With his large, tan hands, he rubs his muscled neck, and I’m struck by his sheer presence. Up close he’s even more beautiful… and huge, with dark, almost-black hair, tan skin, and full lips. He’s a giant-sized man, which should intimidate me, but instead, his size makes me feel strangely secure.
Maybe it’s just him? It has to be. I’ve never felt like this ever. I need to go, but now I have to meet the Prez? That must mean president of the gang, or club I think Gia calls it. Club sounds way better than gang, so I’m sticking with that.
“Come on.” He inclines his head and I nod, following, ignoring this attraction that has made me question my sanity, ignoring all the curious faces that stare at us as I pass.
Though I try to smile, my lips twitch with terror. Surely I look insane, having screamed for help mere moments ago.
If this wasn’t actually happening to me, I wouldn’t believe it. But it’s happening. I’m about to come face to face with a real live president of a biker club. All I can do is trust Khal Drogo.
He stops at a black wooden door and pounds on it while I stare at his broad back. His black leather vest has wings and a dagger on it.
Holy God.
“I can’t do this,” I announce as the door opens and a tall, redheaded man stares at us. He frowns and brings a bottle of Jack to his lips.
“Oh my God. I can’t—”
“You’re fine,” Drogo snaps, placing his hand on the lower part of my back.
My pulse races. I have to stop all this. Despite already having a bad reputation with this guy, I have no reason to be scared or think I’m going to be murdered in this room. Besides, that redheaded, tan guy is freaking hot and won’t move out of the doorway.
I’m doomed. God, I have to stop watching dark, twisted TV shows. That, and my love for horror movies has made me act like a raving lunatic.
“Edge, get the fuck out of the way.” Drogo pushes the redhead back. He smiles as I pass.
What is going on? Glancing around the room, I feel like this is a dream, or I’m in an episode of the Twilight Zone. It’s dark and smells like booze and smoke. Tons of neon beer signs hang on the sad-looking, dull walls along with a giant, beat-up wooden table in the middle.
Axel, Gia’s brother, stands shirtless, feet apart, holding a large purple bong. Thank God it’s dark in here.
“Julianna.” He inhales, then hands the bong to a blond guy sitting at the head of the table with booted feet propped on the edge as he rocks back in his chair.
An hour ago, Axel Fontaine saying my name would have made me tongue-tied and flustered. But after witnessing Drogo and the woman, Axel seems pretty tame. He pulls out a chair, and on an exhale, grunts, “Sit.”
The stink of marijuana instantly replaces all the odors in the large room as Drogo takes my arm and I automatically sit. At this point, I’m rolling with it. The blond guy, who must be the Prez, lets his boots drop with a loud thud and lights up the bong. The loud water sounds like coffee being brewed with all that bubbling and percolating or whatever going on.
When I look up, Drogo’s right there, not sitting and not leaving. Perfect. I’m sure he’s waiting for the signal and then boom, I’m dumped in a shallow grave.
“Ryder, why the fuck is my sister’s best friend screaming that Drogo is going to kill her?” I turn to look at Axel, then back at Drogo who is apparently named Ryder, then over at the blond god of a president sitting at the head of the table.
“I’m so sorry. I’m… that is, I was early.” I clear my throat. The smoke is so thick it’s almost like I’m sitting inside a cloud. Axel raises a dark brow and grins at me, then leans over for a pack of cigarettes. Though I’m trying hard to stay focused on the neon sign over his head, his naked chest is beyond distracting.
Jeez, he’s hot. Not anywhere as magnificent as Drog—Ryder—but to be honest, I’ve never met a man like the one standing behind me. What happened upstairs? Was he trying to scare me or kiss me? Either way, I need to get Gia and leave.
“You’re early.” Axel lights a cigarette, eyes narrowing on me as I squirm in my seat, racking my brain to make sure he didn’t say to show up at a certain time. No, he didn’t. All he told me was to get his sister out of his room as fast as possible.
“I’m a morning person,” I say to the blond president who snorts at this. He pushes out of his seat and stands, and my eyes widen. Granted he’s large, but what makes me stare is the energy, the power that radiates off him.