by Stacey Lynn
But now, being back outside their house, with Jaden in particular, the house looked cold and barren.
Or perhaps that was the emotion pouring off Jaden as I pushed off his bike and stood in front of him.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. I had no idea what to say to this man who hated me. I couldn’t look into eyes so similar to the ones I’d loved and see his hatred for me.
It shot a dull knife into my chest every time it happened.
I turned and began walking toward my front door right as he called my name.
“Yeah?” I asked, looking at him over my shoulder.
His tan hands gripped and twisted on his motorcycle handles. “I didn’t expect you to ever come back here.”
I sighed. The last thing I wanted was a yelling match in front of my house, where my parents or Sophie could hear. My day had been shitty enough, and exhaustion prevented me from wanting to go another round of battle with Jaden.
The urge to flee inside the walls of my house, protected from his darkened brown eyes, screamed at me.
“Didn’t plan on coming back.”
Jaden glanced up at my house behind me, and his eyes went blank before he turned them back on me. When he did, a muscle ticked in his cheek. “That phone call. You in some sort of trouble?”
“Nothing I can’t handle, Jaden.” My hands curled into fists. The last thing I wanted to do was discuss Rob and the disaster that had been. “Thanks for the ride.”
His nose wrinkled. “I want to see her.”
A warm feeling hit my chest at his words, making me stumble back a step. My head flipped around to the house to see if Sophie could see me. To see if anyone was watching. Thankfully, I didn’t see any suspicious fluttering of the sheer window curtains to give away any peering eyes.
Jaden looked down at his boots before he met my eyes. The sincerity, the serious gaze as he hit my eyes, again left me breathless.
Damn it.
I shook the strange thoughts of out my head. All I had ever wanted was Jaden to know her. Countless phone calls after Scratch’s funeral to Jaden had gone unreturned. I never even knew if he’d listened to my messages letting him know what happened that night, or that I was pregnant. That I wanted him to know the baby I would have, seeing as how she would be the only family he had left.
But none of that had happened.
Instead, everyone had turned their backs on me. Not that it was surprising: I don’t think anyone in the club was fond of the idea of a motorcycle junkie dating the town princess.
“You have seen her.” He’d seen her plenty in the last couple of weeks. When he wasn’t snarling at me, he completed ignored both of us. The last time being at a party for Ryker and Faith, the same night Olivia and Daemon—the President of the Nordic Lords and good friends of ours—got engaged.
Jaden’s jaw clamped together. My pulse began beating faster and hotter under my skin. His hands twisted on the handles, his eyes glanced to the house again. “If she’s his, then she’s mine.”
I bristled at his possessive tone. Not to mention the way his lip curled when he said “if.” As if I was still lying about it.
My shoulders wrenched back, my hands flew to my hips. “Scratch was Sophie’s dad. And if you think for one single second I’m going to let you be around her, doubting that fact, or being an ass to her like you’re being to me, you’re wrong.”
He threw a leg over his bike and began stalking toward me. “She’s my niece, I want to see her.” The words fell from his lips as if they’d tripped over barbed wire on the way out of his throat. Between his growled words and his low and threatening voice, it took every ounce of strength I possessed to not cower beneath him.
I wanted him to see her. I wanted Sophie to know her uncle. I wanted her to have the memories of her dad through Jaden’s eyes.
Tears pricked my eyes and I sniffed. God, I wanted that for her.
I sniffed again and tried to shake the tears away. “You don’t get to be a dick to her.”
He nodded once, glanced up at the door behind me, and back to me. When he looked at me, an undecipherable look flew through his eyes before it disappeared. “She could be all I have.”
God. Of all the most amazing things the asshole could have said to me, that’d be at the top of the list.
I wanted to give that to him. I had always wanted to give that to him.
And with the way he now stood in front of me, fidgeting on his feet, there was no way could I deny him.
I wiped under my nose, hoping my eyes didn’t appear as glassy as they felt. “Sure,” I said, inhaling deeply. “We’ll figure something out.”
