Tonto lets go of my hands, his shoulders rising with a stiffness that only shows he’s hiding something. He looks around, and under his breath, I hear fuck. “Did he mention when?”
“Soon,” was all I let out before winking at him. I stand, tell him I need to go, and hide that I’m hurrying to Bird with this information.
Tonto doesn’t even follow me, and that’s more worrisome than the fact he appeared interested in fake information that seemed to have some truth to it after all.
I don’t even flash the lights to let Bird know I’m in the office. I just frantically wave, my heart racing with anxiety. If I don’t slow my breaths soon, I’ll be on the ground.
“What’s wrong?” He flips his middle fingers from his shoulders, distress marking his beautifully gruff face.
Placing a palm on my chest, I try to calm my heart, try to relax.
He rushes to me. “Did something happen?” His frantic signs have my panic spiking. In the next moment, he’s pulling out his pistol.
I try to sign, try to tell him something, but I’m having a hard time breathing. What is it with me and panic attacks at the worst time?
I bend down, sticking my head between my knees as he rubs circles into my back soothingly. At least he can tell I’m in no shape to speak, or rather, sign.
“Baby, you can’t change the result, but you can control how you react to it.” As I repeat Brax’s mantra in my head, my breathing finally regulates. Wasting no time, I stand and sign. “Tonto. Something is up with him. He’s fishy.”
Something in Deaftone’s eyes click. That ass smirks at me, like he’s proud of me.
“What?” I ask and form the upside claw sign in my hands, annoyed with his expression.
“I wondered when he would try to test you. Looks like it was now.” He chuckles, a voiceless movement of his mouth. It’s so different than a regular person’s. Empty. Haunting. Hollow.
“What the fuck?” I sign, smacking my hands harder than necessary.
“Absinthe.” He makes an “A,” proceeding to cross his arms at his chest, making Sinthe’s name sign. Poison. Yes, he sure as shit is.
I growl so loud Bird probably praises Jesus he’s Deaf and doesn’t have to hear that. Then, I start shouting. “How could he fucking do that? Doesn’t he care about me?” I cross the room, pacing back and forth, gripping my head. “Does he think I’m a snitch? Am I not trustworthy?”
In the next second, Deaftone has me pinned against the wall. There’s nothing sexual about the way he does it, but his eyes are full of anger. He pushes away from the wall he just had me boxed in.
His hands makes a “B” and he gestures for me to calm down.
I am calm, dick. I flip him off, pissed that they would play such a horrible joke on me.
“Never.” He slashes the air with the sign. “Never disrespect the patch.”
I see the flicker of hurt in his expression. Me questioning Sinthe makes it look like I don’t trust their choices, that I do in fact disrespect their brotherhood.
“Never disrespect the brotherhood.”
Placing an “S” on my chest, I circle the breastbone there. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I was only terrified.”
At that, he softens, the hardness in his eyes melt, making him seem calmer. He places a kiss on my forehead and grips my face in a prideful way. Soon after, he’s dropping his hands with an almost guilty expression toward his reaction to my words.
“I’m glad you came to me. It means you’re one of us now.”
With those words, a tear rolls down my cheek, hitting each dip from my dimple to my lips. I send him a questioning look, and he does that voiceless chuckle.
“It was your test, baby girl. You’re a Viper now. Maybe not patched since it’s a brotherhood, but just as welcome. Just as honored.”
When he finishes with the last sign, I feel warmth hug my heart.
I smile upon a sob, and with my makeup trashed, I laugh too. He hugs me, holding me to his chest like he always used to.
“I love you,” I sign then stand on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Forever.” I point to my head then sign the “y” outward, showing him.
He signs the “y” sideways, back and forth between us. “Me too.”
After my heart and mind calm a bit, I travel back into the bar. My eyes wander over all the Viper decorations. There are license plates of the fallen members, signs about biker bitches and the brotherhood coming before pussy. As always, my eyes land on the most monumental of pieces—the cut of Sinthe’s grandpop’s. Hennessey—yeah, another booze—was the founder. They call him Tall Boy, since he was a giant compared to most men and built like a tree. From the stories I’ve heard, Tall Boy was a badass.
