by Davis, Jen
He stopped shaving or cutting his hair. He used the money he’d saved for Mandy’s ring as a down payment on his bike. And visited the tattoo parlor more times than anyone else in his club.
Only his first tattoo had any real meaning, Mandy’s name inked large and proud across his back, spanning shoulder to shoulder. He’d lied and told the other guys he got it before the break-up, but she would’ve hated him marking his skin with her name or anything else. No, he’d gotten the tat right after she left him. He’d told himself it was so he would never forget how completely she fucked him over, a reminder to never fall for another woman again. Another lie. She’d branded herself on his fucking soul; the tat only made it visible to the world.
The next one came a year later. He got another every few months, all with the same themes: skulls in honor of the club and an array of female demons and angels. After all, he considered women both heaven and hell, so it made sense.
Now, he bore little resemblance to the clean-cut guy who went to night school and picnicked with his girlfriend under the stars. Mandy’s willingness to let him kiss her the other night was a fucking miracle. And not only because of the way he looked. He gave up the dream of winning her back years ago, but he’d convinced himself she’d never loved him…she left because she didn’t care.
Could he believe her explanation now?
Yes. Maybe that made him a fucking idiot, but he didn’t doubt her for a second. Her abrupt change of heart about their relationship had never made sense. He would’ve bet his life she’d loved him every bit as much as he’d loved her, and her version of events gave him a lifeline. It said he hadn’t misjudged her; she did love him—so much she gave him up to protect him.
The gray waves churned in the corner of his stinging eyes as he considered her father’s bullshit extortion story. It had a thousand holes in it, but the important thing was, he believed she believed it. She didn’t just break his heart, she broke her own.
How was he supposed to feel about that? His gut tangled in knots. He wanted to shake her for her naivety and for carrying the weight of it all on her shoulders. He would have never allowed a threat to tear them apart, but then again, she probably knew that from the beginning. She didn’t give him a choice.
She thought she was saving him, but even if all Beau’s shit about the cop was real, hell yeah, he would have gladly done some time, knowing she was waiting on the other side. It would have been better than the endless emptiness he got instead.
He could examine it a thousand times, ask himself what if. He could rage about it, mourn over it, question it. Truthfully, though, the moment he could tell himself it wasn’t her fault, he’d grabbed onto it with both hands. He’d grabbed on to her.
Mandy was the only thing he truly ever wanted in his life, and if he could find a way to have her now, his tattered soul still yearned for it. The question was whether she could ever want the man he had become. Dirty and used and jaded.
Arriving at his destination gave him a much-needed break from his thoughts. Sergei stood outside the warehouse, his thick arms folded over his black wool coat, his white-blond hair slicked back from his face.
Kane climbed from his bike, his legs like Jell-O after the long ride. Ignoring the sign of weakness, he approached his contact and shook his hand. He only wanted a nice, easy exchange. “Hope you weren’t waiting too long.” He couldn’t read the Russian’s impassive face.
“No. You are right on time.”
Even after five years of working with the man, he still enjoyed listening to the unusual cadence of his accent. Unfortunately, Sergei was a man of few words. He led Kane and Frank, who had pulled up right behind him, into the warehouse where twenty-five AR-15s waited inside a parked black van. Frank walked straight to the guns to examine them.
Sergei firmed his jaw, then turned to Kane. “Rumors are circulating about your club dipping into the drug trade.”
Shit.
“I won’t waste my time or yours asking if it’s true. But I will say this, my people expect our business to be the focus of your business. The drug trade is perilous. When you put yourself at risk, you put us at risk. We have no interest in being at risk. Let me be clear. If the rumors are true—if you are endangering our operation—stop it now.” His voice echoed in the warehouse, cold and vaguely menacing. “We can overlook a misunderstanding, but our position is known now, and we expect you to behave accordingly. Is there any part of this you don’t understand?”
Sergei had never said that many words to him in every conversation they’d had combined. And Kane couldn’t miss the message. He couldn’t blame the icy winds for putting a chill in his bones. “I understand.”
Sergei nodded. “Good. Take it back to your father.”
Frank returned. “Everything’s in order. Let’s load it up.” Together, they crated the guns in the false bottoms of boxes filled with bags of coffee, then loaded them into the back of the SUV.
He pulled an envelope full of cash from his back pocket and handed it to their Russian contact.
Sergei tucked it into the inside breast pocket of his coat, then walked away without another word.
Frank chuckled. “A man of few words. If only they made women who can be as quiet.”
He forced a smile. “Let’s get back on the road, brother. We need to get the merchandise back to A-T-L.”
Oblivious to his churning stomach, Frank got behind the wheel and cranked up the old Bronco’s engine. They road side-by-side, headed back to the interstate.
The Skulls had been in partnership with Sergei’s syndicate for the past five years. They’d never had an ounce of trouble, but they’d never made trouble either. The Russians only ever demanded two things: discretion and fidelity. Sergei had been crystal clear. Working with Ace violated the terms.
