Bad News (Lola)

(Lola)

To no one surprise but my own, Sam didn't turn up at breakfast or lunch. Not a phone call, text message or fucking Rookie with a post-it-note. Narda.

By Seven Pm I was royally pissed off. Granted, I had nothing better to do than sit around my apartment waiting for my brother to get off his lazy arse. But it was the sheer disrespect that started to grind on me; Sam had treated me no better than one of his whores, and he was going to learn the hard way I wasn't going to stand for it.

An hour later, I'd turned up at the clubhouse dressed in my killer ballbusting outfit. Consisting of skin-tight leather trousers, Knee-high Rock boots, a lacy black crop top that was barely legal and a cherry red lip. I'd even managed to hitch a ride on the back of a passing biker.

Yet despite the catcalling and wolf-whistling upon my arrival, not once did Sam show his face. He wasn't in the workshop, office, or passed out in one of the bedrooms. The prick wasn't here!