“Name’s Paula,” the awful woman from behind the front desk told me with a saccharine smile. “I’m a real good friend of King’s.” Violence ignited in my belly, great gusts of hatred billowing up my throat tasting like ash in my mouth. “Name’s Cressida,” I mimicked her with an equally sweet smile. “I’m King’s old lady.” Her lips thinned instantly and she turned to Nova as if he’d betrayed her. “She’s what?” The biker shrugged, rolling an unlit cigarette between his pink, pink lips. “You heard her.” “The fuck?” she asked. “We do,” I agreed, nodding somberly. “A lot.”
