Rogue (Dead Man's Ink #2)

by Callie Hart

  “Shay’s a woman. Fee, too.”

  “That’s correct. They are.”

  “So why can’t I be a Widow Maker? If they can be, then surely I can be, too.”

  I start the engine but I don’t put the Humvee into gear. I swivel in my seat so I’m facing her, desperately trying not to launch myself across the other side of the car so I can shake some sense into her. “You can’t join because it’s dangerous, sugar. Things with Ramirez are about to get grade A fucked up. I’m trying to make your life safer, not even more dangerous.”

  “Do you honestly think Ramirez is going to forget all about me now that Raphael’s gone? Am I still not the only person who can testify about your uncle’s murder?”

  “Raphael killed Ryan. Raphael’s now dead. There’s no way to prove in a court of law that Hector ordered him to do it. That ship has well and truly sailed. The cops are never going to fix this. I’m going to have to fix it. The club is going to have to fix it. It’s going to be all out warfare, and that bitch Lowell is going to be along for the ride. God knows how it’s all going to end. I don’t want it to end with you swinging from the end of a rope, missing your fucking hands and feet, though.”

  “Why are you reacting like this? I thought you’d be happy that I wanted to stay, Rebel.”

  Rebel. Huh. No more Jamie. That’s probably for the best. I punch the steering wheel, grinding my teeth together, expecting to feel them crack under the pressure. I can’t seem to think straight all of a sudden. My entire body feels hot, my senses working overtime to keep up with my rising anger. “Have you forgotten what I said to you the other day? I told you I was fucking in love with you. That means I will let you go. That means I will kiss you goodbye and I will help you pack you shit into the back of this car, and I will let another fucking guy drive you out of here. It means I will never see you again if that’s what I have to do, because I love you so goddamn much that I’d rather my whole world come crashing down around my fucking ears than have you killed because of me. Go back to Seattle, Sophia. Become a psychologist. Marry boring Matt and have a ton of children. Go to book club and drink too much Sauvignon Blanc on the weekends. Get a divorce at forty and find yourself all over again. Live the clichéd, middle class life that I can’t give you.”

  I’m blowing hard, my lungs burning when I shut my mouth. I’ve never really known what it is to feel like this—utterly destroyed. It’s come as a complete and very unwelcome shock to me that I am going to be fucked when she goes, but she needs to see it’s for the best. She has to.

  It takes me a long while to realize that she’s not saying anything. When I look at her, Sophia’s staring dead ahead, arms folded across her chest, eyelids unblinking. She’s practically vibrating with rage. Her tone is even and flat when she begins to speak; I can tell it’s taking everything she’s got to remain calm enough to get her words out. “Over the past few weeks, you’ve been stabbed, nearly bled to death right in front of me, attacked by Ramirez, shot with a Taser and arrested by the DEA. You think I wouldn’t worry about you if I went back to Seattle? You don’t think I would be sick to my stomach every second of the day, wondering if you’re alive or you’re dead? Fuck, Rebel…you don’t think I’m in love with you, too?”

  She gets out of the Humvee, slamming the door so hard behind her that I’m surprised the damn window doesn’t shatter. I watch her storming off into the desert, the pale blue of her t-shirt fading fast into the darkness as she hurries away from the car. For a moment I can’t move. I can’t think straight. She loves me, too? She loves me too. I feel like she’s just punched me square in the jaw. I mean…how?

  I finally get my shit together in time to realize that she’s been totally swallowed by the near pitch-blackness outside and I should definitely find her before she vanishes for good. I get out of the car and run after her.

  She’s not too hard to find. Standing with her back to me, she’s only made it thirty feet from the car, and she’s crying. “I should fucking hate you,” she tells me. “I shouldn’t give a shit about you, whether you live or die, but I do. That day you took me up on the roof of your dad’s place, you said something to me and it’s been stuck in my head ever since. You said, ‘Don’t bother trying to get inside my head. It’s a dark and scary place. Even I don’t want to be here most of the time.’ But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to get inside your head, and you…” She turns around, stabbing her index finger into my chest. “You invited me in. You didn’t for one second try and stop me from developing feelings for you. So why should you get to care more about me than I care about you? And why the hell am I not allowed to take risks to make sure you’re okay? I have nothing to go back to, Rebel. I have a family and a college degree and I have an apartment sitting empty in Seattle, but if you’re not there with me then I have nothing.”

  I can’t fucking breathe. I can’t…

  I grab hold of her and pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her and holding her so tight to me that she probably can’t breathe either. She presses her face into my chest, clinging onto me, and we just stand there, not letting go. Not saying anything. Not moving.

  This woman has turned me fucking inside out. I reach down and lift her up, my hands underneath her thighs, and she wraps her legs around my waist without question. I just hold her there.

  “You want this? You really want this, knowing what it involves?”

  She pulls back, her eyes slightly red and puffy. There’s real grit there, too, though. So much fire. She swallows, and then says eight words that will change things for us both forever. “I want you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  This is pure fucking madness, but I can’t help grinning. One of us will end up dead soon enough, but in the meantime I’m sure things are about to get really fucking interesting. “You realize you’re going to need to learn how to ride a motorcycle now, right?” The thought of her in charge of a bike is instantly hot. Her intensity breaks as a small smile spreads over her face.

  “Seriously? That would be kind of badass.”

  “Oh my god,” I groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman.”

  “Huh. And here was me thinking I would try and keep you out of trouble instead,” she says softly, biting her lip.

  It occurs to me how fucked up this is—the fact that we’ve just disposed of a body in the desert in the middle of the night, and I’m swiftly developing a hard on. I laugh like a maniac because I can’t help myself. “All right, then. Sophia Romera, consider yourself the newest prospect of the Widow Makers Motorcycle Club.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Callie Hart is a bagel eating, coffee drinking, romance addict. She can recite lines from the Notebook by heart. She lives on a ridiculously high floor in a way-too expensive building with her fiancé and their pet goldfish, Neptune. Rogue is the first instalment in her Dead Man’s Ink trilogy. Book three will be coming out soon!

  Her Blood & Roses series has over two thousand five star reviews, and features a dark hero and a kickass heroine. Book one, Deviant, is FREE right now! Click here to download now!

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