by S. Nelson
I’d battled with the fear that I could’ve hurt her that night. I could’ve snuffed out her life, all the while having no fuckin’ clue I’d even done it. Not until I woke up. Then what would I have done? How would I ever explain something like that to the club? To her family?
Dangerous.
The only word to describe what I was when it came to Braylen sleeping next to me, innocent and unknowing.
Silence drifted between us because neither of us knew what to say at that point. I hated the physical space separating us but I understood it, although I’d never let on.
Don’t show any vulnerability. It was my motto since I was a kid, and in that moment it was being put to the motherfuckin’ test.
As her lips parted to finally speak, a rousing burst of noise erupted behind us. A large crowd of people emerged, halting any thoughts that I’d get any further with Braylen right then.
“Come back to my place,” I said, clenching my hands at my sides in preparation for her refusal.
“No.” Blunt and to the point.
“Why?”
“Because there’s something going on with you, and until you can tell me what it is, I can’t help you.” She bit her lower lip, averting her eyes to behind me every few seconds, no doubt waiting for her sister to join us.
“It was one night. One incident. Let it go,” I rasped, pissed that I had to defend my fucked-up dream once again. I didn’t want to delve back into my past, and that was exactly what would happen if I entertained telling her.
“It wasn’t just one night.” Her voice rose over the shouts of the people milling around us. “You’ve been acting weird for at least two months.”
Dammit! That was about how long it’d been since the nightmares had returned.
Again, I refused to acknowledge what she said as anything but crazy talk. Before my brain could formulate a response, however, the back door to the building flung open. Tripp, Jagger, and Kena appeared, laughing and looking like everything was peachy fuckin’ keen.
Well it wasn’t.
Not for me, and apparently not for Braylen either.
One look from her sister and Kena rushed to her side, pulling her farther away from me and signing frantically, glancing back at me a couple times. Realizing I’d lost the battle, I gave up trying to convince Braylen to come home with me and joined my buddies.
“What’s up with those two?” Tripp asked, slapping me on the back before removing his phone from his cut. Putting the device to his ear, he gave me a sideways glance while waiting for whoever he’d called to answer.
“Who the fuck knows,” I grumbled. I had no desire to talk about it right there in the middle of the goddamn street. Jagger walked toward the women, watching the back and forth between the two of them before turning his head to look at me. He smirked, no doubt lovin’ that I was the one in hot water. I hated that he could understand everything they were signing while I stood there like a dumbass, completely ignorant.
Finally, Jagger walked back toward me, grinning and shaking his head.
“Fuck off.”
“Hey, I’m not the one givin’ you shit.” Jagger chuckled, slinging his black bag over his shoulder.
“What was she sayin’?” I didn’t want to ask, but the need to know gnawed at my insides like some kind of insect.
“That she really wishes you would open up and let her in. That she’s really concerned about your emotional sanity and wants to be there for you, to help you through whatever drama has you trapped in such a state that you shut down and lash out whenever something happens.”
At first, I thought Jagger was telling me the truth, that she’d really said all that stuff, until he burst out laughing.
“What the fuck?” I growled, flashing him my most menacing look, but apparently I was losing my touch, or Jagger knew me well enough to not be afraid of me.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist, man.”
“What. Did. She. Fuckin’. Say?”
“She said you’re actin’ like an ass, and that if you don’t start talkin’ soon, you can forget about her . . . or somethin’ like that.” Jagger walked away before I could ask him to repeat what he’d said, laughing at my misfortune of having to deal with Braylen’s stubborn ass.
I knew Jagger was heading back to their place, so I straddled my bike, turned over the engine and took off down the street, not once looking at Braylen as I passed. I couldn’t. Otherwise, I’d toss her over my ride and kidnap her, kicking and screaming.
And something told me that wouldn’t go over too well.
Braylen
All I could think about while lying in bed that evening was Ryder and how clueless he was to just how detrimental his actions toward me had been. And how he refused to tell me exactly what was going on with him. He played it off as no big deal, as if it was normal to attack someone while in the throes of a nightmare. But it sure as hell wasn’t.
Ryder had been acting funny for a couple months, although I couldn’t pinpoint exactly how. It was a gut feeling, a warning that something explosive would erupt soon enough, and I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to be around to help pick up the pieces.
While I cared for him—more than I wanted to, honestly—I feared that he’d destroy me if he continued to keep me in the dark.
If secrets festered long enough, they would devour a person’s soul, leaving them black and dying on the inside, blocking the smallest glimpse of healing light.
