“Thank you.” She studies me from head to toe. “You clean up nice too. Good choice for this thing.”
I huff out a laugh. “Dawson took me aside to give me some pointers. I think he was worried I’d embarrass the shit out of Shelby.”
She shifts, angling herself toward me. “I’m impressed. I haven’t met a lot of bikers, hell men in general, who would admit that.”
I shrug. “What’s the point of lying?”
“Indeed.”
“Logan!” Shelby’s anxious voice yanks my attention to the right.
She frantically waves her hands at me to join her. Ignoring the red-carpet cop, I step over the velvet rope barrier and join Shelby in front of a white background with the event’s logo scattered all over it.
A photographer crouches in front of us. “Very nice. Shelby’s boyfriend, could you put your arm around her, please?”
Laughing, I slip my arm around her waist. She leans into me and rests her hand on my chest.
“Thank you. Next.”
“Phew.” Shelby takes my hand and continues following the red carpet. “Sorry about that.” She glances over her shoulder.
“Nah, I think ‘Shelby’s boyfriend’ should be my new road name.”
She snickers. “I’m sure your club would love that.”
Finally, we’re inside the theater. The temperature drops to a tolerable level. Shelby stops, staring at the sea of people in front of her. Tension ripples through her body.
“Chin up,” I remind her. “You’re Shelby fucking Morgan.”
“I don’t recognize anyone,” she whispers.
Shit, in my own world, I’d have no problem walking up to whoever I wanted and opening up a conversation. Here, I’m not sure if that will help or hurt Shelby. And I sure as shit don’t have anything in common with anyone here.
“Glad that’s over with,” Dawson says from behind us. He claps his hand on my shoulder. “How was that first red-carpet walk? Fun?”
“Not exactly.”
He slaps my back. “You did fine.”
He ends up taking Angelina and Shelby around the room to introduce them to people. Relieved, I pull up a seat at the bar and watch them work the room. Shelby’s stiff posture and frozen smile betray how nervous she is—to me, I doubt anyone else would notice— but she handles the pressure well. She shakes hands, chats, and generally seems to charm everyone she comes into contact with.
“You’re Shelby’s White Knight, correct?” a soft voice says next to me.
I glance down at a wisp of a woman in a short, strapless, glittering, light green dress. Hair piled high on her head. She reminds me of someone who just stepped off the set of an Eighties soap opera. Something about her face clangs an alarm bell in my head.
Glenna Wilson.
My fist curls around the glass in my hand and I set it on the bar before I shatter it.
“You’re lucky you’re still breathing,” I say in a low, controlled voice. “But that luck can change.”
She blinks, long spiky lashes looking like little twigs stuck to her eyelids. “You’re not bothered Dawson’s showing her off like his prized puppy?”
I unload a murderous biker stare on her. “You’re not concerned I might drag you out back and slit your throat?”
She scoffs and gestures toward the security guards stationed by the door, but one of her trembling hands strays to her neck, undermining her confidence.
“Lady, you don’t know me or what I’m capable of.”
Her mask of bravery slips another notch. “Is the girl in red with Dawson?”
“All you need to know is she’s someone you don’t want to fuck with.”
She lifts her pointy chin in defiance. “Are you so sure Shelby’s not sleeping with Dawson?”
It’s been a while since this bitch has lived in the real world. Her fame and wealth must prevent her from sensing danger.
“Didn’t you fuck his best friend?” I make an exaggerated show of searching the area behind her. “What’s wrong? That relationship didn’t stick?”
Her jaw tightens. Guess I poked a soft spot. She spins around, but I grab her arm right above the thick diamond cuff encircling her wrist and yank her back. Not hard enough to harm. But enough to get her attention.
She wobbles in her heels for a second before slapping her free hand against the bar to maintain her balance.
With my fingers wrapped tight around her wrist, pinning her arm to her side, I lean in close. “Listen and hear what I’m saying. You and I both know what you did. You got off lucky when Suggs died. Seek counseling, shock therapy, a spirit cleansing, or whatever the fuck your type does to get over your obsession with Dawson and every female he comes into contact with.”
Her blazing eyes meet mine and she jerks her shoulder, but my grip is relentless.
“You’re hurting me,” she whines.
“Good. That’s a fraction of the pain Shelby suffered.”
Her eyes widen.
“Never crossed your mind that she’d get hurt, did it?”
“No,” she whispers. “I thought he’d send her some letters. Scare her off the tour, maybe she’d go back to Texas…” her voice trails off as her eyes dart around, seeking an escape or someone to intervene and rescue her from my bruising grip.