He seemed to consider that for a moment and then took a step away from me, turning his back to me. “I’ll call about your car.”
The sudden shift in conversation, the abrupt ending to talk about Sophie, left me reeling.
“Jaden,” I called, once he reached his bike. “I want you to see Sophie.”
I barely heard the word “soon” fall from his lips before he revved the bike and pulled out of my drive.
I don’t know how long I stared at the spot he’d vacated like a hive of wasps were on his ass, but I was still standing there, my head spinning with everything that had happened, when I felt the warmth of my dad’s arms curl around my shoulders.
I leaned in, resting my head against his chest.
“I don’t see good things for you, sweetie, with that boy back in your life.” My dad’s warm voice rumbled over me, making me tense.
His grip on my shoulder squeezed and loosened. “I’m not saying that to hurt you, but that boy hasn’t been right since Scratch died. He’s angry and he’s vicious. Not sure it’s the best combination for you right now.”
I breathed in slowly and exhaled, tears blooming in my eyes all over again. I hadn’t spared my parents details when it came to Rob, using my mom’s ears as my verbal vomit bucket. I’d unleashed everything I’d been feeling, all the shame for being mixed up with a guy like him in the first place and not being smart enough to realize it.
I blamed the fact that I was a single mom, young, and had always doubted anyone’s ability to love me and another man’s child.
Rob had faked it real good for a long time. So long that by the time he began showing me who he really was, it took me months to catch up to the fact that he wasn’t just having the occasional bad day—he was just really a bad man.
I sniffled again, nodding against my dad’s chest, and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I know, Dad. But he has the right know Sophie if he wants to.”
He exhaled a breath into the top of my head before his lips pressed my hair. “Sophie’s one thing. I have a feeling if he gets to know her, he’ll fall in love with her like everyone else does.”
I chuckled because he was right. Sophie had a soft voice and a nervous smile, but when you were able to break through that, she poured out her sweet two-year-old love on everyone she met.
“It’s your heart I’m worried about.”
I choked over my swallow.
Luckily, my dad didn’t let me spend too much time wondering what he meant by that, because he let go of me and turned toward the house.
“Your mom’s been inside fretting for the last ten minutes. Let’s get you some dinner, and you can tell me why you were on that boy’s bike in the first place.”
It hit me then that was the only thing I heard my dad call Jaden—that boy. He hadn’t liked Scratch, mostly because of the motorcycle club he was connected to. But he’d always used his name. Made me wonder, as we walked into my house, why my dad felt the need to distance himself from Jaden in that way.
Was it for his benefit? Or was it for mine?
But then the smell of my mom’s beef stroganoff hit my nose—something she was the bomb at making—and Sophie’s pudgy feet were trampling down the wood-floored hallway.
The aroma of dinner filled my senses.
Sophie’s tight embrace around my hips filled my heart.
; And everything about Jaden was completely forgotten.
The dream—more like a nightmare—pulled me from sleep and left me gasping for breath.
“Fuck.”
I sat up in the bed, flung my arm out to the side, and hit a small wall of soft, warm flesh.
Looking over, I grimaced and ran hand over my face and through my blond hair.
“Shit,” I muttered when I took in the naked body next to me. The sheet pooled around her waist and her back was to me. I took in the long bleached hair, the curve of her side as it dipped to her waist and rose by her hip.
Shayla? Shania? Shit. Did it matter who she was? My head pounded, the vicious remnants of a night spent at the club, trying to forget. Fuck, I was trying to forget everything last night.
“Hey.” I pushed on her hip, rocking her gently.
The club bunny groaned, draped an arm over her eyes, and rolled to her back.
“Time to go.”
“Five more minutes,” she mumbled and drew the sheet over her chest. Which sucked, because I couldn’t remember the chick’s name, but I had a vivid memory of sucking on those tits of hers. They were the only nice-looking thing about her—probably because she paid for them.
