by Addy Archer
“What’s wrong, Apple?” I ask in a soft voice, trying not to freak her out since she seems spooked already.
“I’m not sure I can do this.” Her eyes lock on mine. “What was I thinking?”
I cup the side of her gorgeous face. “You were thinking of saying goodbye to your mom, sweetheart. And you’re allowed to do so. Come on.”
I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close. The both of us walk over to where Peyton told me their mother was buried. Harper cuddles closer, her hand fisting my leather cut. It’s as if she needs to grab hold to prevent herself from being swallowed by the outside world.
Fucking hell, this woman has been through so much and lost both her parents on top of it. It doesn’t matter if her father was an asshole who had everything to do with fucking up her life, because in the end, a parent is a parent. Losing one will leave a gaping hole you will always carry with you. Believe me, I know this all too well with my fucked-up father.
Minutes tick by as her eyes remain fixed on the headstone. Her grip on me never loosens. Then suddenly she beams up at me, her eyes less haunted. She raises on her tiptoes and places an ever-so-fucking-quick kiss on my lips, as if a feather has touched my damn mouth. Sensual. Tingling. Leaving an itch that needs to be scratched.
“Thank you.” The gratitude lacing her voice hits me straight in the chest.
I swallow at the emotions clogging my throat. “What for?”
“For being there for me. My safety net. Just… for being you.”
I give her a tight nod because I would do it all over again in the blink of an eye, and yet it all started because my president gave me an order, one I wasn’t very happy about when I heard I had to take care of a drugged-up woman. But that quickly turned around when I first laid eyes on her.
Yeah, drugged up or not, this woman spiked my attention, and a wave of protectiveness flared to make sure no one would go near her or hurt her ever again. For me it was an instant connection, and when she was able to shake herself from everything that was tainting her awareness, I could tell the connection I felt with her was mutual.
“No need to thank me, Apple,” I croak. “I’ll always be there for you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Unless they lock you back up again,” she says, and there’s a hint of mischief in her eyes.
Finally, the return of the easy banter that was starting up before I was thrown in jail.
“Not gonna happen,” I simply say. “Come on, we’re swinging by that little Italian place we both like.”
Her interest spikes instantly. “I think I’m going to go with the all sorts of cheese lasagna.”
“That’s a damn good choice.”
We stroll back to my bike, and Hunt’s eyes land on us. I give him a chin lift and grab the helmet to put it on Harper, but she walks over to him.
“I hear congratulations are in order. You’re gonna make me an aunt, right?” Her voice is all smiles.
A proud look washes over Hunt’s face. “Yeah, that’s correct. My old lady, your sister, is pregnant. Couldn’t wish for a better mom for my kid, my other daughter too. Raven loves Peyton. Shit couldn’t get more perfect if you asked me. New life, new future. You’re also a part of this family now, you know that, right?”
Apple nods but takes a step back. This whole jumping the gun thing with going out and about is breaking her up. She might hold strong, but I know deep down she’s fragile. Hunt reminding her she’s safe while the fucker is still out there doesn’t do her any good.
I can see it in the way she freezes up and takes a step back. She nods politely at Hunt’s words, and I know my VP means well but, dammit, bad fucking timing. She doesn’t need the reminder when she’s standing here out in the open.
“She knows,” I mutter. “We’re leaving. Gonna make a stop at that tiny Italian place I always go to, okay?” I don’t wait for a reply but guide Harper to my bike.
Within the hour, we’re back in the tiny house located behind the clubhouse. Downstairs it’s basically only a living room with an open kitchen, a toilet, and a small bedroom with only enough space for a bed, no closet room at all. There’s a bathroom and a slightly bigger bedroom upstairs, but all it basically can fit in there is a queen-size bed and a TV on the wall.
But it has been more than enough for the last few months. And seeing as I had to pull her through rough days as well as nights, I’ve been sleeping in her bed along with her ever since she came into my life. It’s for this reason Harper is standing on the other side of the bed and is ripping off her clothes to trade it all for one of my shirts.
