Page 54 of Ridin' Free

Now, I felt blindsided by this blatant reality check.

There was a reason I never met Twister at the clubhouse. Given no one had been dumb enough to ask me about what happened during the length of time I’d been closed in the VP’s room, I’d all but forgotten the place was never empty, which meant my presence the other day hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Lyla confronting me, staking her claim over Twister, it was my reminder of who he was—of where he came from.

‘My house. My counter. My name.’

The past two nights, I’d been fucking Benson. But Twister?Twisterwas the Stallion. His life was on the compound. He left me in his house that morning, but that was only part of him.

The Stallions weren’t mine to keep. I never frequented the clubhouse, but that giant mancave on a hill was his home.

Was that where all his secrets lived?

“Hey.”

I stopped short at the sight of Mustang, standing in the open doorway behind the bar.

“Is she gone?” I asked, suddenly anxious to busy my mind with work.

He dipped his chin in a silent nod, and I headed toward him.

Before I could pass, he said, “It’s not true, by the way.”

I paused, frowning up at him in confusion. “What’s not true?”

“He’s never claimed her.”

For the second time in five minutes, I could feel heat creeping from my chest into my face. Only this time, itwasembarrassment. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was mortified Mustang, of all people, felt the need to reassure me about a relationship that wasn’t even defined—a relationship that was somehowout therefor people to judge.

I shook my head and muttered, “Yeah, well, I could give a fuck,” before getting back to work.

Unfortunately, the night wasn’t nearly as busy as I hoped it would be. In order to keep myself occupied, I found menial tasks to complete. It was obvious my attempt at distracting myself irked Mustang, seeing as I couldn’t keep still, but he didn’t say a word.

Not that my efforts did much good. By the time we were kicking people out for the night, I was exhausted—not from tending bar, but from battling my own thoughts.

That night, I was reminded how little experience I had. Sure, I’d known more than a few men; but as far as dating was concerned, I hadn’t done it since I was nineteen. The insecurity that reared its head at me after Lyla’s little visit was infuriating.

It wasn’t a competition.

If he wanted her, he could have her.

Except, it wasn’t until she confronted me that I realized how tightly I was holding on to the feeling I had when he stoppedin the middle of our ride to nowhere; the feeling I got when he told me he hadn’t slept with anyone else since the night of the wedding.

Maddening as it was to admit—his exclusivity mattered to me.

He called what we hadreal, and I wanted to believe him.

But Lyla—her fight, her insistence that she’d claimed him first—it filled me with doubt. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter. What mattered was he made her believe it.

Was he playing me like he played her?

Was I so desperate that I’d fallen for it?

After saying goodnight to Mustang, I was headed toward the Bronco when I saw him. I stopped mid-stride as the memory of his earlier goodbye collided with that of Lyla coming straight for me. I didn’t do drama, and I wasn’t about to start—but we were going to have words, Twister and me.

I drew in a deep breath, nodded to myself, then continued across the parking lot.

Twister was leaned against my driver’s side door—arms folded across his chest; feet crossed at the ankles.