Page 29 of Mace
He’s an idiot, but he’s a loyal one, and even though I want to knock his teeth out, I respect him a little more for showing it.
“Don’t fucking step between me and my shit again,” I warn.
“I won’t, as long as that shit ain’t Maylie.”
Stubborn fuck.
Before I can reply, a melodious laugh catches my attention, and I see Maylie standing in front of the staff entrance with another woman dressed in the same shit—the girl she was with last night.
Disappointment threads through me that she’s covered her hair with that ridiculous wig, but Steve is right. Her innocence drips from her, and I don’t mean in the sense that she’s unworldly—I don’t get that vibe from her—but like the darkness that has touched her is grey, not black.
I return my gaze to Steve, who is eyeing me like a pissed-off father until his radio crackles and a fuzzy voice sounds over it. He walks away, but he glances back at me before he goes.
The two women walk over, sliding behind the bar. The other woman eyes me through slitted, wary lids butdoesn’t say anything. She’s afraid of me, and she’s smart to be. Her dark curly hair bounces around her shoulders as she thrusts a knife through a lime with enough force to leave a mark on the chopping board beneath.
Her dismissal doesn’t bother me, because Maylie is smiling at me like I haven’t spent the past decade of my life trying to crawl out of hell. Doesn’t she see the blood staining my soul? Doesn’t she understand the terror I’ve inflicted as I murdered men just for their affiliation to the Pioneers?
I don’t get the sense she’s a kutte slut, trying to hook her nails into a biker. I don’t think she even understands the peril she’s created being on my radar.
I’m not sure I understand it yet myself.
Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip, and I can’t stop from following the movement. There’s no sexual intention in it, but my balls are heavy the moment I see it.
Fuck.
“If I can’t tempt you with a brownie, can I at least get you a drink?” she asks.
“Sure.”
“What do you want?”
“Coke’s fine.”
She wanders over to the fridge and grabs a can, walking over to me and sliding it on the bar top. It feels like a peace offering, until she asks, “What happened to Sam last night?”
“He’s fine.” Diesel and King beat the shit out of him, but he’s breathing, which is more generous than he deserves.
Her brow cocks. “I know you beat him, but that’s all you did? Really?”
“Really,” I assure her. “We don’t make a habit of murderin’ people.” A lie, but I don’t want to scare her off me. Not until I’ve had a chance to delve into that pretty brain of hers.
“So, if I call him?—”
“You don’t believe me?” Maylie may have zero self-preservation skills, but she is at least mistrustful enough to question things.
There’s a moment of panic in her eyes before she says, “I don’t know. I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Mace.”
“Is that your real name?”
“No.”
“You’re not going to tell me what is?”
I left that name behind a long time ago, and I don’t tend to divulge it, but I find myself opening to her. “It’s Mason, but I ain’t been called that since I was a kid.”
She leans her elbows on the counter, the other woman on the bar watching us like a hawk. “You don’t like it?”