I nudge the woman. “Hey? Wake up.”
She stirs and groans, her hair tickling my belly as she moves.
“What time is it?” Her voice is groggy and I really hate doing this, but the tight feeling in my chest is getting harder and harder to ignore.
“Time to get going, darlin’. I’ve got shit to do.”
She glances up my torso at me, looking offended. “Seriously?”
I don’t blame her for being pissed off. I fucked her and am chucking her out without so much as a by-your-leave. I realise I’m a shit head, but I need her gone before the pressure in my chest becomes more than I can bear.
I rub at my neck. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”
She huffs and pushes up off me roughly and starts to pull on her clothes. “You’re a dick, do you know that?”
I am, so I don’t argue with her. I just watch as she dresses.
“Did last night mean nothing to you?” she finally demands.
It meant less than nothing. These trysts never do. I don’t promise these women anything, and most are fine with being nothing more than a quick shag, but from time to time, I come across a clinger who can’t let go. She seems like she’s going to cling, and I need to get that idea out of her head right fucking now.
“Sweetheart, I’m sure you were great, but honestly, I don’t even remember what we did last night.” If I did, I might feel a little disgusted with myself for even looking at another woman while my head is full of Chloe. Not that I can go there with the little redheaded firecracker, and clearly hooking up with someone else didn’t help me cleanse Chloe Allen from my mind. She’s still there, front and centre stage.
I glance at the blonde. I really don’t remember shit about her. I certainly don’t remember bringing her up to my room or if we did the dirty together. Hell, I don’t even remember her name.
“Did we shag?”
She shoots me a filthy look. “Fucking bikers.”
Snagging her bag, she tears the door open and slams it behind her hard enough to rattle the walls.
For a moment, I just lie still, staring at the ceiling with my thoughts in turmoil. I feel like a piece of shit, but I’m doing the same thing I always do. I shag around, I put my cock in any willing pussy, then push them away, so I don’t have to get close to anyone. This is nothing new, but it leaves the taste of ash in my mouth this time. I can’t keep doing this shit. I can’t keep being this person—the one who doesn’t know the name of women he fucks. I can’t be the guy who is all jokes and no substance.
I push out of the bed and head for the small en-suite.
Showering doesn’t make me feel any cleaner, but the dirt on me is in my head, not on my skin.
And I am dirty.
I am covered in filth—the filth of my youth and what I did to survive and the filth of my life now and what I do to forget. No amount of showering can sluice that off.
Once I’m dry and dressed in my jeans, a hoodie and my kutte, I head down to the kitchen. I grab a bagel, slather some soft cheese on it, and make my way into the common room.
It’s early, so I expect it to be full of passed out hangarounds and out of towners from the party we threw last night, but it’s empty. If it wasn’t for the evidence of the drinking that went on last night, I’d swear I imagined the party, but there’s bottles and glasses everywhere.
The prospects are in for a hell of a day cleaning.
I place my bagel on the bar, glad I had the foresight to grab a plate because it looks like a health hazard right now, then I nip around the counter to grab a bottle of Coke.
“You’re up early.”
My heart nearly explodes out of my chest as I spin around at the voice.
Adam is sitting on one of the sofas on the far side of the room. I didn’t even see him.
“Fuck, warn a brother before you do that shit, you creepy bastard,” I mutter at him. Then I hold up the bottle. “Do you want one?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.”
“Some fucking party that was last night.”
Adam snorts. “I think you were the only one having any fun.”
I wiggle my eyebrows, pulling my mask into place. Happy-go-lucky Weed is who they expect and I’m nothing if not a good actor.
“You didn’t get lucky last night?”
“I didn’t want to. I don’t know how you dip your wick in that petri dish.”
I don’t either. It’s getting old. Fast. It’s a wonder I haven’t contracted an STD.
Still, I shrug my shoulders. “I have low standards.”
I have no standards at all, in fact.
Reclaiming my bagel, I head over to sit with him. “Honestly, I can’t remember a fucking thing.”
“Shit got messy,” Adam says, telling me something I guessed myself just from the state of the room.
He doesn’t ask me about the blonde I woke up with—not that I’d expect him to pry. Adam isn’t really a chatty guy.
I take a sip of my drink. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
Considering Adam is eight months younger than me, he snorts at this assessment.
“You were the only arsehole still standing by one a.m. and by standing, I mean weaving.”
The last thing I remember is Logan, Wade and Jem heading home to their old ladies. I tried to convince them to do shots before they left, but no one wanted to. Spoilsports.
Dean didn’t come at all, choosing to spend his Friday night with Liv and their kid, and Ghost has never liked parties. He never comes unless forced—usually by Sammy and since Fridays are brothers only, she wasn’t here, which meant he wasn’t either.
That meant last night was a handful of brothers and a whole lot of hangarounds and women celebrating the Christmas period. New Year will be a closed house, with family and friends only. In the past, that shit would bother me, but I think I understand why Derek does it.
Truthfully, I can’t wait to get back to work and some kind of routine, which is not like me at all, but I’m tired of my life. Partying all the time, drinking myself stupid, getting high—it just doesn’t hold the same appeal anymore.
