I don’t even bother answering her. Somehow, I have to plan a wedding in two weeks, and among it all, it’s a wedding I don’t even want. I’ve seen Papa once since Mama passed away, and he still won’t tell me who killed her. He says that the cops don’t know, but I don’t buy it. Everyone knows that the Cosa Nostra doesn’t deal with the cops. They’ll know who it was, and no doubt Papa will be planning her revenge. I’ve dropped it for now, but after the wedding, I will be demanding answers. Answers I fucking deserve.

My door opens and I jump, spinning around to face Wicked. “Jesus, can you not?”

“Rules.”

My shoulders straighten and my jaw tightens.

“Number one?” His brows raise slightly. “You don’t talk to anyone except Khaos or Royce.”

My mouth opens to answer back, but he curls his finger beneath my chin and flicks it closed. “Two? In here, you’re my property, so you do as I say.”

“Now I know you’re fucki—” His fingers wrap around my cheeks, squeezing my lips closed.

I glare at him.

“Three?” His eyes sparkle when he sees the anger swirl inside me. Asshole. “When the old ladies are around, you can talk with them.”

I shove my face out of his grip. “How do I know which is which?”

“Oh, you’ll know,” Betty mutters. “The old ladies will be dressed normally, and the club sluts dressed as hookers.”

Wicked’s face scrunches up. “The fuck kind of shit have you been watching? Nah, that’s not how it is here. The old ladies wear what the fuck they want and they are protected while doing it, and here—” Wicked brings his eyes to Betty. “They ain’t called club sluts. They’re handlebars.”

Betty matches his look. “How is that any better?”

Wicked moves to the back of the car, opening Wolf’s door and pulling him out. He stares at me from the back once Betty is out of the car. “I mean it, Ruby. Don’t fucking test me.” I hold his stare, pouring gas onto the flame that burns between us. His eyes turn heavy. “Or do and see what the fuck I do.” He steps back and slams the door closed.

Sliding out of the SUV, I pop open the trunk and take out mine and Wolf’s bag, but Wicked takes it from me instead. He stops when he notices that I’m not following him, turning over his shoulder. I blink between him holding Wolf and the clubhouse in the background. The parked bikes on the side and the UFC ring behind the bikes.

“You’ll be fine, Rubs.”

I smile up at him, my Converse crunching over the loose gravel.