by Bella Jewel
I’m right.
Peter straightens and looks Dax right in the eyes. “You know the rules around here, son. Nobody keeps a woman except me.”
“Rules change,” Dax says, his voice still scarily calm. “She’s goin’ to stay here with me until I decide what to do with her.”
They’re speaking about me like I’m a small puppy incapable of looking after myself. To be fair, that’s the way I come across, but it’s also infuriating to listen to.
“I’d like to take her,” Peter says, his voice growing harder by the second. “She’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
He doesn’t even know me—how can he possibly tell I’m what he’s looking for? By looks alone? I’ve barely said two words to the man.
“She’s not your type, Peter,” Dax goes on.
“She’s exactly my type, and you know it.”
“This isn’t up for discussion. If you want to push me, then by all means do so, but you know exactly what I can do when pressed,” Dax warns.
Peter glares at him, and then, as if a light is flipped on in his brain, he smiles and looks at me. “I suppose you probably could use some company for a while. We’ll discuss it again in a few weeks when you’re bored of her, shall we?”
Dax simply nods, and I try hard not to exhale too loudly. I’m that relieved.
“Very well. I have business to tend to. I’ll be back, Dax. We’ll be discussing this further.”
Peter turns and walks out of the room, but the way he said that tells me this is far from over. Whatever it is about me, Peter wants it, and he’s made it very clear he’s going to do whatever he can to get it.
I feel a little unwell, and I’ll need to report this back to Alarick as soon as possible, because the last thing I want to do is get caught up with Peter. There will be no coming back from that.
“I hate to say it,” I murmur, “but I don’t like your friend.”
For a split second, I forget I’m meant to be sweet, broken and a little stupid. My comment has me panicking that Dax is going to wonder where such a statement came from, but instead, he laughs. His hands squeezes my hip and he tells me, “I knew I liked you for a reason.”
I swallow.
I’m not sure if him liking me is a good thing or a bad thing at this point.
But one thing is for sure—it just saved me from falling into the hands of the ultimate monster.
I’ll take that as a win for now.
“I MET AVIANA’S UNCLE,” I tell Alarick, walking into the large shed where all the bikers are currently sitting around a table, discussing things. The old biker, Pedro, who gave me a lift over, finds a seat and sits down. He doesn’t say much, but I’m fairly certain he’s getting a hell of a lot of death stares for letting me in the place.
I’m not meant to be in here, but as soon as I left Dax’s house, I knew I needed to come over to share the news. I couldn’t wait; I didn’t want any detail to be left behind.
“We’re having church right fuckin’ now if you don’t mind,” Mykel mutters.
“Oh, bite it, Mykel. It’s urgent or I wouldn’t be here.”
Someone chuckles.
“Give me ten. We’re about to wrap this up,” Alarick tells me. “I’ll come out after.”
I nod and turn towards the door.
“And Waverly?” Alarick calls.
I glance back.
“Don’t interrupt church again.”
Oh, boy.
Bikers are moody creatures.
I wait outside the shed until all the bikers start filing out. An older man tells me I can go in, and when I return, only Alarick, Cohen, Samson, Kendric, Bohdi and Mykel are sitting at the table, still in their same spots, spread out over the large space. I cross my arms and wait for Alarick to tell me to speak. God knows I don’t want to piss him off even more.
“Did you meet the uncle?” he finally asks, nodding to a seat across from him.
I walk over and sit down, and then I say, “Yes, he was there today and I met him . . .”
“What happened to your eye?” Cohen asks. “Dax do that?”
I forgot about shiner. I press my fingers to it and wince. “Oh, no. Sissy did.”
“Sissy fuckin’ did that?” Alarick growls.
“To be fair, she asked her to,” Samson points out.
“It’s a long story.” I wave a hand. “It wasn’t an ill-intentioned act. Now, can we get back to the uncle because honestly, he scares the shit out of me.”
“What happened?” Alarick asks.
“He wanted to take me, but Dax wouldn’t let him. Dax said he wanted to keep me, which is apparently a first because it didn’t go down well and Peter, the uncle, was dribbling on about rules and finally let Dax have his way, but not without threat that he’d be back. Apparently, I’m just his type, which scares the shit out of me because that man is evil, I’m telling you. He’s the true Prince of Darkness.”
“He could have any woman. What would he want with you?” Mykel mutters.
“Wow,” I say, swinging my gaze to him. “That’s just lovely, isn’t it? What a charmer you are.”
“I mean,” Mykel grinds out, “what makes you different to the rest?”
“Not helping,” I point out. “And I have no clue what makes me different. But apparently Peter isn’t the only one who sees it because Dax has, ah, taken quite the liking to me also.”
“How so?” Cohen asks, leaning back in his chair.
“He’s kinder to me—gentle, even. He’s different with me than he is with the other girls. It’s like he actually enjoys spending time with me.”
“The man’s feelin’ on you.” Kendric nods, grinning. “That could work fuckin’ well in our favor. He trusts her, falls for her, and she gets far closer to him than we could have ever hoped.”