I shoved her hip harder to make my point. “I ain’t a fuckin’ hotel bellboy and this isn’t your wake up call, bitch. Get up and get the hell out of my bed.”
She rolled over and opened an eye. Her quick intake of breath, her smeared mascara, and the way she grabbed the sides of her head, all told me her night had been as rough as mine.
I blamed Jules for my night. She was always fucking with my head—more so now that she was back in town with her little girl, Sophie.
Damn. Had I really told her I wanted to see Sophie?
“Get out,” I repeated to the woman as she sat up and groaned in pain.
“Chill out, Jaden, I’m goin’.”
I flung my own covers off, saw my dick hard and pressed against my lower stomach.
Fuck. What I wanted was to wrap my hand around it and take care of business. Instead, I saw the club bunny look at me with a hungry glint in her eye.
“Get out.” If I didn’t remember fucking her the first time, I wasn’t going to refresh my memory with another lousy lay.
She raised a brow and stood from the bed, now clothed in a black thong. The sight did nothing for me, and my hard-on began to soften. What in the hell was I thinking, taking her to bed? She was just a used club bunny, someone who hung around and flung her pussy for free.
My kind of girl, normally.
Yesterday’s trip with Jules, her arms wrapped around me tightly on the bike, squeezing close to me, and the light that hit her pale blue eyes –
What the fuck?
I growled, frustrated and pissed at myself for going there in my thoughts about Jules. Again.
My brother’s girl.
The girl who was responsible for taking the last family member I had.
Screw her.
Screw the club bunny—Shayna! That was it. The name written in glitter across her tank top probably helped.
“See you around?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Not likely,” I muttered as I hauled ass to the bathroom. I needed a shower, a good jack-off, and a beating in the ring outside to expel the leftover alcohol from my system.
Maybe then I’d forget the dream.
Maybe then I’d forget the screams I heard in my ears every time I imagined or dreamed about the night my brother crashed his bike, racing like hell from—or toward—who the hell knew what.
And maybe, once I finally took care of business, I’d forget that every single damn time I’d closed my eyes in the last few weeks, all I saw was Jules’s eyes staring back at me.
Begging me… pleading with me… to forgive her.
And then I’d forget the dream where I threw my arms around her, dug my fingers into her scalp, and kissed the ever-loving shit out of her before screwing her like an animal, where the only sound in the air was her screaming my name as I made her come.
The water beat down on my back and shoulders. The heat stung my skin as it rolled down my chest. I closed my eyes, gripping my dick, pulling and tugging with a force harder than necessary.
I couldn’t fucking help it. Jules had messed with my head as a teenager, but I had let all that shit go when she’d chosen Scratch. I hadn’t ever liked it, and found it easier to pretend I hated her. That had become even easier when he’d died and she’d taken off after cheating on him.
“Fuck,” I groaned, my release building. My orgasm coiled in my tight balls, right before I released into my hand. Cream from my dick spurted out on the wall and in my fingers as I continued tugging, wringing every last miserable ounce of pleasure from my body all by myself.
I didn’t want my hand.
I wanted Jules. I wanted her legs wrapped around my waist as I pounded into her. I wanted to take out my hatred of her, my anger with her, by releasing my orgasm inside of her, leaving her bruised for days so she’d remember who it was that left her feeling that way.
Wanting her made me hate her—mostly because it had never been right to want her in the first place when she belonged to my brother. It certainly hadn’t been right to want her when she cheated on him. And it definitely wasn’t right to want her now—not when she was raising my brother’s kid, back in town and back in my life, fuckin’ with my head all over again.
Wanting Jules had fucked up my life, taken the most important person from me.
It was safer to keep hating her.
So why the fuck I’d told her I wanted to know and see Sophie, I still had no damn idea.
“Bet that was fun, yesterday.” Daemon grinned at me, fists raised in the middle of the ring.
The asshole was taunting me, dancing lighter on his feet than he should have been able to, because the dude was not a boxer.
I’d kick his ass regardless of him being our Club President—or my best friend.
