by Violet Blaze
“None?” I ask, completely skeptical. “Like there wasn't some club whore on her knees in front of you today, pulling your belt from your jeans.”
“What do you care?” he asks me, mouth shiny with droplets of rain, blonde hair dark and wet, hanging over his brow and in his eyes. “What does it matter to you what I do?”
“Because I'm in love with you,” I blurt and instantly, I regret the words.
“You … what?”
“I know how childish and crazy it sounds,” I say, shoving my own wet, blonde hair from my face, looking at Glacier in the dark, like this strange still slice of shadow in the driving rain. The moonlight picks up the silver rings in his ears and his eyebrow, his nose and his lips. “But it's not like it happened overnight. This has been …. it's years in the making, Saint.”
“Years? When did you have time for years?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. I see him do that a lot, like a dog—like a wolf—listening for some extra clue in the conversation, like he doesn't at all understand what's going on. “You're seventeen.”
“So you keep repeating,” I tell him and he growls at me. Like, literally growls at me. Which is fine because it's about half as dangerous sounding as the ice ribbon voice he was using. He starts to back away from me. “When I was fifteen, you taught me to ride. You let me take The Slim Bobber out all on my own. None of the other guys would ever let me touch their bikes—not even Jack. You broke club law to teach me that.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” he asks, head still tilted to one side, one of the angel wing tattoos at his throat glowing in the moonlight.
“I …” I can't explain it. Not to him, not to myself. Love isn't a math equation. It doesn't have a formula. It does what it wants when it wants with no regard to anything else. It's cruel and ruthless and when it comes down and wraps you in its tight grip, it leaves you both stronger and weaker. Weak because there's this new need, this compulsion that can't be denied. Strong because it bestows a certain kind of resolve, a strength, that you never thought you had inside of you. “Do you feel anything when you look at me?” I ask instead.
“I don't feel anything,” he says, “ever. Not about anyone.”
Glacier lifts his head up, still staring at me, his helmet in his hands, but he doesn't move. That's a good sign, right?
“That's a lie.” I decide to call him out on it. Why not? The bruises on my arm … yes, Glacier is out of control. And yes, he has a lot to learn. But he didn't mean to hurt me, I know that. Any other woman with any other man that did this to her, and I'd be flipping out and swearing his balls were going to meet the sharp end of my knife. But this … Glacier is different. He was made to be mine. “You cared about Landon.”
There's a really scary moment there where I actually wonder what he's going to do, if he's going to take off on his bike and take out his frustration out on someone or something. Landon, Royal, and Glacier went to high school together; they were friends. But Landon's dead now, killed by the same bullshit that caused my mom to get shot, Lyric's dad to get hurt. As far as I know, it's all over now, but that pain, I don't think Glacier's even bothered to look it in the face.
And it's not just that. Something—something big—must've happened in his past to make him this way. Glacier isn't evil, just cold and detached and unrestrained. I want to know what it was that turned him into the man he is today—into the monster.
“I'm going to tell you this, Serenity, and I'm only going to say it once.”
Frost and ice, that's what his words are right now. Just frost and ice.
“So tell me.” My voice comes out low and rough. Something about that sound makes Glacier close his eyes.
“Stop chasing after me.” He opens his eyes slowly, drops of water getting caught on the pale curves of his lashes. “One day, you might just catch me. I can't be held responsible for what happens if you do.”
Glacier puts his helmet on his head as my heart thunders in my throat and my breath catches so sharply, it feels like it's cutting my lips when I exhale.
I watch him move over to The Slim Bobber, climb on, and kick-start the engine.
He's gone before I can even remotely get my thoughts in order.
What was that? A challenge? A warning? A threat? A promise?
I think … I think it was all of the above.
I don't go back to the clubhouse or answer the phone when my president calls.
I tear across the city through the driving rain, getting myself as physically far from Serenity Westbrook as I can. When I get back to my place, I leave my bike in the garage and tear inside, grabbing one of the bookshelves in my living room and throwing it to the floor.
My muscles are throbbing with barely restrained … something. It's violence, certainly; I know what violence feels like. But it's something else, too, some primal need that's oozing up from deep down like oil from the earth. I've never felt anything even remotely like this before.
Because I'm in love with you. Because I'm in love with you. Because I'm in love with you.
What is wrong with that girl? That crazy fucking girl … that … that fucking girl …
I rake my fingers through my wet hair and pace the living room, back and forth, back and forth. My boots leave muddy prints across the cream carpeting, but I can't stop the motion.
I shake my hands out, crack my knuckles, roll my head around on my neck.
I know what I should be doing right now: reporting back to Royal, discussing what happened in the alley, helping dispose of the bodies.
I can't do any of that right now. I just can't.
So I pace and pace and pace, and then I let myself into my bedroom and shove my wet jeans down my hips. I lean over the dresser, palm splayed flat on the wooden surface and I take my cock in my fingers, gripping with a fierceness that hurts. I pump the rock-hard flesh with my hand, wishing I was buried inside of Serenity again. Wishing, wishing, wishing.
