Chapter Fifty-One

I thought about just leaving, but that would be weird and wouldn't solve this new problem. Tony made me feel strange from the first time I saw him, not because he was a new member of the Desert Snakes, but because of the way he probably enjoyed it more than usual. He seemed full of himself, and the way he smiled made it clear how much he enjoyed making people uncomfortable and seducing them.

Finding that my feet can still move, I look for a distant table near the window. I sit down facing the counter, and suddenly I find myself less drawn to the New York landscape through the windows than I would like. A strong, masculine perfume mixed with fruit enters my nostrils, followed by Tony's silhouette as he walks past me. I try not to look at his tall, lean body from behind, not to attract him again. But despite my efforts, he stops and suddenly turns to face me with a smile on his lips. I continue to look at him, now with a certain fear. Of course, he remembered me. His hands on my waist in a relaxed and comfortable way indicated that he was ready to talk to me.

"You know, I never forget a face." He says, his eyes fixed on me with a strange glint. Tony approaches me and sits across from me with a freedom of ease. His elbows rest on the table, his hands are clasped over his mouth. The man looks directly at me without fear of appearing intrusive. I don't know what to say, but he doesn't seem moved at all. "Especially one like yours, beautiful."

"I don't know you." He smiles through his teeth and pulls away, leaning back in his chair. Tony shakes his head negatively and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth several times, emphasizing his negativity. This...

"No, don't lie, it doesn't suit you." He laughs, relaxed and jovial, then stops laughing and suddenly looks at me seriously with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "Lying doesn't suit you, Dakota, even if lying makes women much prettier." That was my limit, my name on his lips coming out as an insult.

"Well, there are two facts, Tony..." He frowned at the nickname on my lips for a few seconds, but then his lips curved in satisfaction, and I began to hate it, to hate every intrusive smile, every assumption he made that made him so confident he thought he had the right to be there. "One, you shouldn't know my name, and two, you don't know women too."

"Ouch. "Too"? What other man doesn't know women, according to you?" Tony was amused, I knew very little about him, but somehow he let whatever he wanted show on his face. And he seemed to want me to see it all. "Mads Moser?" I looked directly into his eyes and held my gaze there for the first time. Mads had said that Tony was a son of a bitch, and I'm starting to believe it. I stopped to think about the logic of having implied that there was another man who resembled Tony in all that snobbery. It was Adrien, he also thought he knew a lot about a lot of things, especially women, but Tony seemed worse.

"I don't have to answer you." I say angrily, and the brown-haired man approaches, leaning his elbows on the table. He points his finger at me, a half-smile on his face the whole time.

"I agree with you, beautiful, especially when it comes to him." What did he mean by that? His smile widens, half-yellow teeth showing. "This is the face I expected from you. You don't have to answer me, because you can't answer anything about him." He was making fun of me, and it made me angry inside. The people around us carried on as normal while this man threw his taunts across the table.

I don't answer, doubt creeps into my thoughts like a poison that silences me. Did he think he knew Mads?

"Come on, what do you expect from a man like him? What do you expect from us?" He meant the motorcycle club. Suddenly Darian's words reminded me of the feeling of suspicion I had when I remembered the Desert Snakes, the fear and the feeling that made me believe there was much more going on beneath the surface. What if Mads had been through all that? What if he was a completely different person than the one I thought he was? I thought this was a dead insecurity, but now I realize it's more alive than ever. Was Tony lying? "Don't answer. You don't know what to expect, honey. Still, I like your angry face, so I'll tell you what..." He comes closer and reveals the secret with his hand over his mouth. "Mads Moser is not innocent."

"You're lying, you and Darian want to destabilize me. I don't know why." Tony smiles and leans back in his chair.

"You're wrong, Dakota. Mads and I have done things to be here. In my case, I make my dubious character clear to anyone who sees it, but in Mads' case..." He shakes his head. "Tell me, would you rather be aware of things or find them out for yourself?"

"What did he do?" I ask bluntly. I looked directly into those untrustworthy eyes, but something inside me wanted to be sure. My legs trembled slightly, the fear hitting me hard. Tony continued to smile, pleased that he had gotten exactly what he wanted. He came closer, feline eyes, my attention all his, an advantage for him.

"What do you think he did?" His answer came quickly, unsettling me. "What do you think a man like Mads Moser would do?"

"You don't know either..."

"No, I'm beginning to feel sorry for you." Tony looks at me, now a little serious. "Because it'll destroy you."

"He's not like any of you." My voice shakes, uncertain.

"Would you put your hand in the fire for that, beautiful?" I don't answer. "I don't think you're that innocent.

His voice challenges me, deep and calm, and I blink and swallow, trying not to take any of it in, but it's too late. I try to stand, but Tony holds my wrist for a few seconds, his touch burning me.

"I'm sure that night in the hotel room with him was the deciding factor in you being so protective of him. I do not doubt that he's cruel and intense in bed as well." He laughs again, still sitting as I get up to leave the room. "Dakota." I stop because my name sounds serious in his voice. I turn around and for the first time, I see an expression of fear, seriousness and some anger on his face. "You don't know anything." I leave him there and walk towards the exit, feeling knocked out on all sides, feeling exposed, and what I do is instinctively hug my own body, ignoring the fact that Mads' image is slightly stained in my mind.

It was a small stain, harmless enough not to stop me from thinking about the prospect of seeing him, of traveling to Seattle with him, of feeling what I feel when I'm near or far. I feared that no matter what happened, my morality would be controlled by him. I wouldn't know what to do but run away, and running away has become too tiring.