I swung and got blocked by his forearm. “You’re a dick.”
He grinned, took a step back. “So how’d Jules look, standing outside her car in the hot sun, sweat all over her body?”
“I’m tellin’ Liv you’re checking out other women.”
We dodged and weaved around the ring, blocking more shots than hitting our targets, mostly because we boxed and fought every day and knew each other’s moves better than we knew our own.
He ducked under my right hook, but I anticipated it, and as he moved, my left leg kicked out, swooped under his right leg, and his ass landed on the mat with a groan.
I smirked, leaning over him. “You want more?”
His gloved hand hit my knee. “Get the hell away from me. Don’t you have a car to fix?”
I looked up, a growl escaping my lips as I saw Jules’s Camry gleaming in the sun.
Brakes use fluid? Jesus. Stupid girls needed men in their lives—to take care of cars, at the very least. Although I had bit back a grin when she’d said it.
But it was her false innocence that had left me clenching my fists and my jaw. Fuck her. Fuck her car. She ruined everything she came near—why would a car be any different?
“Hey, dick.”
I snapped my eyes to Daemon, his hair pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck and his blue eyes fixed on mine.
He began unwrapping the tape from his hands. “I know this shit is hard for you, but don’t fuck her over.”
I pressed my gloved hands together, my neck more stiff from the statement than the beating I just took. “Quit worryin’ about it.” I turned, ripping off the gloves and the tape.
“The thing is,” he started, and my jaw instantly clenched. Very little pissed me off with Daemon, but talking about Jules was always the best way to do it. “You screw over Jules and we lose Sophie.”
Sophie. My niece. Fuck. I would have been an idiot to not recognize the resemblance to Scratch. Yet when I first saw Jules and Sophie together, the shock of her having a kid, al
l I could think about was all the messages she’d left after my brother had died. The texts begging me to call her. The voice messages that, in my rage to blame her for his death, I’d deleted without listening to.
It wasn’t the first day I’d wondered if I should have listened to them.
I shook it off. Daemon knew. Daemon always knew how I’d wanted her—lost her to my brother and manned up and put it behind me.
You tried to. Shit.
“I took her home and asked to see the kid, all right?”
Daemon nodded. His throat bobbed when he swallowed and his arms crossed over his chest. “Good.”
Shitty. Painful. Able to rip open every fucking painful scar that I’d been able to lance with violence, drink, and women over the last few years is what it was. ‘Good’ would never be a word I used to describe it.
My nose twitched and I spit into a bucket outside the ring. I needed a drink. Something to numb the constant ache I’d felt ever since I saw Jules standing in Daemon’s house months ago.
I turned to Daemon and our eyes met, his narrowed and cautioning. Mine, fuck. I closed my eyes, pulled in a deep breath.
“We done?”
A muscle tic in his jaw confirmed it.
“Later, then.” I lifted a hand, climbed through the ropes of the boxing ring, and took off for the garage.
As I began digging through her engine, cleaning it, repairing every damn thing she hadn’t put the effort into maintaining in the last few years—from the carburetor to the filter to all the fluid—I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Her hips.
Her lips.
Her soft fucking blue eyes that seemed so damn scared of me, yet hopeful at the same time. Like I had the damn power to offer her absolution. Forgiveness for all her sins and her wrongs.
Fuck if I did.
If anything, losing Scratch—the last remaining member of my blood family—had taught me that I wasn’t shit. I didn’t have shit to give to anyone. Least of all some kid related to me.
Or her mom.
I clung to Faith’s hand. I couldn’t believe it as I gaped at the beautiful diamond on her finger. Tears swelled in my eyes as I recalled how just months ago, she’d called me back to Jasper Bay when she couldn’t be there for our friend, Olivia, who had just been shot. Instead, Faith was trapped in her own hell, being owned as a prostitute for a rival club, the Black Death. But Daemon and Ryker Knight—brothers, and apparently awesome lovers and men—had rescued them both.