“Work your magic, sweetheart.” Taking a surprised breath, I lowered my arm to my side, the lightweight shears almost slipping from my fingers. I’d been lost in thought yet again and had completely ignored the client sitting in my chair. Taking a step back, I tried to gather myself, but it was too late. He’d seen my loss of focus. “Are you okay?”
“Um . . . yeah. Sure. Sorry about that. Now where were we?” I plastered on a big fake smile and turned his chair to the side so I could better assess the length of his hair, which hadn’t grown too much since I’d seen him two weeks prior.
George had become a regular client of mine, his incessant need to make sure his hair was trimmed every couple weeks kind of amusing. But hey, I wasn’t complaining. Besides, he was a great tipper.
I had the good fortune to work at my best friend’s salon, Transform. Sia offered me a job as soon as I graduated cosmetology school, promising me a lucrative career with her clientele. I not only worked with all things hair, of course, but I was also certified in nails, waxing, etc. Name it, and I did it, which put me a leg up from most of the other women who worked there.
After only a year, Sia offered me the manager position, telling me she was desperate for someone with my organizational and people skills. And while the offer, complete with generous salary, was indeed tempting, all I wanted to do was come in, handle my shifts, chat with my clients and perform the magic on them they’d come to expect from me.
Sia was disappointed but understood. She ended up hiring a string of interim managers, none of them having what it took to help run an upscale salon. Because I felt bad and wanted to help her out until she found someone more permanent, I agreed to assist with some of the duties if she handled the rest—mainly dealing with the staff. I took care of inventory and bookkeeping while she dealt with scheduling, the stylists and whatever else popped up that required her attention.
“Just the usual today.” He smiled at me as I turned his chair back toward the mirror.
“You know, I might start to think you have a crush on me,” I teased, snapping the black cape closed that I had draped over him to protect from hair shavings.
“Who says I don’t,” he replied, winking at my reflection before flashing me his pearly whites. “Why do you think I come in so often?”
“I thought you had an agenda.” I returned his smile as I ran my fingers through his short tresses. There wasn’t much for me to do except clean his edges and polish him up. After ten minutes, I’d done all I could, turning him from side to side to make sure everything looked
even.
I walked around his chair to stand in front of him, bending down to check out the front of his hair. My eyes were glued to his blond strands while his were glued to my breasts. My V-shaped top certainly showed a bit of cleavage, nothing obscene, although apparently the display was enough. Clearing my throat, his green eyes popped up to mine, a wolfish grin on his face at the knowledge that he’d been caught, although he didn’t appear embarrassed by it. Not entirely, at least.
I figured there could be worse things in life than having the attentions of a handsome man. George appeared to be close to my age of twenty-four, although he could’ve been a couple years older. He looked young but distinguished. During one of our conversations, he’d told me he was a corporate lawyer of some sort. He stopped talking about his job when he saw my eyes glaze over. I’d apologized, telling him I didn’t understand anything he’d tried to explain. He didn’t seem put out by my lack of interest, thank God, as was apparent with the fifty-dollar tip he left me, and when he returned time and time again to sit in my chair.
On top of being successful before the age of thirty, he was stereotypically handsome. A full head of thick hair, light green eyes, and a sculpted jawline. His face was clean-shaven, giving him that younger appeal. The only thing not symmetrical on him was a tiny bump on the bridge of his nose, but it did nothing to detract from his good looks. But for as handsome as he was, he just wasn’t my type.
Apparently my type was a dark-haired, rugged-looking, stubborn biker who was a pain in my ass as of late. Oh hell, who was I kidding? Ryder had been a pain in my ass since the first day I met him. Since he’d so eloquently told me that I needed a good fuck to calm me down.
“So, tell me, Braylen. Do you have a man?” George’s words drew me back into the present. He was staring up at me, waiting for me to say something, but when I opened my mouth to answer, a rough voice cut me off, shutting down any reply I had. Stealing my choice to tell him I was indeed involved with someone, although we were kind of going through some stuff at the moment. Of course, I would’ve censored my response.
“Yeah, she does.” Whipping around, I saw Ryder standing ten feet behind me, glaring at George’s reflection in the mirror, looking all intimidating and . . . sexy.
Oh for the love of God, stop lusting after him while he’s embarrassing the hell out of you.
“What are you doing here?”
