by Laura Kaye
“But for how long?” she blurted. He frowned like he was trying to make sense of her question. And then her fears poured out of her. “How long until you wreck? Or some club business goes bad and you get hurt? Or you don’t want me because—”
“Don’t want you? Where the hell did that come from?” he asked, anger flashing in his eyes.
Grief was like a lead blanket wrapped around her shoulders, heavy and suffocating. And it hadn’t escaped her notice that he hadn’t addressed her fears about staying safe. Because he couldn’t. “Maverick, losing Tyler was the last thing I ever imagined happening. I can’t handle anything else. I need certainty right now, permanence, security.” Forever. She needed forever. Once, she’d hoped Maverick would want it, too. With her, someday. But now what he did and who he was scared her. Especially standing there at Tyler’s grave.
“And you don’t think I can give that to you?” he asked, anger sharpening the angles of his ruggedly handsome face.
“Can you?” she whispered.
The silence that had followed had been her answer.
So Alexa had made her choices long ago.
“Yes, you do. You know exactly why I’m here.” Maverick stalked toward her, his big body bearing down on hers in a way that set her heart to racing. With a gentleness that seemed impossible, given his size and all his rough edges, he grasped her chin and turned her face so that the side that had been bruised was toward him. “You came to me.” He nailed her with a stare.
Hugging herself, she pulled her chin free from the heat of his fingers. “I’m sorry I bothered you last week. I shouldn’t have gone to the clubhouse.” She’d just been so shocked by the fight with Grant and his words and his storming out that she hadn’t known what else to do. Going to her mother’s would’ve just made things worse, and she felt too out of touch with all of her old friends to go to any of them. Not to mention too embarrassed.
She’d felt so alone.
She still wasn’t sure why she’d driven out to the Raven Riders’ compound on the edge of Frederick. Once there, she’d worried she’d unnecessarily complicated her life a whole lot by mixing the past with her present and future. The longer she’d stayed at the clubhouse, the more certain she’d been that Grant really was done with her. Scared that she’d ruined everything, she’d left without explaining what’d happened to her, but not before Maverick had seen her face.
Now, him standing on the front porch of the house she shared with Grant? That was all kinds of complicated.
“If you think coming to me was a bother, maybe you never knew me at all,” he said, the muscle in his jaw clenching. He stepped away, his gaze fierce.
His words set off a pang in her chest. She did know him. His protectiveness, his possessiveness, his goodness—despite his club not being totally aboveboard. Although, from what she understood, their less-than-legal activities funded the Ravens’ quiet mission to defend those who couldn’t defend themselves . . .
Wait. Was that why she’d gone out there?
The question was like a sucker punch to the gut. Alexa wasn’t someone who couldn’t defend herself. She wasn’t in an abusive relationship like the women the Ravens helped. It had only been that one time and Grant had apologized over and over again. And she’d been the one who tripped, after all.
“Maybe I . . . maybe I didn’t,” she said, her voice not much more than a whisper as the thoughts settled uncomfortably deep inside her.
“Fine. Have it your way,” he said, his voice like gravel. Just when she thought he would leave, he stepped up to her front door and pulled something from his back pocket.
“What are you doing?” she asked, moving to his side.
“Letting you back into your house.” He worked a silver tool that looked like a pocketknife at the door handle.
“Are you picking my lock?” She watched in fascination as he quickly manipulated the tools and turned the knob, opening her front door.
“I’m letting you back into your house.” He flipped the little tool set closed and slipped it into his pocket.
“You carry lock picks on you?” she asked. Her night had gone from stressful to surreal.
“Yes. You’re welcome.” His right eyebrow arched, just the littlest bit. And it was so damn sexy. Her blood heated, her nipples hardened, her pulse raced. She and Maverick had always been good at fighting. And even better at making up afterward. Her body clearly remembered . . . and hungered.
She blinked as he pushed open the door. “Um. Okay. Thank you.”
He stepped away from the opening, and Alexa slipped into the spot where he’d stood, the word Good-bye on the tip of her tongue.