That’s how damn comfortable she is around me. And why wouldn’t she be this comfortable? I’ve been taking care of her when she wasn’t even capable of taking care of herself. I’ve seen her naked countless times, washed her, tended to her wounds—which, thankfully, have healed nicely—and held her close as she puked her guts out. Nothing sexual about any of it, and yet I’m standing here like a damn teenager shooting a sneaky look in the hopes to get a glimpse of her body.
Yeah, no doubt about it, those ten days away from her screwed with my head. Hell, I was screwed the second I laid eyes on her. And the whole thing leading us to this point only makes it clearer that she’s meant to be mine.
“Not worried about staining the sheets, are ya?” I ask as she places the food on the bed and climbs up next to it.
The smile she shoots me warms my damn chest. “Your turn to do laundry,” she easily supplies.
See? No other way around it; we’re practically living together as a couple and have been for the last few months. The whole “she’s meant to be mine” is a load of crap; she’s mine already.
I toe off my sneakers and let my pants hit the floor. Carefully placing my leather cut on the mattress, I throw my shirt on my jeans and make sure to fold my cut and gently place it on the pile of clothes, making sure it’s respected and doesn’t hit the floor. That’s the thing about this tiny-as-shit bedroom, no damn space for a proper closet or chair for that matter.
She hits play on the remote before my ass is underneath the damn covers. “You could wait for me,” I grumble.
“The food would be cold by the time your ass would be in bed. Hitting play speeds things up. And fussing over your cut the way you do? Not a single care about your jeans or shirt hitting the floor. But your leather cut? It’s clear the club is everything to you.”
What she means to address, but fails to voice, is just like my father. And yet the words ring out louder than ever. Well, I’m all about throwing everything out in the open, so I’m not shying away from this either.
“I’m not your father, and every damn MC is different. Rebel Rage MC respects old ladies. Besides, women aren’t supposed to be dragged into club business. If you want to make assumptions, get your facts straight. And I will respect my cut because I’m a prospect and will honor what I stand for.” My words aren’t spoken in anger, but I make sure she knows I speak the truth.
“Yes, you’re still a prospect. You can….” She swallows the rest of her words.
But I don’t let her get away with that. Life’s too short to dwell in uncertainties and assumptions.
“That leather cut stands for the world I’m wrapped in. The strength and family who have my back. Loyalty and respect are edged into the patch, one I wear with fucking pride. I might be a prospect, but make no mistake, Harper, I am a member of Rebel Rage MC. One word to my president, and I’m a full member. I’ve earned it. You want to know why? I’ll tell you why. Because I was living on the streets at the age of sixteen when Alaric found me. I was searching through the trash can of Rebel Rage MC, looking for food.”
She stares at me without any judgement in her eyes, though I can see she’s trying to wrap her mind about the information I just shared.
It makes me spill some more. “I can hear your head cracking over that. Let me give you some more details. I had been living on the streets for two years. A few months before my fourteenth birthday, my mo
ther had no other choice but to pack a bag for me and herself. We left early that morning on the first bus out of town and headed to Nevada. Our great escape, away from my father who was a mean drunk, one who used his fists on me or my mother. Hell, even when we escaped that fucker, my mother couldn’t deal with living without him and the fact she left him. Her world completely fell apart because she had always been with my father. She couldn’t handle it and took comfort in drugs, and on my fourteenth birthday she died of an overdose. The authorities wanted to place me in my father’s care. Seeing as my mother never reported any incidents about my scumbag of a father, everybody thought he was a stand-up citizen. I knew better; outer appearance means shit if your dirty and rotten on the inside. I chose the streets rather than dealing with my father’s fists.”
