He whirled around and charged toward her.
“Spec!” Curly called.
He wasn’t going to hit the bitch. Just get her to fucking leave.
“Get the hell out!” he screamed in her face.
Fear flashed in her eyes. Deke’s eyes. Though it was only for a second, he took satisfaction in knowing he got to her.
“Get. Out,” he said again in the measured tone he’d been told terrified anyone who heard it.
He’d be seeing those eyes in his nightmares tonight right alongside Deke’s disgust at how Scott treated his sister. One more thing to torture the few hours of sleep his body granted.
“Fuck it.” He was the one who needed to get out. Maybe a ride would clear his head and relax his body.
Though nothing could redeem his soul.
CHAPTER THREE
COLD WASHED OVER Olivia. She was frigid to her bones.
If he’d slapped her, she wouldn’t have been as stunned.
This was the man Deke called brother? This was the best friend he’d boasted saved his sanity after their father disowned him? The one he claimed women threw themselves at? This neanderthal in faded jeans and a too-tight T-shirt that made his muscles bulge like he was about to film a thirst trap. Well, he could save that shit for his OnlyFans site. She wasn’t impressed, and she wasn’t intimidated.
She wasn’t attracted either.
Mostly.
Just because she hadn’t saved a million people in the Army like he and Deke had didn’t make her a lesser person.
Didn’t make her a damn princess.
God, she hated that nickname. Her entire life, people called her a princess. First as a term of endearment, then as an insult.
It was part of the reason she’d started taking online classes with the goal of going to veterinarian school. At twenty-five, she was still incredibly young but already felt like she’d wasted so many years on fluff. Lance’s infidelity shocked her out of her cushy existence and made her realize she’d been coasting along without contributing to society. Marrying rich and becoming a trophy wife was what was expected of someone like her—a woman raised with privilege, money, and an easy life. Looking at it now, she felt like such a fool. So she did what she always did when those strong emotions wanted to take over.
She acted as frigid as she felt. Her go-to shield to protect her from the judgment and criticism of others.
“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” she said to the jerk’s retreating form, forcing herself to sound superior. As though she were a queen—not a freaking princess—talking to a peon. Words were the only weapon she had against him, and like any cornered animal, she struck back. “If I’d known you were a dirty biker in a gang, I never would’ve wasted my time coming here. Good thing I’ve had my shots.”
He mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘bitch’ as he stormed outside.
What the hell was she supposed to do now?
Where could she go? She was tired, hungry, and very much done with sleeping in seedy motels. The drive from Chicago had taken days, and the decade and a half old Chrysler she’d traded in her BMW for didn’t quite measure up as far as comfort and amenities. But Lance would never suspect she’d get a crappy car, so that’s what she’d gone with because the texts she’d received before ditching her phone chilled her spine and made her wonder how on earth she’d ever spend a minute in Lance’s presence, let alone loved the man. He’d threatened her with every vile act in the book and truly terrified her.
The door slammed behind Scott, making her flinch. Now that he’d left, a hush fell over the room. Olivia felt the weight of numerous judgmental eyes on her.
Men she’d just called dirty bikers. She swallowed a rising lump of fear and kept her face as unaffected as possible. They stared at her with varying levels of disgust, and she gave it right back with a superior glare of her own.
They’d never know she trembled on the inside.
Wrinkling her nose as though she couldn’t stand the smell any longer, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, then strutted toward the exit Scott had just disappeared through. Let them stare. They didn’t need to know how broken she was beneath her expensive clothes.
With each step, her Louboutins clacked on the concrete floor like gunshots.
Hopefully, the noises weren’t foreshadowing her fate if Lance found her. He’d made it perfectly clear he wanted to find her and make her life hell.
You’ll never escape me, and I can’t wait until we’re back together.
She shivered. As she reached the door, a woman’s voice yelled out, “Wait!”
“Christ. Brooke, not your business,” one of the men called out.
Olivia turned as the woman she assumed was Brooke ran up to her. “Hi!” she said, slightly out of breath. “I’m Brooke. Curly’s ol’ lady.”
Olivia guessed Brooke as older by fifteen years at least. Pretty in a natural way. In fact, she couldn’t spot a stitch of makeup on Brooke’s face. Who knew the last time she’d left her house without makeup? Probably when she was thirteen. Hell, she rarely had a naked face in the comfort of her own home. The mask of concealers and color gave her strength and confidence.