Raw and Dirty (Bad Boys MC Trilogy #1) (21 page)

And now … what the hell am I supposed to do with his rat of a wife?

My eyes slide shut and I let the cool breeze tease my face for a while. This is one of those times where I really wish I had an old lady, someone I could talk to about everything, someone that I knew I could trust, that I could hold, kiss, fuck. Someone that was all mine.

My mind flickers with images of Lyric's face as I open my eyes and stare up at the stars.

She can never be mine. But that doesn't stop me from wanting her.

“Call me,” I say, pointing a finger at him and making a snap decision, “and if a woman answers, just tell her to give me the bloody phone.”

I wrap my wet hair in a towel and slip into my fluffiest bathrobe, stepping over the pile of leather clothes in my bedroom and refusing to give them a second glance. I'm still not exactly sure what happened between Royal and me, but I know it was … weird. And irresponsible.
And hot as hell.
That's why I'm on my second shower of the day—one before grocery shopping and one after. But it hasn't helped. I can still feel Royal's hands on my hips, his body slamming into mine.

A shiver crawls down my spine and I shake my hands out, trying to draw in a deep breath. Doesn't matter. It's over now. Tomorrow, when he comes here, I won't let things spiral out of control again. I'm going to get him to sign those fucking papers if it kills me.

I ignore the buzzing of my phone. I already called into the office and told Kailey that I wasn't feeling well. Right now, there's nobody that could be calling that I'd even remotely want to talk to.
Not even Royal?
I purse my lips at the thought and stubbornly refuse to look at the phone. What I need right now is a book, a glass of wine, and a night alone on the couch.
Heaven.

I head back into the living room/kitchen area and pause, staring at the sea of grocery bags on my center island. I should probably put everything away, but right now, all I care about is the bottle of Chardonnay and the frozen pizza hidden in there somewhere.

I pad across the room and start digging through them when the doorbell sounds, making me jump.
Is it him?
The fact that that's my first thought disturbs me. Why should I care if Royal McBride is standing on my doorstep? I mean, even if he is, he could just be here to get his truck, right?

I sigh and make sure my robe's secured tightly around me, walking to the door and checking out the peephole.

It's Brent.

Shit. Doesn't anybody call anymore?!

And then I remember that I haven't checked my phone since I left the Alpha Wolves Compound.

I square my shoulders and reach up to run my hands through my hair when I realize I'm still wearing the towel. Tugging it off, I toss it onto the couch and tousle the damp strands, trying to make myself look at least somewhat presentable before I open the door.

“Brent,” I say, feigning false cheer as I open it and find him standing there in a black suit and tan tie, clean cut and gleaming like a new penny. It's as I stand there looking at him on my porch that I realize something.

I think I hate him.

When Brent smiles and looks me up and down, I feel my stomach churn, remembering the day he dumped me and showed up that same night at a party with my roommate on his arm.
Why did I call him anyway?
Because he's just a means to an end, because I need this deal with the Wolves.
Because I'm an idiot.

“Well, hello Lyric Rentz,” he says and it's an effort to make myself keep smiling. No, I don't just think I hate him. I actually do. Hate him, I mean. “I've been calling you all day, but you didn't answer. I was starting to think one of those bikers scooped you up and dragged you back to their cave.” He laughs, but I can't seem to find anything funny in that statement. Partially, I think, because it's almost true.

“I'm kind of in the middle of something, Brent,” I say, gesturing randomly in the direction of my living room. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I was just thinking,” he says, lifting up a bottle of wine in his left hand that I hadn't noticed before. “That we could sit and talk for a while?”

“I'm a little,” I gesture at my robe this time, “indisposed, you know? Maybe we could meet for lunch tomorrow instead?” Brent raises his eyebrows at me, like he's not used to being turned down, glancing over at the big red truck sitting conspicuously in the center of my driveway. I honestly considered dropping my groceries off and then parking it a few blocks away so nobody I knew would see it. But … after the day I've just had, I couldn't bring myself to care. If Mrs. Elden calls my mom and tattles on me, then so what?

“We could,” he says, his voice dropping flirtatiously, fingers reaching out and hooking on the neckline of my robe. “But lunch seems so impersonal. I didn't come here to talk business, Lyric.” As politely as I can, I push his hand away with a small laugh.

“Well, Brent, I don't know if you noticed but I'm a little
busy
right now.” I gesture at the truck and raise my eyebrows. Whatever conclusion he decides to come to because of that is his problem. “Maybe some other time.”

Brent's frown deepens as he looks at the truck for a long moment and then turns his attention back to me.

“Your brother says you had a meeting with the Wolves' president today? How did that go?” I keep smiling.

“Brent.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hand, palm out in mock surrender. “I was just asking because I found out some information today that I think you should know.” I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms over my chest. “I don't know if you've talked with your brother today, but I told him he should come over and be the one to tell you this.” He pauses for dramatic effect as I study his face, his bright blue eyes and perfect blond hair. I used to think Brent was the most attractive man I'd ever seen.

After meeting Royal, I think I've rewritten all my rules.

I shiver again and goosebumps climb up my arms.

