(Cassidy)
The ride back to the compound was miserable.
Not because he drove too fast. Not because he was reckless. Not because half the club had followed us outside to watch what happened. It was miserable because he wouldn't talk.
The second we left the parking lot, silence settled between us.
Not the comfortable kind. Not the kind that came after a long day when neither of us felt like talking. This felt intentional.
"Are you going to talk to me?"
Nothing.
His hands stayed on the handlebars. His attention stayed on the road. If he'd heard me, he gave no sign of it.
I waited another minute.
"Seriously?"
Still nothing.
That only made me more annoyed. By the time the compound gates came into view, I was already running out of patience.
The guards opened the gate without question