I stare at myself, wet hair falling into my face, my nostrils flaring, my eyes wide and pupils dilated right now. If any of my brothers were to see me, they wouldn't just think I was insane; they'd know it. They'd take one look at me and they'd know I was broken and shattered and cruel and cold and that I couldn't be trusted for shit.
My body flushes with warmth as I work my cock with my hand and think about Serenity, the way she tastes and smells and feels, so perfect and feminine and warm, so comforting. I feel like I could bury myself in her and forget about it all, the world. I could forget my past and my monster and my pain, and I could just be.
But I could never let myself have a girl like that.
I would break her, destroy her, hurt her.
Monsters aren't meant to fall in love.
I groan deep and low and ragged, my resolve and my self-control shattering into a thousand pieces. And trust me, I have a lot of self-control. Serenity seems determined to push me to the edge. What I'll do when I get there, I can't be sure.
My hand works faster, harder, as I dream of that girl, that stupid fucking girl.
My muscles contract, my body going rigid as a violent orgasm rips through me and I come hard, all over the dresser. It's one of a dozen or so times I've come in my entire life.
Because of her.
This girl that's determined to destroy us both.
“Where the fuck were you last night?” Royal snaps at me, rising to his feet as I enter the chapel, my fellow officers staring at me like I've grown a second head. “You killed three men in a pretty goddamn conspicuous place and then you took off?”
“What's the matter, boss? Can't handle a few dead bodies without me?” I ask with a smile on my lips that doesn't make me feel anything at all inside. Actually, that's a lie. I am feeling something right now, but it's nothing good. My most basic urges are seething at the surface, rolling and boiling just beneath my skin. If I split open and they all came tumbling out, the world would weep for the things I might do.
“Why the hell would you think to ta
“It's not like I planned on it,” I say as I slip a piece of gum between my lips and let cool mint explode across my tongue. This doesn't taste half as good as Serenity. She tasted like so many things I told myself I could never have: comfort, warmth, acceptance. But those things come at a great and terrible price, one that I can't let myself extract from her. “They were dealing to some teenagers, things got rough, and they started fighting. If I hadn't intervened, they probably would've shot the boy and raped the girl.”
“Jesus Christ,” Royal growls, raking back his dark hair and leaning back in his chair. “Kids, huh?”
“Kids,” I assure him, hating the way Jack's eyes rove over me, like somehow he knows I was with his daughter last night. Impossible. But I can't do anything to convince him he needs to look my way. I need this club, more than any of the other guys. There's nowhere else in the world a monster like me can live and feed his vices, play with blood and get patted on the back for it. So fucking a girl that's thirteen years younger than I am, pissing off her father, pissing off the club, that's not an option.
“What happened to them?” Royal asks cautiously as I smack my gum and make my way over to the seat at his left, curling my hands around the wooden back of the chair as I stare at my president, his black and red leather chair soaring above his head. He didn't pick it, previous pres did. Still, it looks almost strange in this room, full of these denim clad men with their tattoos and their beards and their sun weathered skin.
“I disarmed the man with the gun and chased them off; they didn't see anything.”
The lie slips out easily, like it means nothing. And really, it doesn't. To protect Serenity, I would … I pause, my body going completely still. Everyone notices, of course, and then they get tense, too.
“What is it?” Royal asks, standing up like he expects us to get hit by the Saldaña Cartel again, men rushing in through a hole in the fence, guns blazing. Because that's what happened last month. Serenity was here, too, during that whole thing, locked in a storeroom with some of the old ladies—my brothers' wives. That night, I felt this disturbing shift, this uncoiling snake of wrath inside of me. I knew then that I would do anything—anything at all—to protect that girl.
Including remove myself from the situation, something I've been trying to fucking do for weeks now.
My hands get tighter, the words on my knuckles standing at stark attention. BURY & DEAD.
I stare at the letters until they start to swim in my vision.
“Glacier?” Royal asks, and I could kill him. Why didn't he just call me Saint? Maybe if he'd called me Saint …
“Why won't you send me away?” I ask him, venom unfurling in my voice like a viper baring its fangs. I look over at him and he stares back at me with a slightly baffled expression on his face. “Why won't you listen to what I'm telling you?”
“What the hell is going on?” Smoky asks from the opposite side of the table. He stands up, and his brother, Mug follows. Then Mick, then Jack.
“Maybe we should go outside and take a walk,” Royal says, his voice low and dark. I should try to remember that no matter how he acts, he's dangerous, too. The two of us together when I'm like this, I really could see us fighting to the death. And wouldn't that be horrible? Really, he's my only friend.
“You cared about Landon.”
And I had. I did. I think. As much as I'm capable of caring about anyone. If love were in my repertoire, I'd feel it for Landon and Royal.
For Serenity.
“Outside, now,” Royal growls, getting all alpha wolf on me. Good for him. I like that. I want him to control me, to tell me what to do. It'll keep me from getting myself into even more trouble.
We head outside, past the bar where the groupie girls from yesterday sit, going still and silent when I pass by. Then we're out the doors and into the cool morning air.
