Arrow's Hell (Wind Dragons MC #2)(7)

I raise an eyebrow. “So you’re nicknamed after a man who lives in an immoral way and sleeps around a lot.”

I used the dictionary for that one. It says a rake is another name for a womanizer, or a libertine.

The flush that works up his neck lets me know he isn’t exactly pleased to be having this conversation with me. “Maybe I just like to . . .”

He searches fruitlessly for another reason to be called Rake.

“. . . get rid of leaves?” I suggest in a dry tone.

“You always were a smart-ass,” he says with good nature. “Fine, I like women. Sue me. I’m the perfect example of a man you shouldn’t date. Learn from it.”

“Surely there are some good men around this clubhouse . . . ?” I say casually, pretending to look around.

Like Arrow.

That’s what I really mean.

Rake’s laughter isn’t what I was expecting in response. “No one will go near you, Anna. They know you’re off-limits.”

“How would they know that?” I ask him suspiciously, my hackles rising.

“Because I told them,” he replies, unable to keep the smugness out of his tone.

My mouth drops open. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re my sister,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes, but I’m not asexual,” I reply dryly, walking farther into the room and sitting on my new bed.

“To me you are,” I hear him mutter. “Look, Anna, now that you’re back here . . . I want to be here for you, like I haven’t always been in the past.”

Ahh, the infamous Jacob incident.

“That wasn’t your fault,” I say for the hundredth time.

He ignores me.

“Do you wanna get a drink?” he asks, the conversation clearly over. “You can tell me how your week has been.”

“Sure, I could use a drink.”

I wonder if Arrow will share his bottle.





TWO

I SIT at the clubhouse bar sipping on my screwdriver, sandwiched between Rake and Tracker.

“Where’s Allie?” I ask the man on my right.

Not that I like her, I ask just to make conversation.

Tracker’s reply is a non-amused grunt.

I grin into my drink. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Anna Bell, you are too young to understand the concept of—”

“I’m the same age as you,” I cut in in a bored tone.

We both turn to look at each other. “You’re twenty-five? You look nineteen.”

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” I mutter, lifting the glass and tipping its contents into my mouth.

“As you should,” he replies.

I chew on an ice cube and say, “Your woman doesn’t like me very much.”

“She doesn’t like anyone.”

I don’t miss the way he downs his Scotch, drinking every drop in his glass.

“Except you,” I add with a grin.

He smirks. “Who doesn’t like me?”

I go to raise my hand, but he grabs my wrist and holds it down playfully. “Bully.”

“How’s school, Anna?” Rake asks, pulling my attention to him. His knuckles are bruised and red, and I can’t help but wonder what exactly he’s been up to.

Maybe I don’t want to know.

“Great, actually. I ran into a friend of yours . . . Andrea?”

His brows furrow in confusion. “Who’s that?”

Seriously? How many women does he sleep with?

“Model-looking redhead. She has a tattoo on her right boob. A cherry, I believe,” I explain, ignoring Tracker’s amused chuckle.

My brother’s eyes widen with realization. “Oh, Andrea.”

“Yes, Andrea.”

“What did she tell you?” he asks as he pours himself another drink.

I shrug. “Nothing much, just how great a lover you are and how you have a kinky side because you like to—”

He puts his hand over my mouth, cringing. “That bitch told you that?”

“That and more,” I reply, my voice muffled under his hand. I cringe at the details she thought to share with me. How Rake likes to tie women up, their hands bound behind their back as he takes them from behind. Why? Just why would I want to know these things? I ended up walking away because she wouldn’t shut the hell up. It was that or punch her in the face. The angel on my shoulder won, and I retreated to pretend I’d never heard anything about my big brother’s sex life.

“Bitch goes to college?” Tracker asks, laughing hard now. He slams his palm down on the countertop, his wide shoulders shaking.

Rake pulls his hand away, so I turn to him. “No, she was picking up her stepson.”

Silence, then more laughter.

Assholes.

Arrow walks by the bar, and my attention immediately turns to him. He doesn’t look up as he slams down his half-finished bottle, licking a last drop from his lips.

“Arrow, you good?” Tracker asks, studying him.

He lifts his face.

Short brown hair, just long enough to run my fingers through.

Light brown eyes framed in thick dark lashes. Firm, perfectly kissable lips, and that beard that I have fantasies about tugging on.