Rake's Redemption (Wind Dragons Motorcycle Club) (9 page)

“What makes you think it’s not Irish?”

I make a face. “My common sense?”

He smirks, then licks his lips. “How about a kiss? I’ll tell you then.”

I purse my lips and wrinkle my nose. “I already fell for that one with Talon.”

Irish scowls, his fingers tightening on his bottle. “You kissing men from other clubs now? Where’s the loyalty, Bailey?”

“I don’t belong to anyone, and I wouldn’t have even met any other bikers if it wasn’t for Anna and Lana, so you take that up with them,” I reply in a curt tone. Speaking of . . . I look to see both of them on the dance floor with their men. Arrow isn’t dancing, just watching Anna shaking her ass in front of him, but Tracker’s grinding behind Lana, pressing his penis against her ass.

Not one shit is given.

“What happened to you finding a woman?” I ask when he says nothing further on that topic.

“I’m looking,” he says, lips twitching. “I take my time, look around. See what the night has to offer.”

“And then?”

“And then if someone catches my eye, I’ll make my move,” he replies. “If I have to go home alone, I will, rather than lower my standards. I don’t own any beer goggles, unlike most men.”

I put my drink down on the table. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an asshole?”

“All the time.”

“So what happens after you’ve screwed her? Bone and bail? Even though she apparently meets your very high standards?” I ask, tapping my short red fingernails on the bar.

He shrugs and tilts his head back, downing his drink.

Jerk.

“Have you heard of the term
fuckboy
? There’s some new lingo for you,” I continue, standing up from the barstool when I hear “One Last Time” by Ariana Grande play.

“Not a boy, lady,” Irish replies gruffly. “I’m a man. I don’t play games. Women know what they’re getting with us: there are no lies or pretty words involved. And when I meet the woman who’s meant to be mine, I will treat her like a fuckin’ queen. Until then though, everything is a game.”

I nod my head, acknowledging that as the truth. “You’re right, I guess.”

Besides, who am I to judge?

I turn my head back to the dance floor, mouthing the lyrics to the song. Anna spoke to the DJ, who started suddenly playing
songs I can’t imagine bikers liking. The way Irish cringes tells me that I’m right. I love how the men give in to the women, at least over things like this. And it’s the little things that matter.

“I love this song,” I say, starting to move my hips to the music.

“You would,” Irish grumbles from beside me.

Tracker walks up to me and grabs my hand, pulling me to the dance floor. When I resist, he simply grins. “Come on, if I have to dance to this bullshit, then so do you.”

“I like this song,” I tell him, letting him pull me along behind him. He stops next to Lana, putting me in between them, then starts to dance. Looking into Lana’s amused gaze, I dance, a little awkwardly at first, until I get into it. By the time the next song starts, Lana and I are practically grinding on each other and I can feel Tracker’s warmth behind me. Still, he doesn’t touch my body or cross any lines. When Irish comes and pulls me by my hand, I go with him, dancing with him without our bodies touching. He spins me around, and even though he’s not as good of a dancer as Tracker, he’s not bad either.

“Ardan,” he says into my ear, making me jump a little.

I glance up at him. “What?”

“My name”—he smirks—“is Ardan.”

I smile widely. “Nice to meet you, Ardan.”

We dance for another song, until a woman with a seriously nice ass catches his eye, then he leaves me with Tracker again to make a play for her.

“She’s hot,” Anna says, grabbing my waist and dancing behind me. “Should we get a drink?”

I nod, desperately wanting some water. We walk back up to the bar and order some water. When I hear Anna mutter “Oh
fuck” under her breath, I turn around, bottle of water in my hand, and look in front of us.

Adam.

Why is he here? Tracker told him . . .

When I see the woman with him, my body instantly goes on shutdown. On protection mode. My emotions disappear. Anything for self-preservation. How much of a dick can he be? I instantly feel bad for being so hard on Irish, when it’s clear Rake is the real asshole here. He knew I was here; he knew. Yes, I wasn’t meant to be here, but he could have made this pleasant by staying away. I guess that isn’t really fair though: he’s allowed to be with any woman he wants; it doesn’t really make him a bad person. I think the fact that it still hurts me is more concerning, and I have a feeling that if the situation was reversed, and I was here with another man, he wouldn’t be reacting by ignoring me.