I make sure our eyes are connected when I tell her, “You might have faced darkness and had it open your eyes about the bad sides of MC life, Harper. But it’s in the MC life where I found my true family. One who doesn’t spread hurt but embraces those who need it. They stand up for the same loyalty and respect they are born with. It’s something running inside you. The type of person you want to be and stand for. I stand behind my brothers as they stand behind me; it’s where I belong. Here it doesn’t matter if you have a bad history. All of us understand all too well if you’ve experienced hurt by the ones who should give the warmth you need, but in fact turn out to be the fire pits of hell instead. You leave it behind you and make damn sure you find your own family who will die to protect you. The people who know and respect your worth. I’ve found mine, Harper. Rebel Rage MC has been the strength in my life as I give my life for my brothers.”
Our eyes are still locked. My chest is rapidly rising and falling due to all the words that poured out of me. It wasn’t my intention to share all of it.
It seems I’m not finished when I tell her, “My brothers might stand behind me. Their support and our unity burning through my veins, but my future old lady will have to stand beside me. She will own my heart, but the blood pumping through it will be filled with Rebel Rage MC. Everything is connected, Harper. I chose this life, and I will never have any regrets or second thoughts. So, yeah, prospect or not, my damn cut won’t hit the dirt. It’s taken care of because that patch stands for everything in my life. Because my life started the day they took me in at the mere age of sixteen. I had nothing to offer and they gave me all.”
She doesn’t give me any words; she doesn’t have to. Her eyes are radiating understanding.
She clears her throat and grabs the remote. “Now we have to start all over because we weren’t paying attention.”
Back to easy banter. That’s our strength, to get it all out and move on like a solid team.
“That’s because you are ogling my abs instead of watching the TV,” I tell her.
Harper’s eyes go wide while a red blush instantly heats her skin.
A smug smile spreads across my face as she starts to sputter in denial, but I cut her off. “Ssssshh, eyes on the screen, sweetheart. We have episodes to watch and food to eat.”
Yeah, maybe these days apart and total honesty is better for her—for the both of us—to move on to better things life has to offer. Hopefully together. Because in moments like these, with that fine blush kissing her skin, I have hope that one day she’ll be my old lady.
Getting my dick wet with her juices or not, it doesn’t matter. As long as we’re creating happiness together and living life our own way, that’s all one can hope for. Some people settle for less. Hell, my mother did with putting up all those years with my father until she finally left, but then she couldn’t deal with life either.
Hours pass where Harper drifts off to sleep. She’s cuddled against me, head on my chest, and I relish in our closeness. Placing a kiss on the top of her head and inhaling deep, I close my eyes to let this moment soak into my brain. I missed this; I missed her. So. Damn. Much.
When I wake up, I instantly miss her warmth and rub my eyes as I glance around me. My gaze lands on hers, and with my voice cracking with sleep, I ask, “What is it, Apple?”
She’s bouncing with excitement, which is something I haven’t experienced with her, and it puts me slightly on edge. Suddenly, I’m wide awake.
“I want to do something,” she says with enthusiasm.
Fuck our brains out? My mind easily supplies.
She’s oblivious to my one-track mind as she continues, “Every day I want to do something. You know, force myself to do one thing I hate or fear. And today I want to go to my house.”
I’m standing next to the bed in a flash.
“To your house?” I question. Completely stunned she would suggest such a thing.
I run my fingers through my hair while I stare at her. Her gaze isn’t locked on mine; she’s eyeing my morning wood. Normally I would be up before her; I guess this time I slept a little longer than I normally do. Not so strange since I finally slept in my own bed next to her instead of a prison cell.
“Ignore it,” I groan and rub a hand over my face.
Dammit, I slept like the dead, and I’m still groggy. I blink a few times, and when my eyes land on Harper, I see she’s still admiring my hard dick. A slow smile spreads across my face because there’s no fear or awkwardness. If I had to describe the look she’s giving me, I’d say intrigued, longing… desire.
I clear my throat and reach for my clothes. Dumping them on the bed, I start with my jeans while I ask her, “Do you want to get breakfast first? Here or go out? I’ll shoot Hunt a message. Do you want to take your sister along with you since I need to take Hunt with me too?”