The Vipers talk about him being this ruthless commander who took no shit and had more loyalty than Jesus. He would bleed for the chapter, kill for them, and die if need be. Not once did Mamá and I meet him, although I knew Pops, Sinthe’s dad. His real name was Skol, but people called him Pops out of respect. Except me. I called him Skully. It’s clear that this family either has a major alcohol addiction problem, or they thought it was great to name every man after a cold one.
It wasn’t until I was older that I figured out he wasn’t my grandpa, but rather, the man who took both Mamá and I in. When I was younger, Mamá couldn’t really afford daycare. Most days were spent at Cynosure and the Den.
Eventually, after smiling at all the items that make the Den the Den, I spot someone nearby. At a bar stool sat a man in conversation with Pilar. The way her eyes lit up made me immediately wary, but the more I watch the man, something inside me squeezes.
Is that my heart?
My stomach?
I’m going to be sick. Gripping my stomach, touching the bare flesh, I close my eyes. Calm down. I just had a panic attack. There’s no need for another. His hand grips a tumbler, and he’s wearing regular clothes. A gray Henley hugs his trim waist, broad shoulders, and has me scared to move. He’s rocking some jeans I’ve never seen him wear before. You don’t know it’s him.
The air fills with his rumbly deep laugh a moment later, his head arching back. The sound hits me in the gut. It’s him. I bet his Adam’s apple is prominent this moment, with his throat exposed, aching to have my tongue flick across it.
What the hell? Stop.
Recognition fills me to the brim all the way from my toes to my head, reminding me of him. His smile, the way his eyes darken when he wants to touch me but can’t. His big hands and how they make me feel protected when wrapped around me. And his body, his goddamn sinful body that’s not mine. He’s not mine. He’ll never fucking be mine.
But the most important thing, though, is he left me. Broke my fucking heart.
My body tells me to run. My head tells me to act nonchalant, and my heart reaches for the man who hasn’t turned around yet.
I can’t do this.
As soon as I’m twisting to head back to Bird, to my safety net, his voice stops me.
“Mi corazón.”
Not anymore. Not ever again. My body halts, more from his emotional tone than the calm demand behind it. I can’t look at him. If I do—if I even get a glimpse—I’ll be fucked. He has that much power. He’s the craving I’ve missed, and with one look, I know I’ll be addicted again. Back to obsessing over this man who’ll never be mine.
Pivoting to the doors out back, I rush for them almost too quickly. I need air. My chest aches. This unbearable pull shouldn’t be there.
I’m with Brax.
I love Brax.
My hand connects with the door, and I step outside in the stale air. The sun is covered by clouds, the sky a soft blue-gray that reminds me of sadness and loss. You didn’t lose him. He left. My mind unravels as it tries to stick to one thing.
He could have come for me.
He could have apologized.
He could have fought.
He’s too late.
Nodding, I realize it’s decided. He’s too late. I’ve
moved on and with a man worth my time, a man worth every sacrifice.
When I turn to head back in, I’m stopped by the sight of the other man, one who literally takes my breath away. He literally snatches it from me. It’s not a willing thing I do. My lungs seize at the sight of him. My Sy. My soulmate. My damnation.
His eyes are filled with emotion. It makes no sense to me. In the last two minutes, he’s shown me more than he has in our entire time together.
I can’t help my gaze as it scans him. His eyes are soft and caring, and that freaks me out. I step back twice, making sure there’s distance. He has a scar on his chin, almost like he was cut deep. It’s beautiful in its destruction, a little mark on his near-flawless face. He doesn’t smirk like normal, and he doesn’t even have a cocky stance to him. His hands go to his pockets, surprising me more than anything. It’s a timid gesture, one I’d never guess he’d show. The way he rocks on his heels in nervousness has me fighting my own smirk.
This Silas I don’t understand. This Silas is new.
He’s still huge, even though it seems he’s lost weight. His shoulders are still wide and aggressive, his arms like massive branches to the tree of Sy.
