branded (phantoms mc #2)

twenty-nine: in which she plays with the devil

"I know life is a mental place, where there's always fear" –breathe., Are You All Good?

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"So why the shitty wig?"

I choked on the drink Crow had offered. "What?"

"You're not wearin' it right now," he said, probably thinking that I thought he was talking about my actual hair. "When Linc brought you to the clubhouse. I know women, so I know a damn wig when I see one."

At the time, I'd thought he'd looked right through me, but maybe that's what I'd just wanted to be the case.

Nobody but old Joe had seen me with Crow. If I wanted to, I could do exactly what everything with Lincoln was leading up to, right then and there.

Crow drove the latest GMC truck model. I knew, because Ripper had the same one. It was a pretty damn sexy beast – and it wasn't inconspicuous. Crow didn't care to ask if I'd walked, or driven to the store, and I guess that was for the best. I didn't want my car to be seen at Lover's Bush so late at night.

It was a strange place to take me. Stranger that an out-of-towner even knew about it. Lover's Bush was a picnic area, or a forest in which many sexual exploits took place. Rosebushes filled the forest, planted many, many years ago by some lovesick old fool. This was supposed to be the town's most romantic spot. Hell, even Ghost and I had come out here a couple times in our lifetime.

And now I was about to be murdered here, outed by a shitty mop of synthetic hair.

Crow took the bottle of tequila out of my hand and all but downed half the bottle. "Don't like wigs," he said when he was done. "Natural's always better."

As if I need fucking beauty advice from a fucking rapist, I thought, feeling a sharp pain in my right palm and realizing that my fingernails were digging into my skin because I had balled my hand into a tight fist.

"Linc? He wouldn't notice shit like that," Crow continued. "Doesn't really care." He thrust the bottle out to me, and I grudgingly took it. "This town's so goddamned peaceful. Nothing bad ever happens here, huh, does it?"

"What are we doing here?"

"Am I boring you?"

"Kinda," I said, ignoring the little voice inside me that said I was treading on dangerous ground.

Crow let out a dry laugh. "Why'd you come?"

I saw an opportunity. "I don't know."

"Well, baby girl, I'm not one for small talk," he said, "but no one should drink alone. Least of all the girl my brother has a hard-on for. At the moment."

I handed the bottle back to him. "And Lover's Bush?"

"Lover's what?"

I gestured around us. "This place. Why bring me here?"

He let out another laugh. I was beginning to hate his laugh. "Best place to not be seen. Come on, baby girl. You know who I am." He took a sip from the bottle. "Relax. I don't wanna do anything with you, and I'm not gonna do anything to you. Can't a man just want some company?"

I was anything but relaxed. There was a steel pole where my spine used to be, keeping my back ramrod straight. Crow had the windows rolled up, and all I could smell was the tequila on my own breath, and the stench of old cigarettes. I knew that if I tried to pull the door open, I'd find that it was locked. I suddenly felt claustrophobic, suffocated by the sheer size of this man beside me and the funky fumes in this confined space. Suffocated by my own need to make everything better for the people I loved.