“Or it fucks everything up because he’s not goin’ to do things the way he usually does.” Mykel growls. “I think it’s all gettin’ too messy and she should be very fuckin’ careful because not one, but two of those men are lookin’ at her in a different light.”
“I have to agree with Kendric,” Alarick says, and I give Mykel a ‘so there’ look, to which he glares at me so hard I have to turn away. “It’s better for him to like her. It gives us more time and it lets her get closer to him. A man that has feelings is a man that’s vulnerable. That will most certainly work in our favor.”
“So, what do we do about the fuckin’ uncle?” Bohdi asks, grabbing his thick blond locks and throwing them up in a messy man bun that suits the shit out of him and then leaning back in his chair. I usually can’t stand those things, but he rocks it in a way I didn’t know was possible.
“We keep an eye on him. The last thing we want is for him to get his hands on Waverly. That happens and shit is goin’ to go south real fuckin’ quick,” Alarick says, his voice firm and commanding.
“The last thing I want is to be anywhere near that man.” I shudder. “He scared the absolute hell out of me.”
“We’re not goin’ to let him get his claws in you.”
I nod and then exhale, relaxing a bit. “Well, that’s about it. We’re supposed to be going to some holiday house on the weekend with a group of girls and some of the potential ‘buyers,’ so I’m not sure how we’re going to work that, protection wise.”
“We’ll find a way,” Alarick assures me.
“Okay then. I guess I’ll see you all later then. Who’s taking me out of here? I came in with the old guy from the bar, but he’s not going to want to go back out.”
I have to wait for to an escort to get exit, because I’m not supposed to be seen here. I was escorted in, hidden in a car, and I have to leave the same way. Mykel stands and tells me he has business to tend to at home, so he’ll take me back there. I’d love to protest, but it makes sense considering we’re both going to the same house and all that.
I turn without a word and go the back way to the car, making sure not to be seen from the front entrances. I get in the
bed of Mykel’s truck and lie down. I’m used to it now, and it doesn’t actually bother me anymore.
At least I don’t have to talk to Mykel when I’m back here.
God knows, talking to him never goes well.
4
WAVERLY
“What the hell kind of kitchen is this?” I mutter, pressing my finger on the cooktop buttons over and over again, but nothing happens.
It flashes red lights at me, beeping, and I can’t figure the stupid thing out. Why can’t it just be an old-fashioned turn-the-knob-and-it-heats-up kind of top? I can’t deal with this . . . this . . . new-age rubbish.
“What the fuck are you doin’ to my cooktop?” Mykel asks from behind me.
I spin around, pot in my hand, and gasp when I see the half-naked Mykel standing behind me, hair wet and smelling incredible from his oh-so-recent shower. He’s wearing a pair of grey sweats and nothing else. I try very, very hard not to look down at his cock in those pants, because, well, I’m a woman, and there is something about sweats that make a man’s cock look so damned delicious.
Sweet Jesus, I’m having way too many thoughts about Mykel’s cock.
I look down anyway.
My eyes fall on the thick length that is clearly visible in the pants and I find myself unable to tear my eyes away. Oh god, now I’ve looked down at it too long. If I look up, I’m going to look like a perv, but if I keep looking, I’m going to look like a total creep. What do I do? Shit.
“Your floor needs some washing,” I mutter.
I did not just say that.
I sheepishly look back up at him and he’s staring at me, almost in disgust. His face is stoic, his mouth tight, his nose screwed up just a little.
“In case you think I didn’t just know you were starin’ at my cock like a starved fuckin’ woman, then I’ll break the news to you that I did fuckin’ know.”
Oh.
Boy.
And wait a second, starved woman?
Who does he think he is?
I’m not starved.
Slightly dick deprived, maybe, but not starved.
“I beg your pardon.” I wave a finger at him. “I am not starved. Not even close. I was simply admiring what all good women would admire. I’m fairly certain you do it to every woman that walks past in a pair of tight pants . . .”
He just glares at me.
Man of very few words, this one.
“What are you doin’ to my cooktop?”
I glance back at it, thankful that we’re no longer on the topic of his cock. That was getting awkward. “I can’t work the stupid thing.”
“It’s not that fuckin’ hard. Turn it on and cook.”
“It keeps flashing at me, and beeping, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing wrong.”
With a growl, he snatches the pan from my hand and presses a few buttons, and the cooktop stops beeping and a red ring lights up around the farthest burner.
“What?” I yell, frustrated. “It did not just do that for me.”
“Maybe you should take that as a hint not to be in my kitchen.”
“Girl’s gotta eat, man,” I point out, staring back at him again.
God, why does he have to look so good? With all those muscles, and tattoos, and that gorgeous dark red hair, and those eyes and . . . Sweet Jesus, Waverly, get it together.
“Get out. I’ll cook.”
I frown and meet his gaze. “You’ll cook?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t know what I was going to cook, though . . .”
He stares at my roughly chopped vegetables and chicken, and mutters, “Somethin’ I wouldn’t feed to a dog by the looks.”
“Well, aren’t you in a dazzling mood this evening. Have you ever considered some medication for your condition?”
“Don’t have a fuckin’ condition.”