He’s perfect. Even after all this time, he’s absolutely perfect.
My eyes mist. Sorrow and abandonment claw up my throat, threatening to spill out of me.
He’s here. He’s okay. He’s—
—my gentle perusal halts, stopping at the arms that are now crossed at his chest. To the left hand particularly.
No ring.
There’s not a ring on his finger. Not that I ever wanted to pay attention when he first started wearing it. I just pretended it was nonexistent. Wouldn’t you? It wasn’t anything fancy or gaudy, just a golden band that imprinted him as hers—titling him as stepfather. It’s gone now.
The indent and less-than-tan skin where his ring once resided stares at me, mocking me.
What the hell?
No. no. no. no. I can’t do this. Closing my eyes, forcing myself to look away from this man, I try to make an escape plan.
If I run, he’ll catch me. If I kick him in his groin, he’ll retaliate. If I smack him… Maybe I should?
With my mind stuck on all the possibilities, he reaches out, touching my chin. It’s benign, lacking the usual harshness that’s all him. He tends to be more demanding, letting me know I’m his without any hindrance of doubt. This is different, almost reverent in its partaking, impassioned in its thieving, and lawless in its blight. He holds me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted, and he possesses another little iota of me I’ll never get back.
And he’s aware of this power. He always has been.
My eyes fly open. I’m unraveled at the continuous contact, unbelievably stricken with grief, flagrantly ashamed at how affected I am.
I never allowed myself to grieve over the death of us. That’s what happened. The ending of Leia and Sy, the finality of two lovers like the ones from Lover’s Point. My lip warbles as our gazes connect. His expression is full of grief, and regret of heartache and torture. Everything missing from my life since leaving Puerto Rico reflects in the man in front of me.
“Don’t run,” he implores.
It throws me off, seeing him this vulnerable—this evocative. Tears that were barely at bay spill, allowing me to feel everything I’ve shoved deep within. As his thumbs swipe the treacherous, salty droplets, I find myself lost in the gray of his eyes.
“Don’t cry, baby.”
My heart is stuck on the word baby, an endearment Sy has only ever used once or twice. The way he just said it is as emotional as if he told me he loves me. It’s as meaningful as if he kissed me. It’s as powerful as if he sliced open my wrists himself, forcing me to bleed this love and give into this internecine rapture.
But that word.
Baby.
That’s what Brax calls me. That’s his thing. That’s his.
Pulling away almost too forcefully, I wipe at the remaining tears, wanting to just go to him, praying that I can touch him once. I long to feel his arms wrap around me, for him to hold me together.
But I won’t.
I can’t.
“You can’t be here,” I finally get out, avoiding his reaction.
He sidles up to me again, lifting my chin.
“I’ll leave, mi cielo, but know that I’m not going anywhere. I’m here to stay. We have a lot to talk about, and I’ll never stop fighting. Not this time.” As soon as those words leave him, he grips both sides of my face and places the tenderest, warmest, most reverent kiss on my forehead. “I’m coming for you. I’m not waiting anymore.”
I watch from a distance, my arms braced on my car behind me. She doesn’t once touch him. She doesn’t even lean into his kiss, but that doesn’t make witnessing them together any easier. Seeing him touching her, even as little as he did, has me raging. An anger I haven’t felt in over six months consumes me.
When he walks away, getting in a car, driving to wherever the fuck he came from, I stalk to my girlfriend.
She’s in a shocked state of mind. I can tell with how she holds herself, and it pisses me off. He can’t come back into our lives. Not mine. Not hers. And certainly not fucking ours.
As soon as I reach her, she stares guiltily at me. If I hadn’t watched the exchange myself, I’d have thought she fucked him based on the expression on her face.
“B-Brax…” she stumbles for her voice. It’s pitchy and throaty all at once. She’s feeling something, and it isn’t for me.
But instead of the Brax she loved as a boyfriend in school, she has Viper Prospect Baby, the one who doesn’t allow other men to touch their women.
I grip her throat, not too harshly. I don’t want to hurt her. Not this way at least.
