Twenty
Things were bad, Whistle could tell. One look at Tasa’s face, and he knew he was f****d. Granted, he may have let that drunk chick get in a kiss or two to play off on Tasa’s jealousy.
His woman was composed all the damn time when it came to him, and he’d foolishly let his bruised ego get in the way. For half a moment, he’d relished in the fury on her face; the narrow-eyed look she’d tossed their way, wanting to claw that woman’s eyes out. He was ashamed to admit that it was a balm to his dumb-a*s ego.
The night before, he’d heard how Tasa had reacted when Carrie called her his property. The panic he caught in her eyes when she’d come back from the bathroom at the clubhouse. He knew something was wrong, and it wasn’t long before the grapevine that was the club came back with the i
