“A club, Doc. The Lords is not a gang.”

Why it bothered him she thought of the Lords as such, he didn’t know. After all, he had walked away from them two months ago. He didn’t even possess as much as a patch. The only thing left that identified him as a Lord was the tattoo on his left breast. And only because he left on good terms was he allowed to keep that. Randy Craig likely hoped he’d come to his senses and return. He’d been Randy’s right-hand man, up to the end.

The waitress appeared, setting a turkey club in front of Whitney and broasted chicken, piled high, in front of Tate. Whitney busied herself with her sandwich, then said, “I wasn’t aware there was much of a difference,” beforetaking a bite of the club. Mayonnaise clung to the side of her mouth. She used her pink tongue to swipe it away, causing Tate’s groin to stir. Shit. Could he get any more pathetic? He didn’t even much like the woman sitting before him. She seemed to turn up her nose concerning anything and everything in his godforsaken life. Yet, here he sat, thinking about getting her into bed to see exactly what she could do with that tongue.

“Anyway,” she said around another mouthful, then blotted her lips with a napkin, “you guys treat women like you own them.”

“How would you know how we do anything?” It didn’t surprise him that he continued to use the term “we,” as if he still belonged to the club. Hell, once a Lord, always a Lord.

“I’ve seen the stuff reported. You guys run drugs, kill people, and treat everyone outside the…club as if they’re beneath you.”

A humorless chuckle rumbled from his gut. “Lady, you have some nerve telling me the Lords treat people like dog shit. Every time I run into you in this Podunk town, stuck out in the middle of God knows where, you’ve treated me like the dirt beneath your heels. And you think the Lords treat people poorly?”

“Don’t they?”

“The Lords demand respect. You respect them…you have no problem. Disrespect them, then be prepared to get in the dirt.”

Whitney set her sandwich on her plate. “Even women?”

“If you’re asking have I ever hit a woman, the answer is no. I have a will of steel. And you, lady, are living proof of that. Because if you were a man, I’d have lit you up long ago.”

“Lit me up?”

“Hit you.”

“How dare you?”

Tate pushed back his untouched chicken. He had suddenly lost his appetite and his desire to be in the same room with this woman. If he wasn’t thinking about sliding between her milky white legs, he was inventing ways to shut her up. And boy, the images he conjured….

“You know, Doc, if you would get off your damned high horse, you might see I’m not such a bad guy. But you’re so busy judging me by the company I keep, you don’t bother to get to know the real me. I’ve suddenly grown tired of this conversation. When you get your head out of the damned clouds, look me up.” He stood to leave. “On second thought, I doubt you’ll ever see me as an equal…so don’t bother.”

Tate threw a ten on the table and walked out. The hell with women.

They weren’t worth his effort. At least this one wasn’t…no matter how good he imagined she might look after a toss in the sack….

Will Villain and the Doc ever get beyond their differences? Read the first chapter of Eyes of Betrayal here: Excerpt. Like all my books, you can get it at Amazon, NOOK and Sony Reader.

From my writing desk…happy dog days of summer…and may you be staying cooler than my dog Todd.

Patricia