Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC Tennessee 1)

Frustration sends the hair on the back of my neck on end. I’ll deal with him later.

But for now, I watch from the shadows as Bronte scans the room for me. When she finds me draped in Lulu, she pauses, and her jaw tightens. I go rigid in my chair as hurt ripples across her face.

I don’t want to fucking hurt her, and every cell of my being wants to go over there and kiss that hurt from her lips.

But this is a good thing.

Let her see me as the bad guy.

Let her hate me.

Not just because I deserve it, but because she needs to find another way to feel about me.

I want you to kiss me again, Jack. Her words echo in my mind, and my body aches to do just that.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

She fixes her eyes to mine, and for a moment I wonder if she’s going to cross the room to confront me because Bronte has always been one not to shy away from confrontation. She won’t let anyone treat her this way. She’s usually sassy and fierce. She has balls.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she turns her back on me and walks over to the bar where she slides her perfect ass onto a stool.

Within seconds, Merrick is by her side.

Merrick, our very own Prince Charming.

He’s a good-looking kid with bright blue eyes and the kind of body you see on the cover of a romance book. The club girls flock to him like seagulls on a fucking French fry. Dolly says he looks like a young Elvis Presley.

All the girls fall for his pretty-boy looks, and I wonder if Merrick will have the same effect on Bronte as he does the other women. Will she be seduced by his too-blue eyes and model looks?

The biting heat of jealousy nips at my guts until I can barely stand it. My fists tighten at my sides.

Lulu brushes her lips to my ear. “I’d really like to suck your cock.”

Her words barely register because my eyes are fixed firmly on Bronte across the room. She laughs at something Merrick says, and her sweet curves turn toward him, her eyes shining up at him.

Anger pours viciously and unexpectedly into my chest.

“How about it, Jack? Want to take me to your room so I can fuck you good?”

Again, Lulu’s words don’t compute because all I can see is Bronte flirting with Merrick. When he pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, it’s about all I can take. I stand up so fast, Lulu has to jump out of my way to steady herself.

“What the hell,” she yelps.

Ignoring her, I storm over to Bronte and Merrick. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Merrick gets the message real quick and disappears faster than lightning.

Bronte glares at me, her eyes roaring with wildfire. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”

“The clubhouse isn’t for you,” I growl. My tone is rougher than I intended but completely indicative of how seeing her with Merrick made me feel.

“Why? Am I cramping your style?” She looks over my shoulder to where Lulu had given me a lap dance. “Looked like you were seconds away from taking her to your fuck room.” She shrugs. “By all means, don’t let me stop you.”

“That wasn’t going to happen.”

“Looked like it to me. Seriously, go fuck your dancer. I’m sure I’ll find someone to keep me company while I’m here.”

“You need to go home, Bronte.”

Her eyes gleam with fire. “Oh, it’s Bronte now. Is Mr. President getting all serious on me?”

“I’m only going to say it the one time,” I warn.

“You’re not my father.”

“No, but I’m old enough to be him.”

Our eyes lock, my words driving home the point that I’m too old for her, and that neither of us has any business thinking otherwise.

“I’m not a damn child,” she snaps.

I look at Dolly. “Call her a cab. She’s going home. I’ll make sure one of the prospects rides out behind it and makes sure she stays at home.”

“I’m not going,” Bronte says.

I ignore her statement. “And make sure she gets in the goddamn cab, will you?”

Without another word, I storm away and disappear into the shadows of the clubhouse.

BRONTE

Humiliation burns in my cheeks as I watch him walk away.

He thinks I’m a kid.

But I’m not.

And the sooner he realizes it, the better.

I turn back toward the bar and slap my palms onto the polished timber. “A shot of King’s Pride. Thanks, Dolly.”

She raises one perfectly drawn eyebrow at me. “You sure, honey?”

“I’m over twenty-one, Dolly.”

“The cab Jack wanted me to call is on its way.”

“Well, then, we’ll have to make it a quick one, won’t we?”

Reluctantly, Dolly pours me a shot of the white lightning, and without hesitation, I throw it back. Unfortunately, I’m not used to hard liquor, and the fiery liquid burned a flaming path down my throat and into my gut. I wheeze out a cough. “Fuck!”