But he still didn’t leave. He heaved the box off the porch and turned to her, the muscles of his biceps and in his neck popping out.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, even as she backed into the house to get out of his way. As he passed her, she noticed a band of black fabric tied around one of his arms. She nearly gasped as memories again sucked her five years into the past. To Tyler’s funeral. He’d been a prospective member of the Ravens, and they’d honored him by wearing strips of some of his cut-up T-shirts around their arms. Who’d died now?
Mav lugged the box inside. “Where do you want it?” he asked, pulling her from the memories.
“Maverick—”
“This thing is really fucking heavy, Al.” He stared at her expectantly.
“Right around the corner in that room,” she said. Her office had become the holding area for all the wedding gifts as they came in. Which suddenly made her uncomfortable about having sent Maverick in there. She followed him in and watched him settle the unwieldy box next to the long credenza filled with unwrapped gifts. China and picture frames and vases and luxurious linens, to name a few. “Thank you.”
His gaze surveyed the wedding gifts, but he didn’t make a comment, and she couldn’t read his expression. At least, not until he looked at the project boards hanging over her desk, one filled with plans for the model home job and another filled with her work on a design project for her senior capstone. Then his expression became interested. “That for school or a job you’re doing?” he asked, eyes still on her work.
“Both.” What did he see when he looked at her design ideas? Maverick had always had an eye for design and an appreciation for aesthetics—it was one of the things that made him such a talented and sought-after custom bike builder.
He nodded. “Pretty cool,” he said in a quiet voice. Before she’d started her interior design program, he’d been a big supporter of her going to school and pursuing her dreams. Now she was only her current course and one internship away from finishing after all these years of working full-time and pursuing her degree and accreditation part-time.
The sincerity of his words and in his expression did funny things to her chest. “Yeah?”
His gaze cut to her. “Yeah.”
They stood looking at one another a long moment until Alexa’s heart was thundering against her breastbone with an unnamed need. She shoved the desire back. She’d made her choice for a man and a life—and it hadn’t been with Maverick. But being in his presence messed with her head . . . and her body. Clearly. Which was why she’d stayed away . . .
God. I should’ve stayed away.
“Your arm,” she said, staring at that black band and trying to distract herself from the way he made her feel. Still.
Maverick frowned, and for just a second his true feelings reached the surface of his eyes. Grief. Anguish. Rage. “A friend,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” When he didn’t say anything more, Alexa hugged herself. Despite their long estrangement, she hated seeing him in pain, but it wasn’t like she could comfort him either. Finally, something occurred to her. “Hey, how did you know I was locked out? And that I couldn’t move the box?” Voicing the question gave rise to goose bumps on her arms.
He just looked at her, that little eyebrow arch making itself known again.
“No, M
averick.” She shook her head as realization set in. “Oh my God. You can’t do that. You can’t be . . . hanging around and watching out for me.”
“Someone has to—”
“Grant. Grant watches out for me,” she said, the words falling uncomfortably from her tongue.
“Is that what he was doing when that happened?” He nodded toward her, his gaze locked on her face, and she knew he was talking about the bruise on her cheek. What wasn’t faded was fairly well covered with makeup, but they both knew it was there.
“Maverick—”
“Look, I don’t want to fight,” he said, closing the distance between them.
He stood so close she had to tilt her head back to keep eye contact. So close that all she’d have to do was reach out her hand and he’d be hers again. The thought came entirely out of left field and nearly made her dizzy. She hadn’t thought of Maverick that way in years.
What was wrong with her? She was over him. Had been for a long time. For a lifetime.
Shaking her head, she managed, “Good. Me, neither.” But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t find a way to get him to stop watching out for her. If Grant found out, he’d know she’d gone to Maverick or suspect she was still seeing Maverick, and neither would be good for her. Or Maverick.