But would Malcolm take the warning seriously? Probably not. Unfortunately, his father was a narcissist and a stubborn one to boot. He’d end up dead or in jail before he bent to the wishes of another man, if he even believed the warning at all.
You could walk away from the club and be done with the whole thing. The traitorous voice in the back of his head definitely had a point. It would also go a long way in getting his life back on track, but on track to where? Back to school? He never got his degree. Back to Mandy? What kind of man would he be to turn his back on his brothers for a woman who dumped him a decade ago? But she wasn’t just some woman, was she? She was everything.
Round and round he went, arguing with himself. Five hours later, he’d gotten no closer to an answer, at least about his future with the club.
He thought about the way Scott had refused to let him wallow in his misery the first year after Mandy pushed him away. His brother took him everywhere he went, so he’d never feel alone. They went to hard rock concerts together, bowling alleys, bars. Scott taught him the basics of bike mechanics over the course of dozens of beers. Stayed up with him all night when he needed it, watching American Pie and telling bad jokes.
He thought about Cue Ball and the dozens of lap dances he’d paid for. Frank and his sage advice about how to hustle college kids on a pool table.
Then he thought about Uncle Wes, whose face he only sort of remembered. He could no longer recall the sound of his voice, what kind of food he liked, or what he did to earn a living.
Hell, he could have a passel of first cousins out there for all he knew. He’d probably never know because that’s what patching out meant. Wes was cut off, now and forever.
One thing he did know: he had to tell his brothers about Sergei’s warning.
Frank followed him inside the clubhouse, leaving the guns in the Bronco for now. They’d move them to the storage place where they stashed the meth later.
The inside of the house still stunk to high heaven, the chemical aroma so thick, it made his eyes water. He found his father and Cue Ball out back, smoking in the carport, the small space heater glowing orange next to the folding chairs where they sat.
He shoved his
hands into the pockets of his jacket. His fingers were numb from his hours on the road. “I have a message from Sergei. You’re not going to like it.” He filled in his father on the conversation at the warehouse.
“Fuck that commie-bastard.” Classic Malcolm. “He doesn’t get to tell me how to run my club.”
Technically, it wasn’t supposed to be Malcolm’s club. Yes, he was president, but they decided everything by a majority vote. Still, his father founded the club, and his proprietary vein ran deep.
“I think we need to put it in front of the table,” Kane warned. “The Russians have been our partners for a long time. It’s a mistake to dismiss what he said without even talking about it.”
His father tossed his cigarette butt on the ground. “We did talk about it. Just now.” He stood, and Cue Ball followed suit. “Now, let’s get the merchandise to the storage place. Don’t want to have a bunch of weaponry around if a raid ever comes about.”
The dismissal couldn’t have been clearer, which made his blood boil. Malcolm shouldered past his son, forgoing the shortcut through the house, to walk around the outside.
Cue Ball stopped beside him. “You coming with? Scott and me, we’re going out for a drink tonight. We can head out after the drop-off.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He shook his head. “Nah, man. Maybe I’ll catch up with you later.” He waited until his friend rounded the house before he checked his display.
Amanda: Can I see you tonight?
Mandy.
For all of his introspection, for all of his soul-searching, he didn’t need to think at all before he typed out a response.
Kane: One hour. Your place.
He needed the time to get presentable. His apartment was a quick ride; he made it home in minutes. It took a bit longer in the shower to clean off the evidence of the road.
Once he was clean, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stopped at the sink to brush his teeth. Afterward, he forced himself to look in the mirror. He’d avoided it for so long, he could barely remember the last time he studied his reflection.
Damn, he looked like shit. Why any woman would want to get near him was a mystery he couldn’t begin to unravel. He used to be a good-looking guy, but the scar gave him a rough edge he could never erase. The hair and the beard, on the other hand, those things he could do something about.
But how much? She’d know it was for her. She’d have to.
He couldn’t erase everything he’d become in the last thirteen years. But he could do something. He pulled out the drawer beneath the sink and dug around inside before his hand landed on the thick-handled scissors inside.
With a deep breath, he lifted them up and began to cut.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Amanda
The setting sun cast an orange glow through the sliding glass door as the minutes ticked closer to Kane’s arrival. Amanda had wanted to call him the moment she’d walked out of her father’s house, but she forced herself to think long and hard about it first.
What was she doing with him? Was she trying to get back what they’d lost? Sure, those stolen moments in his arms had moved the earth beneath her feet, but did they have any chance of something more? He was in a biker gang, for God’s sake.
His hair was longer than hers, tattoos covered his arms and who knows what else, but it was way more than the physical. Kane was different and in ways she still probably knew nothing about. He’d sworn he would never be part of club life. The drugs, the free sex, the misogyny and complete disregard for the rules of law or society.
She was no prude, but she could never share her man with another woman, certainly not several other women. She couldn’t live with constant fear for his safety or his freedom. With a man she really loved, she wanted everything he could give: every birthday, every Christmas, every kiss, every dream, every fucking fantasy.
