Page 13

For weeks now, she’s been dipping out early, avoiding people, slipping away like she’s got something to hide.

Maybe she does.

That thought sits like a fucking rock in my stomach.

I don’t want to care.

I shouldn’t.

But I do because, like it or not, she’s got her hooks in me.

While the rest of the crew shoot the shit, I sit silent. I wait, giving London time to get some distance before checking out myself.

When I think enough time has passed, I stand. “I’m out.”

Kiwi eyes me. “First London, now you? Somethin’ you not tellin’ us, mate?”

“No.” I do my damnedest to keep my tone neutral, not wanting to stir up more speculation and curiosity than I already am by leaving.

“Stay safe,” Riggs says, leaving it at that.

I nod. “Always.”

I turn my back and stroll across the yard, heading for my bike, the whole time feeling the weight of everyone’s stares.

The sound of my engine tearing through the night makes my leaving anything but subtle, but I don’t give a fuck. I only have one thing on my mind— London.

I have no trouble catching up to her car, but I keep my distance, far enough back that she won’t notice me shadowing her. As we near the exit back to the city, she blows right by it.

Where the hell is she going?

A fucked-up feeling coils in my gut as I consider the possibility that she’s meeting some bastard. Again, it shouldn’t bother me, but it does, and it gets me thinking about Pop’s words from earlier.

I grit my teeth and try like hell to push my frustration away because if she slips through my fingers, I have no one to blame but myself.

I tail her for another thirty minutes before she slows and flicks on her turn signal. So I ease off the throttle, watching her pull into a parking lot with a neon sign glowing against the darkness, casting a dull red glow over the lot.

Pink Paradise.

A fucking titty bar.

What the hell is London doing here?

I ease my bike off the road, pulling over just off the lot, parking in the shadows of an old gas station across the street.

I watch her. She doesn’t hesitate to get out of her car.

She steps out like she’s been here a hundred times before, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and walking straight for the entrance.

I even notice her smiling at a large motherfucker handling the door and the way he looks at her, tells me they’ve met before.

Heat starts in my gut and rises into my chest.

And I realize I’m fucking jealous.

I clench my jaw so tight that my teeth ache.

I wait a while before cutting my engine, swinging my leg over my bike, and jogging across the road.

My gaze drifts over the property. Outside, the place appears clean enough, nothing high-end, but not a total dive.

It looks like the kind of place where the floor won’t stick to your boots.

I stroll up to the entrance, reining myself in as I approach the guy standing there.

He’s a big motherfucker. But I’m bigger.

He eyes me with a stone-cold neutral expression, saying nothing.

I take out my wallet, pull out forty bucks, confident that it more than covers the door fee. He takes the cash and jerks his head.

The lights are low inside, and bass-heavy music pumps through the speakers.

I sit in the back, close to the door but out of sight. I scan the room, searching for London, but she’s nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, handsome,” a voice purrs beside me.

I turn my head slightly, catching sight of a pretty little waitress with a tray balanced on her hip, giving me a sweet smile.

“Get you a drink?”

“I’m good,” I say, my voice clipped. It’s not rude, just not interested.

She takes the hint, giving me a wink before sauntering off.

I lean back, pulling out a smoke and lighting up as the lights dim even further. A hush falls over the crowd. You can feel the thick anticipation as the stage glows red.

A sultry beat pulses through the speakers.

“Witch Woman.”

A figure struts onto the stage, bathed in the crimson light, long red hair cascading down her back. She’s wearing something tiny, red lace and barely there straps, the kind of outfit meant to make a man forget his goddamn name.

She moves like sin, hips rolling slow, hands sliding over her curves as she grips the pole, arching her back. Her body is a fucking work of art as she puts on a show that has every man in the room riveted.

Including me.

I can’t look away.

There’s something familiar in the way she moves, tilts her head, and how her body flows with the music.

Then she turns.

Those eyes pin me to my seat.

London.

My whole body goes tight.

She’s been sneaking off to this?

I’m shocked at first, but it’s quickly replaced with something hotter, more possessive, and primal than I care to admit.

I watch her move and own the stage with raw sensuality, and fuck if it doesn’t do something to me.

The fact that this is her secret doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t know her reasons, but I’m damn sure going to find out.

London finishes her set and disappears backstage. I don’t stick around. Instead, slipping out the way I came, stepping out into the warm night air, my pulse still thrumming from what I just watched.

I don’t leave.

I wait, hidden in the shadows across the road, watching until London finally emerges a couple of hours later, with her long dark hair pulled back, and gets in her car.

I wait for her to pull out of the parking lot, letting her ease down the road before tailing her back to her apartment in the city.

I keep my distance, watching as she slips inside the safety of her home.

I should ride off and head back to my place, but I don’t. Instead, I sit on my bike, the engine running, staring at the building like I’ve got unfinished business. And I do.

Because the woman I’ve been keeping at arm’s length, fighting every damn instinct not to make her mine, is moonlighting as Raven, drenched in red lights, grinding on a stripper pole for other men, and hiding from everyone. That alone is enough for me to keep my eyes on her.

My jaw tightens as I light another smoke and tell myself the secrecy is eating at me. I tell myself I need to keep London safe, but the truth is much deeper and much harder to admit.

I want to see Raven again.

I want to be the only one watching her move like that.

And that makes me a selfish bastard.

But I don’t give a fuck.

Whether she knows it yet or not, London is mine .

I flick the ash off my cigarette.

Until she’s ready to tell me why she’s doing this, I’ll bide my time and keep her little secret.