I think I threw enough questions out to distract her. And when I’m dressed and grabbing my cut, I finally have the nerve to make eye contact again, because she’s not the only one dealing with feelings that are way too raw and intense to act on.
She’s still staring. Apparently, she didn’t do anything except watch me put my clothes on. “What? I’m gonna shower after I get some breakfast,” I grumble, somewhat on edge due to the unexpected tension still building.
“Right. No. Sure. I’m gonna…. Yes. Breakfast, right.” She dashes off and disappears into the bathroom.
Gone is the tension, and it’s replaced by satisfaction. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to start with tweaking our friendship and gently sliding into becoming lovers. The interest in my body was clearly written on her face, and though her body might be ready, her mind can be playing catchup. Thin ice, that’s for sure. But I love a challenge, especially when it involves my Apple.
C H A P T E R F O U R
~ H A R P E R ~
My great escape is dashing into the bathroom to take a shower. I have no clean clothes, and the whole steam and hot water vibe makes me more aware of my own body as I rub the fluffy towel over my skin. Crazy. I never thought my body would react this way or that my mind would wonder about having sex.
And yet I’m sure it’s because of Linc. He’s not just any man. He’s safe. He makes me feel at ease—well, not so much since he has returned after being locked up. Now I feel restless, and somehow I want something more between us. To be honest, I’m terrified of giving in, because what if I’m wrong? What if I can’t handle it once we’re about to have sex?
Shit. Am I really thinking of having sex? Would he even want me? Because there are women available for these type of guys without even a crook of their finger. I know from my father’s MC how women always throw themselves at them. Free pussy to share and have fun.
I was a virgin when Alejandro kidnapped me and tied me to his bed to repeatedly rape me. I should be glad Alejandro drugged me when he wanted to try for a second round. I hardly remembered anything after that. The first time I fought like hell, which is the reason he tied me to the bed in the first place. It didn’t prevent me from biting every chance I had.
I made sure my virgin blood wasn’t the only blood staining the sheets. I’m sure Alejandro has some scars to remember me by since I had to spit out a chunk
of his skin when I bit his shoulder. Gross, but I’ve always been taught to fight.
It didn’t matter, though. In the end, Alejandro won. He pumped me full of drugs, and each time I somewhat came to, his face would appear above me. I’d breathe in his stinking breath as he told me how he would be the only one who would own me completely. How the day would come when I begged for his cock. How I would give him his firstborn. Panic starts to fill my veins again, and the temperature and small confinement of the shower is getting to me, so I rush into the bedroom.
Stumbling over the towel I’m holding, I crash to the floor. I hear curses flowing through the air and turn my head in that direction. Linc rushes over, placing the two coffee cups he’s holding on the floor, and squats down beside me.
“What’s wrong? What happened? Are you okay?” Worry laces each word.
I let go of the towel and wrap my arms around his neck to pull him close. If I could crawl inside his body to hide from the rest of the world, I would. Screwed up, I know, but he makes me feel safe. As if he can—and will—handle anything that comes barging in here.
His strong embrace, the way he softly rocks us back and forth, the soothing words, and his kisses on the top of my head—all of it calms me down and makes the haunting memories slip into the background.
Linc shifts and drags me with him as he sits back against the wall. I’m draped over his lap, my head buried in the crook of his neck with his strong arms wrapped around me. During the nights when Linc was in jail, I found myself hugging his pillow in an effort to feel him close. Nothing compares to being in his embrace.
The smell of coffee penetrates my awareness, and I pull my head back to glance at the cups on the floor. He brought me coffee like he usually does each morning. I get the bathroom first while he makes coffee, and I handle breakfast while he takes a shower next. A routine. Our routine. Set times so I know what to expect every minute of the day. My brain functions better with a schedule and a set routine—another thing he gets about me.