For all she knew, Kane could have a dozen kids out there with as many different women. He could be getting a blowjob from some random stranger right now without even thinking twice because the club considered it normal. She’d seen it firsthand when they’d been dating. Kane hadn’t lived that way, but his father did…his brother too.
Scott was such a douchebag. He used to call her Your Highness or Princess Bitch, though she’d never done anything but try to be nice to him. She hoped he got a nasty STD from one of his club girls. Thinking of a dozen ways Scott’s dick could fall off kept her mind from circling around the hard questions about her and Kane.
Then a knock sounded at her door. She’d told Mickey, her doorman, Kane had a permanent pass to come up to her floor. God knew what he thought going from Nathan’s high-class appearance to Kane’s scruffy biker look. He’d have no idea Nathan’s three-piece suit actually hid a monster underneath, while Kane’s fuck-you exterior housed a heart of gold.
She smoothed her hands over her hair before turning the knob to open the door. Her greeting died in her throat when she saw him.
Trimming his beard shouldn’t have made so much of a difference, but he took her breath away. Yes, his hair was still long, but it was pulled back into a tame, low ponytail. The long sleeves of his black T-shirt covered his tattoos. He looked more like the Kane she remembered than she would have thought possible. Different, but the same.
“Wow,” she breathed, and his brown eyes twinkled.
“I’ll take wow over hello any day.” He tilted his head. “Are you going to invite me in?”
Her cheeks flamed as she stepped aside. “Cocky doesn’t suit you,” she said primly.
“I’d say it suits fine.” He winked.
He fucking winked at her.
She closed the door, unable to stifle her smile. When she turned back to him, though, she was paralyzed by how awkward this all was. What she really wanted to do was throw herself in his arms, breathe in his scent, feel him all around her…inside of her. Sex wasn’t the answer, though, at least not yet. “Would you like a drink?”
He walked over to the bookshelf where she had a framed picture of her and Mike from around the time she and Kane had been together. He picked it up for a closer look. “Yeah. A drink sounds good.”
“I, uh, I’m not sure what you like anymore.” Why did it hurt so much to admit?
Kane looked up from the picture. “I’m still me, Mandy.”
For some reason, his quiet words punched her in the gut. Everything had changed, but he claimed he was still the same. It was what she’d wanted, but it only seemed to drive home all the years she missed. Time she could have had with him but bargained away to her dad.
Tears clouded her vision. She turned away, but they spilled down her cheeks before she could hide them. What the hell was wrong with her? She couldn’t even remember the last time she cried.
He stepped behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t have to hide.”
“I don’t even know why I’m crying.” A lie. She cried because everything in her needed what he said to be true at the same time she feared it couldn’t be.
He tsked as he turned her into his chest. His body was bigger than it used to be, but she would have recognized the feel of his embrace anywhere. “I think we have a lot to figure out about each other.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll take a beer. Bud if you have it.”
She took in one more deep inhale of his clean scent before she let go to get the drinks. When she returned from the kitchen, Kane stood at the bookshelf again, looking at the same photo.
“This is how I remember you.” He accepted the beer and used the front of his shirt to protect his hand as he twisted off the cap. It gave her a brief glimpse of rock-hard abs sprinkled with dark hair; he had more of it now than before. If he realized how he affected her, he didn’t show it. His gaze drifted back to the photo, and his face softened. “This was the best time in my life.”
She sipped her zinfandel, despite the temptation to guzzle it down. “It was the best time in mine too.” Another sip. Ah, fuck it. She finished the gla
ss and drifted back to the kitchen to grab the bottle.
Now he relaxed on the love seat, and she sat beside him, her heart racing as if she’d just run a marathon. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”
He shook his head slowly, sending a thrill through her heart. “You?”
“I was.” Shame kept her from sharing the whole story. “I broke it off.”
“Because of me?” He searched her eyes.
“Partly, but mostly because of me. I didn’t love him. It wasn’t a relationship built on feelings. I was his arm candy. He was…a means to an end. It had already gone on too long.” Nathan was the last thing she wanted to think about.
He took a pull from his beer as he considered her words. “There was someone for me, not too long ago, but she—it wasn’t anything real. None of them have been anything real, but I have to tell you, I haven’t exactly been a saint since we were together.”
Oh look, something she wanted to think about even less than Nathan. “It’s been thirteen years.” She refilled her glass. “I never expected you to live like a monk.”
“Mandy—”
She held up her hand. “Stop. I know you’re trying to be honest, and I appreciate it, but I don’t want to hear what you’re about to say.” The vague idea of all the women who’d shared his bed over the years hurt bad enough. She wasn’t sure if she could stand listening to the particulars. “We’ve both been with other people. But here’s the bottom line for me, no bullshit. I have never loved any man in my life except for you. There was no one before and no one since who has come anywhere close. No one I wanted a future with. No one I wanted a family with. It was only you. Only ever you.” The confession left her stripped bare. She reached for the wine bottle, but he stopped her hand with his.
“And for me, it was only ever you, Mandy.” The truth swirled in the chocolate depths of his eyes.