The universe of strings Grant could pull—or have pulled—was bigger and scarier than she liked to think about. She didn’t know many specifics because he shielded her from them, but she’d heard rumors and rumblings. Payoffs. Threats. Intimidation. Though maybe none of that was true. Maybe such things were rumors spread by competitors trying to take Grant down a notch, just like he said when she once asked about the things she’d heard.
Looking down at the space between them, Maverick planted his hands on his hips. “Damnit Alexa, you deserve better—”
She gave in to the dangerous urge to touch him and laid a hand on his chest. She wasn’t sure what else he’d planned to say, but suddenly she couldn’t bear for him to finish that sentence. With a quick shake of her head, she said, “Don’t, Maverick. Okay? If you say anymore, we’ll just end up fighting.”
Maverick huffed, his gaze absolutely on fire as it raked over her face and settled on her lips. He leaned toward her, just the littlest bit, and her heart lurched into her throat. She was suddenly sure he was going to kiss her. And, oh, God, she wanted him to. She should push him away, say no, but she didn’t know how to say no to him, never had, and especially not with five years of suppressed need roaring through her. She licked her lips, her breath catching, her mouth hungry for a taste . . .
Meow.
Lucy wound her body around Alexa’s legs, and Alexa jumped back, breaking the spell that had wrapped around them. God, what was she thinking? Needing a shield, Alexa scooped the hairless cat into her arms and hugged her tight.
Mav eyeballed the cat and made a face. “What the hell is that?” he asked, more than a little amusement in his voice. He stepped back from her, like maybe he needed the space from whatever had just happened between them.
“It’s Lucy,” Alexa said, kissing her soft head.
“But . . . what is it? Or . . . happened to it?”
Alexa rolled her eyes. So her cat was bald. And had wrinkly skin. And was wearing an argyle sweater. And had the world’s disproportionately biggest ears. “It’s a sphynx cat. They’re hairless. And they’re awesome. Coolest cat you will ever know.”
“It’s really—”
“Don’t you dare say she’s ugly.” Alexa nailed him with a stare. The house she’d grown up in had been so cluttered and filthy that Alexa had developed terrible allergies and asthma, so hairless cats were the only kind she could have. She’d adopted Lucy from an animal shelter less than a month after Tyler died.
Maverick chuffed out a small laugh. “So ugly she’s cute?”
Shaking her head, Alexa held back the smile that threatened. “I suppose that’s acceptable. Just.”
Giving Alexa a wink, Maverick held out his hand to the cat’s nose. Alexa braced for Lucy to freak out and bolt, but though her little muscles did tense, she merely sniffed at Maverick and then turned away.
Whoa. Grant couldn’t get within ten feet of Lucy. “Wow, she likes you.”
“Of course she likes me. I’m awesome.” He folded his arms, his expression full of challenge and humor.
Joking around with him felt all too comfortable, easy, relaxed. Which was really, really not good.
Alexa gave Lucy another kiss and turned away. Maverick needed to go—and he needed to stay gone—so that whatever had just nearly happened between them didn’t happen again. “Well, thanks for your help,” she said. “I’ll walk you out.” In the foyer, she dropped Lucy to the floor and opened the door.
All the easy affability faded from Maverick’s expression, and the hard-ass biker was back in its place. “I’m worried about you, Alexa.”
She ignored the pang in her chest caused by his concern. “There’s no reason to be.”
“Think Tyler would agree with that?” Maverick’s gaze was filled with as much skepticism as his tone.
“Tyler would believe me,” she said, knowing deep down that her brother would’ve flipped his shit if he’d seen her face. But he wasn’t here now, was he? And she had responsibilities she had to take care of on her own. Still, Maverick’s question set off an ache inside her—an ache for what used to be, and maybe even for what might’ve been. “Because I’m good. No, I’m great.”
She would have to do better if she was going to keep Maverick from coming around.
Her stomach knotted as words came to mind, and then she let them fly. “But if you hang around and Grant finds out, you’re going to mess things up for me. So please, don’t come here again. I made a mistake coming to you last week, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again either.”