How does he still have the power to hurt me after all these years? They say time heals everything, but it doesn’t. It dulls the pain, yes, but seeing this right here, rips open all the old wounds. Keeping my expression as blank as I can, I avoid Adam’s eyes, even though I can feel them on me, and turn around to face the bar again.

He isn’t mine.

And I don’t want him to be.

Then why does this hurt so much?

“Do you want to dance some more?” I ask Anna and Lana, who are both studying me a little too closely for my liking.

Don’t show weakness.

I have two rules in my life. First, never let them see you bleed. And two, always have an escape plan.

“Yeah,” Lana replies. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

I shake my head.

Leaving now will give him power, will let him know that he still has a hold on me. I don’t want that. I should hate this man with everything I have, but I don’t, which kind of makes me hate myself.

I’ll never forgive him for the past, so it’s best to let things be. What I feel for Adam, what I’ll always feel for him is irrelevant. It’s warped. It’s wrapped in anger, hate, and distrust. Underneath all that, yes, there is love, but love isn’t enough, at least not this time. What could have been a fairy-tale love has now turned into nothing but pain and harsh cold reality.

“No, why would I?” I say, my poker face being tested now more than ever before. “I love this song!”

I wrap an arm around each of them and head back to the dance floor without looking in his direction.

A few songs later, when the girls return to the bar for another drink, I can’t exactly avoid him anymore. He speaks to them, while I stand on the other side, scanning the bar, looking anywhere except at him. The woman who was with him has disappeared; hopefully she left. Realistically she’s probably in the bathroom or on the dance floor. When a figure appears on my left side, I know it’s him, so I don’t look up.

“You gonna ignore me all night?” he asks, elbows on the bar. “I think I’m being pretty cool, since I told you I didn’t want to see you here again.”

I turn my head and narrow my eyes. “You said I can hang out with the girls, and everyone wanted to come here, and they wanted me to come with them. Maybe you should stop being so petty and just let it go. You didn’t have to show up here tonight.”

“It’s my club,” he fires back. “I’ll show up here whenever the fuck I like.”

“Okay, fine,” I say, shrugging. “You own the club, but you don’t own me, so why don’t you just pretend like you don’t know me, and we can both have a good night. Just like I was doing before you decided to talk to me.”

“I’m not the boy you knew, Bailey. You can’t lead me around by the dick anymore. You have no idea who I am now, and it’s only because of our history that I’m cutting you some slack, but if you’re going to be hanging around my family, perhaps you should learn some fuckin’ respect.”

I make a sound of amusement. “I respect everyone else here.”

“Pretty sure you weren’t always such a bitch.”

“Like you said, we are different than who we used to be. You have no idea who I am now either. And I’m pretty sure you weren’t always such an asshole,” I fire back, then turn to leave, but he grips my upper arm in a firm hold.

“All you better do here tonight is dance and look pretty. You go near a man, I will end him, do you understand me?”

So he can flaunt his women around, but he expects me to stay away from men? Not that I’m on the prowl or anything. I’m legitimately here to dance and have a good time with my friends, but who does he think he is to decide that for me?

“Like I said, you don’t own me. If I want to hook up with a guy, I will. But don’t worry, I’m not as easy as the women you’re used to.”

Green eyes turn murky, and he stares at me like he wants to kill me. “Well, you set the standard, didn’t you? Apparently I just have shit taste in women.”

That line hits like a blow, and I can’t hide the wince that appears on my face.

“I hate you,” I say quietly. He flinches, but I don’t give a shit. “I don’t want to talk about anything to do with us. Ever. And you need to stop bringing it up.”

“The past is all there is between us,” he replies, looking away from me. “Every time I see you, all I see is what was, so how can you ask me to do that?”

“There is nothing there for us in the past!” I yell, turning away from him. “Nothing.”

“There’s nothing for us in the future too,” he adds simply.

I need to leave, to get away from him right now.

Because I am going to lose it.

My nose is tingling, a sure indication that I am going to cry. And I can’t let him see me break.

He makes me weak, and I hate it.