“The fuck was he doing here, Lele?” I growl.
If I’m being too forward, too intense, she doesn’t say anything. If anything, her eyes darken in that way I’ve learned means she’s ready to ride my dick.
“I don’t know,” she whimpers in a way that has my length thickening. It’s rock solid as I eye her in her halter top and a short denim skirt, her sexy-as-fuck belly ring glinting.
I let it go in that moment, my mind on other things entirely. “Doesn’t matter,” I grumble in her ear, licking her throat slowly.
She grinds against me, her lips parting on a moan. Without thinking better of it, I hike her tiny skirt up her hips. Her eyes widen, and she peers around the bar, seeing how desolate the parking lot is. Good.
I bring two of my fingers to her mouth. “Suck,” I demand.
She takes them into her lithe, little mouth, swirling her naughty tongue conspiratorially around them. After a minute of mimicking what she does to my cock, she lets them go with a pop. I groan and fall to my knees to worship my girl.
“Now, widen your fucking legs,” I bark voraciously.
She obeys easily, and I’m entranced with the flimsy material barely covering her. Moving her lace thong to the side, I slide both fingers into her, feeling it already wet with need. The fact that it could be because of Sy has me hissing with jealousy. I reach forward, tonguing her clit and pumping my fingers in tandem.
She bows off the wall and into my mouth more. This. This is where I’m meant to be. I grip her thigh, throwing one leg over my shoulder, spearing my tongue inside her tight hole, loving her flavor.
After she thrusts into my mouth and onto my fingers, I take her other leg, throwing it over my shoulder. Now the only thing holding her is the wall and me. I feast on my girl, taking my anger out on her pussy, piercing her with my tongue ring.
Leaning back to see her writhe above me, I growl when I see her worrying her lip between her teeth. I want to do that, bite them, nibble on them, make her mine all over again.
“Such a dirty girl, Leia. Letting me lick your cunt out in the open like this.” I nip her thigh, and she shimmies, trying to force my mouth back down on her cleft. “Bet it gets you hot, knowing any one of the Vipers cou
ld walk out here and watch me eat you like a starved man.”
“Fuck, Brax,” she moans.
“That’s right. Me. Not him. Not ever him again. Just me and my cock, filling you, fucking you, loving you.”
And then I latch onto her bundle of nerves, biting down as she cries my name over and over again. My cock begs for attention, pulsing in my jeans. Hearing her call out to me is the hottest thing ever.
“Shit, Brax! I’m coming!” she hisses as she grips my hair, pulling strands out.
As soon as she’s twitching from my continued flicks across her clit, I let her legs go and stand up. She’s wobbly, visible satisfaction in her beautiful eyes.
She reaches for me automatically, undoing my pants faster than ever and gripping my erection. It’s aching from the need to release, and as she palms me and massages, I get ravenous. Pushing her against the wall again, I lift her. Her legs grip me, and I’m sliding inside of her.
Still, a week later, I’m not used to how she feels around me.
“Goddamn, Leia,” I groan, pumping into her.
“Harder,” she demands on a whimper.
And I do. I thrust harder, gripping her hips tightly, and she continues to beg for more, harder, faster.
I keep pumping until heat and tingles tickle my spine. After two final thrusts, I’m spilling in her, satisfying her how she likes. Once I’ve stuffed my spent dick into my pants, I breathe easier.
Much better. My claim on her fills me with unbridled virility.
“Don’t worry about him, Brax,” she reassures softly.
I watch her warily, narrowing my eyes. Trust isn’t a big thing with me. Not since Puerto Rico. It shouldn’t be an issue, but it hasn’t been tested again… until now.
“You still love him,” I reply bitterly, trying not to be a dick. “How do I fucking live with that?”
She adjusts her skirt, distracting me, my cum leaking down her thighs. It’s perfect. Now, for the rest of the night, it’s my cock she’ll be thinking of. Not his. Never his.
“Trust me.” She cups my jaw, rubbing her thumbs across the abraded texture my day-old beard brings. “I love you, Brax. You.”
Always (Cape Hill Book 3) Page 7