“Are we still going on that run to Blackwood tomorrow?” I ask, taking a huge bite of my bagel.
“Yeah. We’re taking a different route, though. With Dylan hanging around, I don’t want to use the planned paths he knows.”
He doesn’t say the ‘just in case’, but it lingers in the air between us.
“Motherfucker,” I mutter. “I hate that cunt.”
The sooner he’s out of our hair the better, but finding him has proved difficult. He’s playing a good game of hide and seek with us.
I’m about to take another bite when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and see the name ‘RABBIT’ on the handset. What the fuck does the prospect want?
I answer it, reaching for my bagel again.
“Hey sweet cheeks, you don’t call, you don’t write. What gives?”
I love giving shit to these guys, and Rabbit is easy to wind up.
Usually, he’ll give back as good as he gets, but today, he’s all business, which has my senses tingling.
“Hey, Weed. There’s a woman at the gate—she’s asking for you.” Rabbit’s voice rumbles down the line, sounding anything but amused.
It’s probably blondie back to give me a piece of her mind, or maybe someone else I’ve hooked up with. I’m not in the mood to deal with being yelled at.
“Tell her I’m not interested.”
“She’s got that kid who works at Moor Street with her.”
I freeze mid-bite. He’s talking about Jesse and I’d hazard a guess, Chloe.
“The woman—is she about five-six with flaming red hair?”
“Yeah, she seems a little—”
“I’ll be there in a second,” I cut him off and hang up. Shoving the last bite of bagel into my mouth, I come to my feet.
“Problems?” Adam asks.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
It takes everything I have not to run to the gate. Why is she here? Has something else happened? If her father has laid a finger on her, I’ll kill him this time. I told him there were no second chances and I meant that.
My brain is whirling as I head for the gate, unsure what to expect.
The irritation rolling off the redhead is not it, though. She looks like she’s ready to go off as she watches me cross the tarmac to the security shack. I’m not thrilled about the fact Rabbit has left them on the wrong side of the gate, but I get his caution after the whole Wilson debacle. The prospect is already having to do another year prospecting term because of his failings there. Most people would have said fuck it, and moved on. It’s a testament to his strength of character that he didn’t.
He’ll make a good brother… eventually.
I give Rabbit a lift of my chin as I approach, telling him without words it’s okay, that they’re okay. He moves back into the hut, while I head for the passenger gate. I wait for a moment for Rabbit to disengage the lock, then pull it open.
I have no idea why Chloe’s here, but the look on her face says whatever the reason, it doesn’t bode well for me. She looks practically homicidal.
Well, she would do if she wasn’t squinting at me from beneath a swollen black eye. The bruising looks worse now than it did when it was fresh.
Before I even open my mouth, she’s in my face, although she has to roll to her toes to manage it.
“I told you to leave it alone! What did I say, Weed? What did I say? You ignored my words completely! I mean, are you insane? What the hell were you thinking? You could have got hurt or locked up or worse. I don’t need you to solve my problems and I sure as hell don’t need you to be my hero.”
I don’t move throughout her tirade, just watch her losing her mind at me. Jesse blanches and I notice he moves to insert himself between me and his sister. Is he joking right now? There’s no way in fuck I’d put my hands on her. I don’t care what she does to me. I’ll never touch a woman in anger.
That doesn’t mean I let the moment pass without comment, though. I straighten my kutte and glare at her.
“Good morning, Weed. How are you doing, Weed? Would it be too much to ask for a few pleasantries before you tear my head off?”
“I don’t feel exactly like being pleasant right now!” she huffs.
“I got that, babe. Do you want to clue me in about why the fuck you’re yelling in my face?”
She moves to get in my grill again, but this time her brother pulls her back. “Chlo, stop.”
She does, but she stands with her arms folded over her chest, which pushes her tits up. Does she not know this? Or does she do it on purpose? I can’t fucking decide. I don’t even care. My eyes have already gravitated there. I’m only human and tits are tits. Chloe has spectacular breasts too—from what I can tell beneath her sweater.
“Up here, Weed!” she snaps and my eyes slide up to her face.
Okay, not my finest moment.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I tell her. “And I’ve got to say, I’m not happy about being screamed at, but woman, you have got a hell of a set of lungs on you.”
My attempt at levity dies before it gets going.
“Do you want to know what I’m not happy about? You going to my father’s house and kicking the crap out of him.”
I can’t help it. My mouth curves into a smile at the memory of him pleading for me to stop. I didn’t. I doubt he stopped when Jesse begged him.
“Yeah, I’m sorry you’re not happy about that, but I’m not going to apologise for what I did to that fucker.”
My admission seems to steal some of her anger for a second, as if she expected me to deny what I did. I’m not that kind of guy, though. I believed kicking the shit out of that bastard was righteous and deserved. I’m not ashamed of my actions.
“I told you to leave it alone.”
I shrug, nonchalant. “I told you I wasn’t going to. Was he pissed I messed up his pretty face?”
Jesse snorts at this, but silences at his sister’s glare, which is glacial. She grabs my arm and pulls me a little away from the teenager. Then she hisses in my face, “This is not a joke, Weed! What kind of message does this send to Jesse? Violence isn’t the answer to violence.”
