Focused, I head down the hall, straight through the common space where the party is still in full swing, and right out the front door of the clubhouse. My heels only sink into the gravel of the parking lot once as I stride toward the gate that has held me prisoner for far too long. Determination is on my mind, but my throat hasn’t gotten the memo.
“Pete, open the d-damn gate,” I stammer.
“No can do Sweet-Tart,” comes from the other side. “Briar just texted and said you have two minutes to get your ass back inside before he has to report your absence to Prez.”
With the way that Lynch was acting earlier, I don’t imagine that he cares if I leave.
“Lynch wants me gone,” I argue.
“Let me verify,” Pete says, and I imagine he’s sending a text message to the asshole inside.
“Forget it,” I hiss and turn back around. Seeing Lynch again, either with the confirmation that he wants me gone or in some possessive fit to keep me here, isn’t what I want. Plus, it’s after midnight, and I don’t have any other place to go.
No one seems to notice me when I walk back inside, my eyes searching for my friend. She’s right where I left her, only the group of people around her has thinned out. I know where one of the girls is that I’d considered a friend a few short hours ago. I push down the pain and sense of betrayal Xena has caused this evening and walk toward my friend.
“Are you ready to go back to the house?” I ask Molly the second she looks at me.
Her frown is telling. I’m not hiding my distress as well as I need to.
“I think going to bed is a great idea.” I don’t even look at Briar as he walks up behind my friend.
Molly’s expectant eyes turn to Briar, and I notice her inability to turn her head without swaying on her feet. She’s still drunk. And why wouldn’t she be?
She didn’t get used and practically slapped in the face right after having sex with someone. Briar doesn’t touch the girls. He doesn’t call one of the women in to suck his cock while she watches, and I don’t imagine he’d replace one hole to fuck with another only moments later.
If you had pleased him, he wouldn’t need Xena for a follow-up fuck.
My masochistic brain chooses now to stab me in the back. Fresh tears pool on my lashes as my brain works on another memory. Vixen sucked him off, and he was still hard. One woman is never enough to please him. A weak smile attempts to form at my lips, but I’m just too over today for it to come to fruition.
I’m not the problem.
Xena isn’t the problem.
Vixen isn’t the problem.
Lynch is a bitter, emotionless prick who’s never satisfied.
That shit is on him, not us.
The only difference between Xena, Vixen, and myself is that I’m not here to service him whenever he calls. Lynch just became my first one and done. What’s good for the goose and all that.
“To bed, Molly.” Briar catches my friend’s arm and turns her toward the kitchen.
“Dream about me,” she slurs as I wrap an assistive arm around her waist.
“Every fucking night of my life,” he mutters as we walk away, but I don’t think she heard him.
The trek to the house takes forever. Ronan chats with us some when we get to the kitchen, and navigating the steps off the back porch seems more like trying to walk under water.
TJ is reclined in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch of Lynch’s house. Legs, as if it’s her new mailing address, is settled between his feet with her lips wrapped around his dick.
I ignore them and don’t think Molly even notices as we walk past them and into the house. I’m counting the minutes until I can leave this damn place and put Lynch far behind me.Chapter 17Lynch
“Did you hear a damn word I just said?”
Looking over at Briar, I just stare.
I stopped listening the second he mentioned Candi.
“She’s not cut out for this type of life, man. If she wants to leave, you need to let her go.”
“Boston needs help with the books,” I counter.
“Hornet isn’t even working on the books.” Anger rushes over me. That motherfucker knows what his expectations are. “And before you wrap a fucking noose around his neck, keep in mind you sent him to Detroit for a damn week. He can’t get shit done if you don’t let him work.”
A grunt is all he gets in concession.
“But seriously, man. I know you’re an unhappy person, and nothing ever fucking goes right for you, but you’re extra surly lately.”
“You have more important things to worry about than my mood,” I mutter as I bring my cup to my mouth and swallow down the hot creamy mixture.