Free Grounds for Divorce by Helena Maeve

scotch, but Kayla had picked the lesser evil. She was beginning to rethink that strategy.
    “Probably do a world of good cleaning that paper cut,” Nolan mused, gesturing with his beer bottle to the slash on her brow.
    “Yeah, pretty face like yours,” said one of the other bikers, “should take better care.” The patches on his vest confirmed that he was local, but whether he was one of Booker’s men or the colonel’s, Kayla couldn’t say.
    Booker scoffed. “I think it looks badass.” His hand was a warm, grounding weight between her shoulder blades. The way he was looking at her had Kayla aching from the inside out.
    The Hell Hounds had opened their doors to her and Lou. They were treating them like friends of the club. But for how long?
    Kayla shook her head when Booker offered to refill her glass.
    “What happens now?”
    “You heal up.”
    She pursed her lips. She knew a deflection when she heard one. “I mean with the Grounds . ”
    “Worried about your job?” Booker guessed. He wasn’t wrong. Her shrug served as an answer. “Like you told the cops. We own the lot and what’s on it. Zach was something of a…temporary caretaker. We have someone in mind to take over where he left off.”
    “Here’s hoping that one doesn’t stoop to screwing the staff,” Kayla muttered. She couldn’t resist slanting a glance across the bar to where Lou sat with a couple of the women, wearing an ill-fitting shirt and a pair of boxers. It was an improvement on the silk robe, but not by much.
    “We were thinking you might want it.”
    Kayla whipped her head around. “What?” She was sure she’d misheard.
    “You know the accounts, you’re up to date on the finances…” Booker rubbed his thumb into the topmost vertebra at the back of her neck. “And you’re familiar with the other side of the business, too. Thought you’d be pleased.”
    I am . The hazy-hot blur of summer nights and cathartic violence made it hard to think clearly, but Kayla knew she wouldn’t get another chance to negotiate.
    “One way or another,” she pointed out, “I’m still under my boyfriend’s thumb.”
    “Oh,” Booker said, grinning, “is that what I am?”
    Kayla didn’t return his grin. “If you want me to run the Grounds, here’s what I’ll need. Complete overhaul of our CCTV—”
    “Done. We want the girls safe and happy—”
    “Two,” she went on, “the Hounds can’t run our security.”
    The wrinkle between Booker’s brows told her he hadn’t counted on that sticking point. “Why not?”
    “Your brothers are our clients. I don’t trust you boys to police each other. Sorry.”
    Nolan chuckled behind his beer.
    “I’ll bring it to the club,” said Booker. “But I can’t make any promises.”
    “It’s non-negotiable.”
    He tipped back in his chair, eyebrows arched. “Are you making demands, darlin’?”
    “Three, what we have, where it’s going…” Kayla dropped her voice an octave, relieved when it didn’t quake. Maybe that engine lather was good for something. “None of that plays into how I run the club. I mean it, Book. You come in, you’re an investor or you’re a client. That’s it.”
    You can’t be my boyfriend and my boss at the same time. Especially not the kind of boyfriend I need.
    “You want me coming in to look at your girls?”
    “Four,” Kayla added, brazenly snagging both hands in his lapels, “you don’t come to look at my girls.”
    Booker smirked. “Five, your stage-struttin’ days are over.”
    “That mean I can still give private dances?” she wondered.
    Booker rested a hand on her bare thigh, just beneath the hem of the jean skirt. “Only to me.” His fingers climbed a little higher up her leg, triggering a skip in her pulse.
    Kayla kissed him hard. She could work with those terms. She could compromise.
    They could make this work.
    “ Christ . Take your old lady to bed already,” hollered one of the older bikers. “You’ll give us fossils a goddamn