“You wanna get in the ring with me?” I ask Rake. I really do want to hit something. Or someone.
“Yeah, give me an hour and I’ll meet you in there,” Rake replies. “Gonna fuck Leanne first just so she’ll shut up.”
I laugh at that. “Better you than me, brother.”
Rake shrugs. “Any pussy is good pussy.”
I grin. Rake has been going through even more women than usual, and I have to wonder what’s up with him. I have a feeling it’s something to do with his ex, Bailey.
Keeping my thoughts to myself, I slap his shoulder. “See you in an hour.”
He better be ready, because I am in a bit of a mood.
* * *
Later that night, I return home from Rift, feeling tired and just wanting a good night’s sleep with Lana in my arms. There was some drama at the bar, a few guys dealing meth who needed to be dealt with. We don’t want drugs run out of our businesses, especially if it’s not beneficial to us. We also don’t want those drugged-up fuckheads frequenting the place. Our women go to Rift more often than not, and we want the place safe for them. Well, besides from us anyway. It’s a biker bar, our biker bar, and one of the benefits is that we’re in control of who enters the place.
I find Lana already passed out on the bed, her laptop resting on her stomach. Her glasses are still on her face, lopsided, and she’s snoring lightly. A cute sound, unlike Anna’s. I remove her glasses and set them on the side table. Kissing her relaxed mouth, I lift her laptop off the bed and the screen goes from black to a white document page, showing something Lana was working on. When the word fuck catches my eye, I grin and place the laptop on top of my drawers. What is she writing? I know she writes a lot—she’s even mentioned that she wants to go to Ireland for inspiration. And she’s casually stated in the past that she publishes some of her work, makes money from it, and once even made a joke about writing porn. When I see another word, orgasm, I begin to wonder if she was telling the truth.
My smile widens.
Curious, I read the first paragraph . . . then the second, and the third.
Sexy biker Rogue was having a birthday, but it wasn’t like any other party I’d been to. With wide eyes I watched as people in the room openly touched each other, the clubhouse turning into a sex club for the night.
Sexy biker? Is she referring to Rake?
I see red.
I read all of it, from start to finish
Then, pissed off, I delete the whole thing.
She’s writing about bikers? About shit she saw in the clubhouse? The club dynamics? Did she think that was okay?
How could she?
The club trusted her; I trusted her.
She’s let all of us down.
* * *
When Lana wakes up the morning, I’m sitting on my chair in the corner of the room, watching her.
“’Morning,” she says in her sleepy voice, a smile appearing on her lush mouth. “You’re awake early.”
I hadn’t slept.
“I read what you wrote,” I tell her, getting straight to the point. “I knew you wrote, but I didn’t know that you wrote books. MC books. Is that why you’re here? Research for your stupid fucking books?”
She sits up, frowning. “You can’t seriously think that. It’s just a little fiction, Tracker.”
“Fiction based on the facts of our lives,” I snap, anger clouding my judgment.
Pain spreads through my chest at the thought of Lana not being who I thought she was. Everything I’ve praised her for, loved her for, her loyalty, was bullshit.
“It isn’t like that at all, Tracker. I’d never betray your trust like that. I told you, remember. I told you that I—”
“You said you wrote, yes, but you didn’t tell me all the details, clearly,” I snap. “You never mentioned it had anything to do with bikers. This is my fucking life, Lana! My club! If people find out who you are, what do you think they’re going to think? They’re going to know most of the shit you wrote is fact.”
“The only thing that’s fact is some of the sex scenes!” she yells back. “I never once wrote anything to do with the ins and outs of the club or anything that could be considered a betrayal. You’re overreacting right now, Tracker.”
But every scene I’d read had really happened. Rake’s birthday, the way we fucked that night, to when we made love, every fuckin’ detail of what we explored and shared together. She was documenting it.
Documenting our love life.
Christ.
I was living it, but she was remembering it so she could share it.
When we were fucking, was she making mental notes?
Christ, while I am so into her, in so deep I can barely remember my own name when I’m with her, her mind is racing. It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?
I feel betrayed.
And even worse, I feel like I don’t know her. Have I put the club at risk? Has she written anything personal about us? Does she have information saved? Has she already published something?
Isn’t this something you’d talk to your partner about in detail?
The whole thing is a clusterfuck.
And it’s probably karma.
All the women I’ve hurt in the past, all the things I’ve done, have led to this moment.
The moment where a woman, a little slip of a thing, breaks my fucking heart with her lies and omissions. I finally fell in love with a woman, and now I feel exposed. Unsure. And fucking hurt.
I don’t like it.