“You have a major condition. It’s called I-have-a-dull-personality condition. It’s very serious in some countries.”
He gives me a look that tells me he’s about to bust a top and I’m going to cop the raging hot contents he’s holding inside. “What were the rules in this house?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t speak,” I mutter, and then give him a cheesy grin. “But I can’t follow such a strict rule.”
“You can, and you fuckin’ will. Now go and shower while I make this dinner.”
I huff and turn, walking out of the kitchen. I’m not going to argue this savage anymore. He might just throw me into the fiery pits so he doesn’t have to look at me.
Such an unhappy human.
I wonder why?
I walk to my room, and as I’m passing a few of the doors in the hall, I can’t help but consider what’s behind them. He has so many bedrooms and office spaces in this house. Does he use any of them? Does he just keep them locked up so nobody can ever look?
Curious, I walk over to one and open it.
A bedroom, clean and tidy—nothing major to see.
I go to another one.
A small office space—well, small for this house. Again, it’s tidy. There’s nothing to see.
I go to the last door on the left and try it.
It’s locked.
I rattle it a few times, but it’s not moving. Hmmm, very interesting.
I try a few others, which are all unlocked, but I find myself glancing back at the locked door.
Only secrets are kept behind locked doors.
Secrets you don’t want the world to know.
What secrets could Mykel be holding behind that door?
“THIS IS . . . WOW,” I say, putting another piece of tender chicken into my mouth.
Mykel managed to make some chicken, vegetable and noodle dish that has so much flavor, I’m already thinking about my second bowl and wondering if he’s going to judge me for eating so much.
I don’t even care; I’m going back for more.
“It’s nothin’,” Mykel says, his voice low and husky. He puts another forkful in his mouth and I try not to stare as he chews.
He even looks good doing that.
Seriously.
“It’s more than nothing; it’s divine. Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“My mom,” he tells me.
“She must have made some pretty incredible meals.”
“She did.”
God, he just doesn’t like talking to me, does he?
It doesn’t seem to matter what I do. Mykel seems to have this wall up around me. A wall that’s so high, not even I can attempt to climb it. I’m not sure what it is that he doesn’t like, but it does bother me. It bothers me because he knows nothing about me. He doesn’t know who I am, not right down to my core. He just sees me as this annoying woman who he wants out of his life, and his club.
“What is it about me you don’t like?”
He stops chewing and looks over at me. For a moment, I see a tiny flash of shock cross his face. Like he didn’t expect I’d actually ask that question. Then, he continues on chewing. It takes him a few moments to answer. “You’re just hard to deal with.”
Hard to deal with?
He hasn’t liked me from the moment I walked in the door.
It has nothing to do with being hard to deal with. He never even got to hello before he’d made up his mind.
“That’s a cop-out,” I mutter, and shove another mouthful in. It suddenly doesn’t taste as good.
“How is it a fuckin’ cop-out?”
“Because you don’t know me at all. You never even said hello before you decided you didn’t like me.”
“I don’t like smart mouths.”
“Oh, well, I don’t like jerks who don’t even give people a chance.”
He shakes his head and then stands, walking out of the room. Just like that, he exits the conversation. No explanation. Nothing.
He’s done, and that’s that.
“Fucking wanker,” I mutter under my breath and place my bowl down.
It bothers me like crazy. I
t bothers me that something about my personality makes him dislike me so much. It makes me feel stupid, and like I need to prove myself to him. I don’t, of course, but it doesn’t mean those feelings aren’t there.
My cheeks burn, just a little, and I glance around the now empty room.
Mykel might be judging me before he knows me, but the more I think about it, the more I realize the problem is his, and not mine.
Mykel has a lot of skeletons in his closet, and perhaps he’s starting to let them decide how he feels.
It’s not a good trait to judge someone before you know them, and Mykel is proving that, with every passing second.
I stand, unable to finish my dinner. I place some wrap on the top of the bowl and put it in the fridge for tomorrow, and then I go upstairs into my room and close the door. I lock it, because fuck him, it’s time to call Zariah. I miss not having her around. I miss not being able to vent to her after a hard day. She’s the only family I have here, and she’s the one person I’d trust with my life.
“How’s it going, sis?” she answers the phone, sounding out of breath. “I was going to call you soon.”
“Have you been doing that awful thing again?” I murmur into the phone.
She snorts. “You mean running?”
“Yes, that . . .”
“You know the answer always will be yes to that question.”
“And you know my answer will always be why?”
She laughs. “How are you, Waverly? How are things with Mykel?”
“I can’t stand him. He makes me want to go in there and gouge his eyes out with my fingers, slowly, just to watch him scream in agony and beg for me to stop.”
Zariah goes silent for a second. “You watch way too much television and that was an incredibly morbid thing to say.”
“Thank you.” I smile, flopping onto the bed.
“So, I guess it’s not going well then?”
“That’s one way of putting it. The man can’t stand me, and yet I’ve done nothing to him to earn that kind of hatred. I asked him tonight why he didn’t like me and all he could say was ‘Because you’re hard to deal with.’ I mean, what even is that?”
