid service?”

I look to the side again, realizing that they both did and didn’t. Plus, there was all that stuff Charlie told me about Meemaw being great in bed….and what Lucinda said to me about quitting maid service for bikers without old ladies after she and Crazytown hooked up.

But then I also remember something else this Cindy said and folded my arms over my chest. “She mentioned you hadn’t asked for a threesome in a while. And she invited me to join the two of you—I’m assuming that meant in bed.”

He snorts. “I don’t ask. I tell. And yeah, I’ll admit, I let her give me some relief when I got back from Delaware. Her and a lot of other women. I was pissed at you for sending me packing, and that was before I decided on a new plan. I didn’t touch her or anybody else but you in that church library after I decided to start this town.”

I can’t quite meet his eyes as he tells me this. And I hate that I’m hanging on every word. That the thought of him with other women spiked something ugly inside of me—something that his claim he hadn’t touched anyone else since starting the town relieved.

I avoid his eyes, but Waylon chases them down and pins me with a knowing look. “If you’re jealous, I can tell her to put on some clothes the next time she comes over to clean my place.”

“I'm not jealous,” I immediately insist.

That eyebrow goes right back up again. “So, you just trashed Charlie's store because you wanted latex gloves, bandages, cotton swabs, and antiseptic wipes that damn bad?”

Okay, did he have to rattle off my exact list? And yeah, maybe I was a little jealous. But there's no way I'm telling him that.

“Yes,” I answer with a completely straight face. “That's exactly why I trashed his store. I care deeply about my patients. And he was delaying my ability to serve them with his needless requirement for your approval.”

I take a much-needed step back from the looming biker and clear my throat. “So, if you could just tell Charlie to approve all my orders going forward, as well as whoever you find to take over the medical trailer when I get out of here, I’d appreciate that. And I’m sure my replacement will too.”

His smile finally disappears. “So, you're still trying to hatch schemes to leave?”

“I'm not one of your mindless minions, Waylon,” I answer, folding my arms. “I'm not just going to stay here because you tell me to.”

It doesn’t matter that I took a step away, that I folded my arms across my chest defensively. He snakes a long arm around my waist to pull me into his body.

“I know you're going to try to run again,” he murmurs into the side of my neck. “And I’m not going to let you get away. That's why my dick was so hard when I burned all your shit.”

He rubs his nose along that weird erogenous zone he found last time as he says this.

Cue the brain fuzz. What he’s telling me, what he’s admitting—it’s so wrong. Not to mention crazy. But his wrong, crazy words stir something they shouldn’t below my waist.

And even though I’m not particularly religious, I have to shove him away with a, “Not today, Satan. I've just brought life into this world with nothing except a bunch of sanitized towels and old ladies for assistance. I'm not going to let you take this feeling away from me. So, if you'll excuse me.”