“Are you finally losing it?” Royal asks me frankly as we stand face to face at the bottom of the deck steps. “Is this it, Saint? Is this where you finally break?”
“Serenity was there last night,” I tell him and I notice the way he stiffens up, every muscle in his body tightening with tension. A muscle in his jaw ticks and he glances away, like he already knows how this conversation is going to go.
“She was buying the drugs?” he asks, and I can tell he's already wondering if we have to tell Jack.
“She was with a boy who was buying the drugs,” I say and I feel this strange heat suffuse my chest. I want to kill that boy, wrap my hands around his fucking throat. How could he put Serenity in danger like that? How could he risk her safety for some pittance like a cocaine high?
I think about how I felt when I saw her kissing him, how I almost completely lost my mind. I'm aware that I'm sick, that I'm unstable, that there's something wrong with me. But I have no clue how to deal with it. I've known Royal McBride for fourteen years now, basically half my life. He's kept me from doing so many things, so many, many things. I'd be dead or in prison right now if not for him and this club.
“What did you do with her?” Royal asks, still not looking at me, dressed in a black Alpha Wolves shirt and leather vest with the word President stitched above the pocket. On his left hand, he wears a gold wedding band and a select few other rings, the designs carefully chosen to inflict maximum damage when punching some asshole in the face.
“Took her home,” I say and he swings his gaze sharply back to mine, stricken, almost sympathetic to my situation. He should know; he fell in love with the mayor's daughter. And now, his old lady's the fucking mayor herself. It shouldn't work; a good portion of our brothers don't want it to work. But Royal did it. He married her anyway.
“Did you fuck her again?” he asks, and I grit my teeth. I wanted to. Oh, yes, I wanted to grab her and fuck her into the wet gravel beneath our feet, but then, I didn't know where it would stop, how rough I might get.
“No.”
“You just dropped her off and left then?” Royal asks, like he doesn't believe me.
“She told me that she's in love with me,” I tell him, my voice strangely cold and distant. I've dropped my facade again, the one that helps my brothers relax a little around me. I need that; I can't lose it.
“Are you taking the piss with me?” he asks, his voice almost as sharp as mine.
“Now, what on earth does that mean?” I ask, and I'm trying to make a joke like I always do because goddamn, he's so British, but it just falls flat and hangs in the air between us. “I kissed her; she told me she loved me; I left.”
Royal opens his mouth to respond and then pauses.
We both look over to find … Serenity walking straight toward us.
She's wearing a skirt that's criminally short, exposing long, lean lines of creamy white thigh, her legs tucked into black leather boots, her shirt this scrap of nothing across her breasts, arms full of bracelets, hair long and blonde with a big red streak in the front. Her eyes are painted with liner, her mouth glossy and purple-red.
“Saint—” she says and then pauses, her gaze locked on something behind us. A quick glance to my left and I see Jack coming out of the clubhouse.
“Serenity,” he says as he comes down the steps, casting another strange glance in my direction. Maybe he just has good instincts? Maybe he can tell that when it comes to his daughter, there's not a single pure thought running through my mind. “What do you need?”
“The … espresso machine doesn't seem to be working,” she says carefully, giving her father a defiant stare when he eyes her outfit with distaste.
“Go find Janae and leave Royal alone,” Jack says dismissively, waving his hand at his only child. I can see the tightness in her face. She doesn't want to be talked to like that. A sudden urge to hit Jack overwhelms me and I exhale, drawing his attention to me again.
“Janae isn't here yet,” Serenity says, standing stone still. “I can't sell coffee if I can't make it.”
“You shouldn't be selling coffee at all,” Jack responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “You should be in school. Did you know she got kicked out of school?” he tells Royal, ignoring me completely.
“I didn't get kicked out,” Serenity says, lifting her chin up and glaring at her father. Their gazes lock together like two wolves in a stare down. “I got suspended.”
“For fighting,” Jack says with a scoff. “And you and your mother tried to team up and hide it from me.”
“It was Mom's idea,” Serenity snaps back at him as the wind picks up the long blonde strands of her hair … drags them across my arm with the breeze.
My entire body locks up, my cock, which was already hard from the simple sight of her, feels like it's about to fall off. The monster inside of me wars with the animal I feel like I'm about to become.
Hot and cold, hot and cold, hot and cold.
“Was it now?” Jack asks, and I hate the way he speaks to her, like she's just a spoiled child to be reprimanded. My breath hisses out between my teeth and Royal snaps his gaze to mine, alarm clearly etched into his features. “And why on earth would she decide to do that?”
“Because some girl accused me of fucking her boyfriend and tried to knock the shit out of me with her friend. All I did was fight back, but she knew you'd flip your shit if you found out.”
Jack's eyes go wide and his nostrils flare.
“What the hell? You sleeping around now?”
“No!” Serenity snaps, rearing back like she's been slapped. “And even if I was, what would it matter?”
“Well, you walk around the compound dressed like a fucking club whore—”
“Don't you dare talk to me like that!” she snarls back at her father. “This is my body and my business.”
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