“Why don’t you just leave me alone? Flaunt whoever you want in front of me—I don’t give a shit. All I want is to try to have a good night without all the shit you bring to my life.”

“You probably should have thought about that before you broke my fuckin’ heart,” he snarls. “Fuckin’ hell, Bailey. It still hurts to see you. I can’t fuckin’ see you, don’t you get it? Yet at the same time, I can’t stay away. Knowing you’re here, it brings me here. It’s like I’m a sadist or something, asking for the pain of our fucked-up memories. I can’t help it.”

It hurts me too, and I know it’s my fault for not being honest with him about it. If I’m being honest with myself, half of me wants to protect him from what happened.

Okay, maybe more than half.

The rest of me doesn’t think he deserves to know the truth. Why should I bare my soul to him? He didn’t bother to talk to me, to even hear what I had to say after that night. He just cut
me out and moved on. How am I supposed to tell him what happened? How is he going to look at me after? If I say it out loud, it becomes real.

I don’t want it to be real.

I pull my arm out of his hold and walk to the bathroom, needing to gather myself. When the girls come after me, I put a smile on my face and pretend everything will be all right.

It has to be.

*   *   *

When midnight hits, like Cinderella, I figure it’s time to go home, since I have to be up at eight. After Adam disappeared into the VIP room, this time with two women, I didn’t see him again. He made a big show of it, making sure I saw, which made my blood boil. I wanted to go home then and there, but I stuck it out, not wanting him to win, and I tried to enjoy my night with the girls, to forget he was even here, even though all I could do was replay his words over and over in my head and picture what exactly he was doing to the two women in there with him. He’s definitely right about one thing—he’s changed, and I need to realize that so I can let everything in our past go. He’s not Adam, the sweet boy who stole my heart. He’s Rake, the man-whore asshole. As I’m about to call a taxi, Tracker tells me that one of the MC members can take me home.

“I can just take a taxi,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about it, Tracker.”

He shakes his head. “We always have someone here sober just in case. You’re not going home alone in a taxi, Bailey.”

Apparently his word is law, because he turns his back to
me and yells out for one of his men. I hear a rumble of motorcycles and turn my head toward the parking lot, where ten bikes pull in. Just how many men did they have in their MC? When Tracker and Arrow stand in front of Anna and Lana, as if protecting them, I have to wonder what the hell is going on. The tension in the air spikes as the men get off their bikes and approach us.

Irish grabs me and puts me behind him.

“Don’t say anything, and do as you’re told,” he commands me quietly. I nod, fear rendering me speechless. It’s clear that this is no macho posturing—something’s going down, something serious. I make myself as invisible as I can, sinking behind Irish and holding my arms around myself. Did stuff like this happen a lot? What am I supposed to do in these situations?

The other men advance until they’re mere feet in front of Irish and the rest, who are now standing shoulder to shoulder in front of me and the other girls.

“Any reason you’re at our club?” Arrow asks, in a calm yet deadly tone. I slowly peep around Irish and see that these men aren’t Wind Dragons. They have a different emblem on their cuts, and I’ve never seen any of them before.

“Just in the neighborhood,” one man says, stepping in front of the rest of his men. He looks to be in his early forties, with dark hair and olive skin. He looks over each man, before stopping on Arrow.

“Yeah,
our
neighborhood,” Tracker replies, sounding pissed off. “Get the fuck out of here, unless you want to have a problem.”

The club doors open and Adam comes out with a bald guy—Wolf, I think I heard one of the guys call him. Adam looks
around almost frantically until he sees me, then storms in my direction, taking his place next to Irish, right in front of me. Wolf stands on the other side, next to Arrow.

I’m suddenly wishing I’d taken my ass home when Lana offered.

“We have a fucking problem, all right,” the man roars, staring daggers at . . . Adam? I can only imagine what Adam did. “You don’t have enough whores in your club? You need to fuck my old lady?”

Fuck.

Adam slept with the man’s woman? Is he crazy? Is this who he’s turned into? A walking dick? I feel like slapping Adam myself. When he was with me, as young as we were, he claimed he was always loyal. I saw him flirt, sure, and I saw women trying to get his attention plenty of times. It made me jealous as hell, but I never saw him act on it.