would be no different. The last thing he wanted to do was interfere with his VP’s life. Hell, Slade respected Dax. The club’s second in command might have done some pretty fucked up things, but Dax clearly operated by his own code of honor. Dragging the man back here in response to Alanna’s little power play was a very bad fucking idea.
But…what the fuck else could he do?
Slade nursed his whiskey, lost in his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before he was interrupted.
“Hey, sugar. Lenny says you need anything besides that drink, you let me know and he’ll put me on break. You seem a little…stressed.”
The waitress boasted a set of fake tits that rivaled the size of Slade’s head. He gave the rest of her the once-over. She was older, which was fine, but the layers of caked on makeup and the too-tight pants ruined it for him.
Slade forced his lips to affect a reasonable smile. “It’s all good, baby. Got a hangover.”
She looked disappointed but she seemed to accept his excuse. “I’ll be around Thursday after the run. At the party.”
He nodded but he knew he came off aloof. He didn’t mean to be rude. Really he didn’t. But, Slade had more important things to worry about. He certainly didn’t have time to socialize.
His phone buzzed with a text. Hawk. Speak of the Devil…
“Check port. Be at table by five.”
Seemed like the man was giving him a lot of responsibility lately, with little to no supervision. It felt weird because he was obviously gaining favor with Hawk—something Slade had been working for, but now he wasn’t sure he could trust him.
Fuck, man. Nothing’s simple any more.
Maybe it was time to define his code of honor. It seemed to work for Dax, after all. Honor was a funny thing though—you couldn’t buy it, you couldn’t steal it. You either had it or you didn’t.
Slade thought long and hard about that shit as he flew down the highway. Where was he supposed to draw the line? Maybe there wasn’t a line at all. Maybe the divide between blood and honor was just a figment of his tired, vengeful imagination.
Chapter Fifteen
Rhee stood in the shower contemplating her flat belly.
Am I?
She didn’t like not knowing. The girl at the clinic she called told her that it was too early to do a blood test and the pee sticks were all negative. So far. Still, something was off. There was only one other time her body had gone all hypersexual and haywire. She tried to pinpoint when she started feeling strange and found that she couldn’t quite put her finger on when that little churning feeling had started to hum in her belly.
Maybe the meeting with her new donor was throwing her off. The man was in the running for congress and he had roots here on the island. Turtle said he’d heard of the guy. The large grant Thatcher wanted to make to Rhee’s studio was an obvious ploy to garner public favor for his campaign, but that wasn’t what bothered her—not really. The damn guy made her uncomfortable. She knew she had come across as guarded and tense rather than welcoming and grateful for the man’s interest. Something about the way he looked at her…it threw her off enough that she felt the need to shower again once she got home.
She replayed her interaction with Thatcher in her head, trying to discern what it was about the guy that bugged her. He asked a lot of questions. When Thatcher asked about her hometown, Rhee hadn’t skipped a beat. She never considered Darling her town, so she named the place she was born…the place she had been raised until the car accident that killed her mother and stepfather.
It was the way the man’s eyes had flickered when she named her hometown. He recognized it. She was sure of that. As she walked him through the donor forms, Thatcher causally asked about her family. He mentioned that he had a sister—that she was a pain in the ass. Then, he had asked if she had any siblings.
Some of the other donors made small talk like
But…what the fuck else could he do?
Slade nursed his whiskey, lost in his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before he was interrupted.
“Hey, sugar. Lenny says you need anything besides that drink, you let me know and he’ll put me on break. You seem a little…stressed.”
The waitress boasted a set of fake tits that rivaled the size of Slade’s head. He gave the rest of her the once-over. She was older, which was fine, but the layers of caked on makeup and the too-tight pants ruined it for him.
Slade forced his lips to affect a reasonable smile. “It’s all good, baby. Got a hangover.”
She looked disappointed but she seemed to accept his excuse. “I’ll be around Thursday after the run. At the party.”
He nodded but he knew he came off aloof. He didn’t mean to be rude. Really he didn’t. But, Slade had more important things to worry about. He certainly didn’t have time to socialize.
His phone buzzed with a text. Hawk. Speak of the Devil…
“Check port. Be at table by five.”
Seemed like the man was giving him a lot of responsibility lately, with little to no supervision. It felt weird because he was obviously gaining favor with Hawk—something Slade had been working for, but now he wasn’t sure he could trust him.
Fuck, man. Nothing’s simple any more.
Maybe it was time to define his code of honor. It seemed to work for Dax, after all. Honor was a funny thing though—you couldn’t buy it, you couldn’t steal it. You either had it or you didn’t.
Slade thought long and hard about that shit as he flew down the highway. Where was he supposed to draw the line? Maybe there wasn’t a line at all. Maybe the divide between blood and honor was just a figment of his tired, vengeful imagination.
Chapter Fifteen
Rhee stood in the shower contemplating her flat belly.
Am I?
She didn’t like not knowing. The girl at the clinic she called told her that it was too early to do a blood test and the pee sticks were all negative. So far. Still, something was off. There was only one other time her body had gone all hypersexual and haywire. She tried to pinpoint when she started feeling strange and found that she couldn’t quite put her finger on when that little churning feeling had started to hum in her belly.
Maybe the meeting with her new donor was throwing her off. The man was in the running for congress and he had roots here on the island. Turtle said he’d heard of the guy. The large grant Thatcher wanted to make to Rhee’s studio was an obvious ploy to garner public favor for his campaign, but that wasn’t what bothered her—not really. The damn guy made her uncomfortable. She knew she had come across as guarded and tense rather than welcoming and grateful for the man’s interest. Something about the way he looked at her…it threw her off enough that she felt the need to shower again once she got home.
She replayed her interaction with Thatcher in her head, trying to discern what it was about the guy that bugged her. He asked a lot of questions. When Thatcher asked about her hometown, Rhee hadn’t skipped a beat. She never considered Darling her town, so she named the place she was born…the place she had been raised until the car accident that killed her mother and stepfather.
It was the way the man’s eyes had flickered when she named her hometown. He recognized it. She was sure of that. As she walked him through the donor forms, Thatcher causally asked about her family. He mentioned that he had a sister—that she was a pain in the ass. Then, he had asked if she had any siblings.
Some of the other donors made small talk like
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