“He doesn't want you going over there anymore. It isn't safe.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, my eyes moving past him and scanning the street. I have that same feeling of being watched that I did a few days ago. It feels different this time, though, but I can't figure out why. I still get the chills and my palms still go clammy, but I'm not afraid. “If you didn't think I should be going over there, why not just tell me? My brother isn't my keeper, Brent.” I stare him straight in the face, but I can see that he doesn't take me any more seriously now than he did in college.

“Lyric,” Brent says, glancing over his shoulder like he can feel the eyes on us, too. “Remember how I told you about my informant?” I nod, still not understanding why he's sharing information that should be classified. When he looks back at me, his expression is grave. “Lyric, he's dead.”

My eyes go wide and my knees feel weak. I have to reach out a hand and put it against the doorjamb just to stay upright. I knew it in my heart, knew it but didn't want to believe it. Royal, or someone acting under Royal's orders, probably killed this guy. All because of me. Because I'd called Brent, because he'd gotten in touch with this guy.

“And we know the president was directly involved in the murder. I know he seems like an okay guy, Lyric, but he's dangerous as hell. Now, I can't tell you all the details, but I'm hoping this'll all be cleared up soon. For now, both Sully and I think it's best if you avoid having any contact with the Alpha Wolves.” My gaze snaps up to his face. Something in his voice …

“What are you doing, Brent?” I ask him, trying to pull the secrets from his eyes that I can feel roiling under his skin. “What the hell are you and Sully doing?”

“It has nothing to do with you, Lyric,” he says, changing his tone now that he's dropped his bomb, seen me punished for turning him down. “Don't worry about it. One way or another, Sully and I will make sure the Wolves fall in line.”

My hand reaches out and curls around his arm, not because I care what he does, not really, but because I know that this crap, it all started because of me, because I got too ambitious, too desperate to please my father, to follow in his footsteps. I didn't just want to be his extra daughter anymore, his tag along, his assistant. I wanted to prove myself and now I feel like I'm standing on a crumbling precipice.

A man is dead. My brother and Brent are up to something. And I think … I think I'm falling in love with a motorcycle club president.

“Brent, don't mess with these people. Go home. This wasn't supposed to turn into anything serious. It's gotten out of control, and I don't want to see anyone else get hurt.” Brent pushes my hand away, the same way I did his.

“Don't worry about it, Lyric. Things are under control. You asked me out here to put pressure on the club, and I did. But things have changed. This isn't just your game anymore.” He smiles once more at me and turns away, even as I reach out for his suit jacket, my fingers sliding along the fabric and my heart shattering in my chest.

Somebody's going to get hurt in all of this.

Brent, Sully, me. Maybe even Royal.

Somehow, it's that last one that seems to hurt the most.

My blood is boiling and my fingers are clenched tight around the handlebars of my bike.

The bloody fucking fuck is that blond douche bitch doing in front of Lyric's place?
I watch their exchange with a mounting rage that I can't explain or control, the frenzied need I felt to get over here amplifying as I watch her reach out and cling to his suit jacket. I know we've only known each other a few days, but how can she not feel this stupid fucking burning need that's making me clench my teeth and do stupid shit like drive all the way out here to see her.

I watch as Brent turns and walks away while Lyric slams her front door like she's upset. My eyes track the man's movements as he heads to his car and unlocks the doors. Part of me wants to get this whole thing over with and go bash his head in with my hammer, but I know that's not necessary. Lyric and whatever relationship he has with her aside, Brent is already scheduled to disappear.

You're acting like a crazy person, Royal,
I tell myself, closing my eyes and taking several deep breaths. I've never been the jealous type, never cared enough about a girl to give a shit about what she did with other men. I shouldn't care now. Royal and me, we're strangers from two different worlds.

But I want her anyway.

All of this bullshit I'm feeling, it's gotta be just a side effect of all the crap that's going down with the club, right? I tap my fingers against the handlebars and try to make myself leave, go home, cool off a bit.

Screw that.

I start my bike up and ease into Lyric's driveway, tossing my helmet on the grass as I climb off and stalk up to the front door. I don't even bother to knock, turning the handle and stepping inside with a million things on my lips that I want to say to her.

When she spins to face me in her white bathrobe, tears streaming down her face, all of those words disappear in a rush of feeling, in a desperate need to scoop her into my arms and hold her tight, soothe away her pain and destroy whoever the fuck it was that caused it.

“What the bloody hell did he do to you?” I ask her, my voice edgy and broken, my hands clenched into fists by my sides. “Tell me, Lyric, but I swear to God if he hurt you, I'll fucking kill him.”

“He didn't hurt me,” she says, swiping her arm across her eyes. “I don't give a shit about him.” She sniffles, sucking in a sharp breath as she tries to gather herself together. I stay rooted to the spot, afraid to find out what I'll do if I walk over there, if I touch her, hold her. “In fact, I think I just realized today that I hate him.”

I smile, but it only lasts for a second, fading away as she looks over at me like she's never seen me before. Was I too rough in the chapel? Did I scare her away?

“Look, Pint-Size,” I begin, but she's already shaking her head.

“No,” she says, glancing away. “No, no, this is my fault. I just … things between us have been happening so fast that I … it's crazy, I know.” Lyric stands up straight and runs her fingers through her wet hair.