“Then what is?” I demand. I’m a staunch supporter of violence as a way of preventing more violence in these circumstances. Bullies only listen to one thing—bigger bullies.
Her mouth opens then closes. “I don’t know,” she admits finally, pushing her fingers through her hair. “But it’s not beating his father to a pulp.”
His father—not theirs. She’s already distancing herself from that fucker. Good.
“Even though that’s what he’s likely been doing to your brother?” I shake my head. “The man doesn’t deserve your mercy or your pity, Chloe. He’s a monster and monsters only listen to one language. I talked to him in a way he understood. He’ll leave your brother and you alone now and he’ll do it because he knows the consequences for not doing it.”
“Weed…”
“No, woman, you’ve had your say. It’s my turn now. Some men don’t understand anything but violence. He needed a bigger bully to stop him. I was that bully. I’m not sorry about what I did. Your brother needed someone to stand up for him. I stood up. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
She deflates a little. “What if you get in trouble?”
I laugh. “Sweetheart, I’ve been in nothing but trouble since I was born.”
I’m pinned with a dark glare. “Be serious for a moment.”
“I am.” I let out a breath. “Chloe, he’s not going to do or say shit, and if he does, I’ll handle it.”
I watch as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t want my problems to become your problems.”
My hands go to her arms, shielded by her coat. Absently, I wonder what it would feel like to have no barriers between us.
“Everything is fine, darlin’. Trust me, okay?”
She nods and closes her eyes for a moment. “This is an absolute mess.”
“It’ll be fine. You and Jesse will be okay.”
I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I plant a kiss in her hair. It’s meant to be a brotherly gesture, but nothing about it feels familial. In fact, it awakens things in me I didn’t know I possessed—need, desire, longing and a passion that was dormant until now. I want to rip her clothes off and take her here and now. I want to part her soft lips and slip my tongue into her mouth and devour her whole.
I do nothing, though. I just stand and stare down at the wide green eyes peering up at me like I hang the moon.
Fuck me.
Guilt for what I did last night assails me. She’s not mine, not yet, but how could I sleep with another woman when I feel the way I do?
Because you’re in denial…
And I am. I don’t want to believe I want her, because I’m not worthy of her, and that thought cuts through me. I’ll never be worthy of someone like her and it’s easier to push her away than to deal with that realisation head on.
Chapter Seven
The Club’s New Year’s Eve party is a small affair. It’s family only, so no hangarounds, no outsiders, just brothers and old ladies. The Christmas tree and decorations were taken down after Boxing Day (that was as long as Derek could stand them being up), so the room looks back to its normal state.
Despite being a celebration, there’s a sombre tone tonight as everyone remembers the events of the past six months. The hum of noise in the room is both soothing and annoying to me.
I sit at the bar, the opposite end to Tap’s old seat, which remains always empty, and consider the next twelve months of my life. What lies ahead for me? Will Chloe still be in my life? Will she still want me in hers when she sees me for who I really am?
Taking a glug of my JD, I relish the burn as it h
its the back of my throat. Things are so screwed up lately, and Dylan being out there still makes me twitchy as hell. We haven’t seen any sign of him since he was last sighted in Blackwood, but we’re not going out of our way to find him either. Derek seems to think we should let the fight come to us. I don’t share that sentiment, but as a grunt in the trenches, I don’t get a vote.
I don’t know why Dylan is still hanging around, but it doesn’t give me good feelings that he is. If I was him and knew the Club was gunning for me, I’d be as far from Kingsley as I could get. For now, all we can do is be vigilant and keep ourselves as safe as we can. Life has to go on. Living in fear is no way to live, and besides, there’s only him versus the entire Lost Saxons Club. We can take him easily—as soon as we know where he is.
Needing some fresh air and space, I head outside onto the deck and find a dark, quiet corner to sit in. I consider lighting the joint I’ve got tucked away in my pocket, but instead, content myself with my drink. I haven’t even settled into tipsy yet, although the urge to get shit-faced is there. I ignore it. It’s not the time nor the place.
The doors open to the main room, drawing my attention as the music becomes louder for a moment before they swing shut again. I track Piper as she rushes to the railing of the decking and sags against it, gulping air, her dark hair flying around her face. I’m considering if I should go to her, considering how distressed she seems, when the doors open again and Cami, her little red-headed friend, moves through them at light-speed. She only stops moving when she hits the rail next to Piper.
“Darling, are you okay?”
Piper continues to try to catch her breath. “I thought I could do this. I thought I could be strong, but I’m not.”
Cami rubs her back, soothing, offering comfort.
“P, you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known, but what you went through… it’s going to take time to deal with.”
Piper’s head ducks, her dark hair curtaining her face as her shoulders sag. “Jem needs me to keep it together. I need to keep it together…”
I should make my presence known, but I don’t. Instead, I leave my glass on the deck and climb over the rail, dropping onto the grass the other side. I don’t need or want to hear that shit. It’ll make me want to dig Merrick up and kill his ass all over again. Fucking scumbag.
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