Page 70 of Filthy Secret
Nash clears his throat. I look at him, but he’s staring at the building. He jerks his chin toward the second floor, and I follow his gaze all the way up to where I find that same asshole from the hospital.
I watch as that asshole watches me, tilts his head to the side, then smiles. He turns around, showing me his back, then slips into one of the rooms. “Piece of shit,” Nash mutters. “I can tell just by the way he looks. What a dick.”
“Yeah, that’s not the half of it,” I grind out.
“I know. I saw Ryan’s face.”
Grunting, I think about Ryan staying in that fucking hospital bed, her face so fucking bruised that she couldn’t even see out of her swollen eyes. I need that image fresh in my mind so I can torture this fuck wholly.
Completely wholly.
“Do we surround the place?” Brew asks.
“What’s the point?” I ask. “He knows we’re here.”
As soon as I say those words, six men walk out of three hotel rooms on the top floor and stare down at us. They’re trying to look intimidating, but they have no goddamn clue who and what they’re dealing with.
“Where is she?” he calls out.
I know he’s the main one, and I also know Ryan has told me his name, but I don’t give a fuck what it is because he isn’t going to be around me or even breathing long. I give him about five more minutes, and then he’s going to go down. Then he’s going to go up in flames.
“Not your fucking business,” I state.
He frowns, his face starts to turn red, and he grips the railing before he leans forward. I envision him falling over the edge and doing a few flips before he lands, splat, on the ground. It would be so goddamn easy, hilarious even.
I might even take pictures and laugh about it later. But unfortunately, it doesn’t happen. Instead, he lets out a laugh that echoes around us. Nash chuckles behind me, then Brew throws his leg over his bike and takes a step forward.
Joining my brother, even though I’m supposed to be the one in the lead as the president of the MC, King follows, tipping his head back to look up at the balcony. The dipshit decides to speak again, asking me questions as if I’m going to answer him.
I could give a goddamn shit what he thinks or says about me, and I could give a fuck what he wants to know about Ryan. He doesn’t get to know that shit. His men move even closer to him, standing in a straight line, shoulder to shoulder, as they glare down at us.
“That pussy is mine, and it’s time for her to get her ass to work. She’s cost me a lot of money in time and resources. It’s time to pay.”
Anger flows through my veins. Not only is he referring to my woman as that pussy, but he is also acting as if she owes him a damn thing. But I’m not going to come at him with any reaction at all. I don’t give a fuck what he thinks he’s owed, what he thinks he deserves, because I know that Ryan is my woman.
Not his.
Never his.
“I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” I say.
“Ryan,” he shouts. “She’s mine. Given to me to repay a debt. It’s time for her to do just that.”
Silence settles throughout the area. “Ryan has never been yours. She will never be yours. She is mine. Get in your stupid fucking SUVs and get the fuck out of Texas.”
He barks out a laugh, then shrugs a shoulder before he speaks. “I’m not going anywhere,” he states. “Not until Ryan is with me. A debt repaid is a fucking debt owed. And she owes me.”
“No.” He’s silent for a moment before he shakes the banister a couple of times, then I continue. “Ellen is your debt. She created it. So you can find her and take it out on her.”
That asshole has the nerve to laugh. “Do you think I would give a fuck about Ellen or that I would come here if Ryan hadn’t agreed to be part of my stable?”
I try not to appear shocked as fuck.
But I am.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
I watch as he moves around the men at his side, jogging down the stairs as those men do the same behind him. His little entourage. When he is close enough to us, he stops in front of me, but Brew, Nash, and King are close to me, my guards and protectors.