“The King family is pretty important here, from what I’ve heard. So what is a son of the Kings doing in an underground fighting den, trading punches with bikers?”
“Why does it matter to you?”
She shrugs. “It doesn’t, really. I’m just curious.”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Fair enough.” Pixie takes a left turn, swinging into a residential area that looks pretty rundown, on the very outskirts of Blackmoor. “Not the sharing type. I can dig that.”
I lean back against the seat, closing my eyes and wishing for sleep. I already knew coming here was a mistake. I’m horny as hell, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want Pixie. I want Athena, and if I can’t have her—well, then I want a hard drink to take the edge off and my own bed. Not a strange apartment and a girl that has some expectations of a good time. “Look, Pixie, it was nice for you to invite me here, but it’d probably be better if you just took me back.”
“We’re here.” She kills the engine. “Just come up and let me take care of your hands. Or are you going to tell me there’s someone back at your house that’ll do it for you?”
I suppress a snort. There’s no chance of that. Athena is probably getting railed right now by Dean. Cayde wouldn’t help me if I asked him pretty please—probably even less likely to if I did that—and there’s no one else there who might give me a hand. Brooke maybe, but I haven’t fallen so far that I’m going to beg the maid to help bandage me up.
“Fine,” I say shortly. “But I’m not staying long.”
Pixie shrugs. “Suit yourself.”