Now Maverick’s expression was rankly pissed off. He stared at her a long moment, like he was debating how to respond. “Fine,” he finally said, his voice like it had been scoured with sandpaper. “Have a good life, Alexa. Hope it’s what you really want.” He wrenched open the door and stalked out.
The silence seemed loud all around her. She quietly closed and locked the door, then turned and leaned her back against it. “Me, too, Maverick. Me, too.”
CHAPTER 3
Sitting under the blue tent, his brothers gathered all around, Maverick couldn’t hear the pastor’s words. Mav’s head was too full of churn and burn. Over the loss of one of their own. Over the attack on his club just last week. Over confronting Alexa an hour before. Damnit, why had he gone over there when coming to this funeral already had him so torn up?
You know why. Something’s not right. She’s not safe.
The bruises she’d had—that she still had—proved that. Whether she wanted to admit it or not. And he couldn’t let it go, not when he might be able to do something about it.
Heaving a deep breath, he stared at the flower-draped casket and hoped this was the last funeral he and his brothers had to attend for a long damn time. This loss hit him and everyone in the Raven Riders Motorcycle Club particularly hard—because it had happened on their own turf. Inside their own clubhouse. And the victim—prospective member Jeb Fowler—had been too young and too good to get taken out in cold blood.
The proof of Jeb’s goodness was sitting right beside Maverick. Bunny McKeon, Maverick’s mother, whose face still bore the bruises and scratches from where she’d been struck and her mouth duct-taped. But she was alive because Jeb had taken the bullet intended for her when a group of low-life criminals had broken into the clubhouse looking for something—or someone—that wasn’t theirs.
Mav’s gaze slid over to his right, where the club’s president, Dare Kenyon, sat with his girlfriend, Haven. Three days out of the hospital, Dare’s face was pale, and dark circles ringed his eyes. He’d been shot twice in the same attack that had hurt Bunny and killed Jeb. An attack by Haven’s abusive father meant to kidnap her and force her back under his control by wha
tever means necessary. An attack that had ultimately failed, despite the losses the Ravens had sustained.
It all could’ve been so much worse.
A sentiment that had his thoughts returning to Alexa. Last week it had been a few bruises, a busted lip. What would happen the next time her bastard of a fiancé “took care” of her? That very question was why Mav had been shadowing her ever since she’d shown up bloodied and frightened at the clubhouse. Which was how he’d known she’d locked herself out. Seeing her looking so defeated had reached inside his chest and hauled him to her side. And seeing her cry made him not care that he’d just blown his cover. He couldn’t have stayed away at that point if he’d tried.
The service concluded and people around Maverick rose to their feet. Despite the evening hour, the June air hung humid and gray. Almost oppressive. The weight of it was fitting. It was as if their collective grief had taken on a physical form.
Maverick held out his hand to Bunny. With her white-blond hair and dark blue eyes, she was still as pretty as she’d ever been. And every bit as feisty. Well, usually.
Accepting his help, she gave him a sad smile and rose. Her husband, Rodeo McKeon, steadied her from her other side.
“Thanks, Maverick,” she said, stepping toward the casket. She pulled a long-stem red rose out of the arrangement and brought it to her nose. A moment later, she laid it on top of the lid by itself, her hand resting there for a moment.
When she turned away, her lips trembled, and when she made eye contact with Maverick, her whole expression crumpled.
Maverick pulled her into his arms, her tears like ice in his veins. “It’s gonna be okay, Mom,” he said, uttering a name for her he hadn’t used regularly in years. Everybody called his mother Bunny, and somewhere along the way it had stuck for him, too.
From behind her, Rodeo rubbed her back. Mav met the older man’s gaze and saw reflected at him the same pain and regret Maverick felt. Normally, Bunny was the youngest sixty-something you’d ever meet, but the attack and Jeb’s death had left her fragile. And Maverick fucking hated it. Not because he thought her shakiness wasn’t warranted, but because it reminded him of another time. When Bunny’s first husband—Maverick’s father—had finally beaten her so badly she ended up in the hospital for days.