“Apparently interrupting something.” His mood was sour. His tall, broad frame was drawn tight, the muscles of his bare forearms dancing under the weight of his obvious displeasure. Ryder stood there in all his stubborn, infuriating glory, dressed in dark-washed jeans, a white T-shirt, and his Knights Corruption leather vest—or cut, as he often referred to it. He’d just witnessed another man openly flirting with me; I knew it was only a matter of seconds before he snapped. I had to do something and fast before the situation escalated out of control.
“I’ll be right back, George,” I offered, giving him an apologetic smile before removing his cape.
“Sure thing. I’ll wait right here.” What he said was innocent enough, but Ryder jumped all over him anyway.
“I think it’s best you get outta here before I toss you out on your ass.” Ryder took a step forward, but I stepped in front of him, blocking his advance toward my client. Pushing on his chest, I tried my best to move him back, but he continued to shoot daggers at the guy. I thought I heard George snicker, but I couldn’t be sure. Either way, I had to remove Ryder from the salon before he really caused a scene. As it was, a few of the other employees and their clients were casting wary glances toward us.
“Go outside,” I rasped, unable to contain my anger any longer because of the embarrassment he’d caused me. “Now!” I whisper-shouted as I shoved at him once more. The man was like a goddamn marble statue, unyielding except for the flicker in his eyes telling me he’d comply.
Reaching for my hand, he clasped it tightly and practically dragged me from the salon, walking briskly down the sidewalk until we were out of sight from any onlookers inside Transform. Thankfully there weren’t too many people milling around outside, everyone locked up inside the shops and spending their money.
“What the fuck, Braylen?”
“What is wrong with you?” I asked, choosing to ignore his question. “What are you even doing here?” My back faced the concrete wall between a high-end boutique and a fancy shoe store. I kept my eyes pinned to his, and for several seconds we entered some sort of deranged staring contest, both of us trying to mentally overpower the other.
Ryder eventually broke. “What are you doing?”
“Working. What does it look like?”
“It looked like that guy was hitting on you and you were lovin’ it,” he snarled, the veins in his neck protruding with every spoken word. I walked right into that one. “Tell me I’m wrong. I dare you.” His dark eyes turned black in his self-induced delirium.
I couldn’t believe he thought I was interested in George, or any other man for that matter. He had to know that, even though I was upset with him and needed some time, I only had my sights set on him.
“Yes and no,” I answered, huffing out a breath when his nostrils started to flare. “You need to calm down, Ryder. That’s not what I meant.”
“What the fuck did you mean, then?” He took one step closer, the warmth from his body igniting my own. He looked savage, and although I chastised myself for even feeling this way . . . I was undoubtedly turned on.
“George is harmless.”
“George is not harmless. That guys wants to fuck you.”
Our conversation wasn’t going as planned. Not at all.
“Maybe he does.” Ryder flinched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Wrong thing to say. “But does that mean he gets to? No, of course not. I’m not interested in him. I only engage him because he’s a great tipper.”
Without hesitation, he growled, “Well I got a fuckin’ tip for ya: stop flirtin’ or you’ll never see him again. Got it?” His fists uncurled, and his flattened hands ran the length of his jeans as if he was somehow self-soothing, doing his best to calm down. He took another step toward me like some sort of feral predator. Anger danced behind his eyes, along with jealousy, but I knew he wouldn’t physically hurt me. Not while he was awake, at least.
As I opened my mouth to reply to his outlandishness, Sia approached us, her hands on her hips as she took in the scene. “You okay, Bray?” My friend and employer was all of five feet two with short pink hair. She looked whimsical and fierce all wrapped into one. She could be your best friend, as she was mine, or your worst enemy.
While I loved her concern, she was the last person I wanted to deal with. I had enough on my plate.
“She’s fine,” Ryder answered for me, not once turning to look in her direction.
“Well, I’m not asking you. I’m asking my friend,” she shot back, taking a few steps closer. “Do you want me to call the cops?”
That question had Ryder whipping his head toward Sia, glaring at her as if he wanted her to crumble into pieces in front of him.
“No, of course not. It’s all just a misunderstanding,” I lied. “Ryder was just leaving.” I held eye contact with her, silently pleading with her to return to the salon so I could convince Ryder to leave without further incident.
Tapping her foot, she narrowed her eyes before turning around and walking back toward her livelihood.
As far as I knew, Sia had no issue with Ryder. She’d met him on a few different occasions, and the main thing she’d uttered was that he was hot. But then he went and messed with her business, potentially scaring off one of her clients, which she undoubtedly took personally. And I couldn’t say that I blamed her.
“You have to go.” My back was pressed against the cool wall, my hands coming up in front of me to ward off Ryder’s attempt to pull me close.
He ignored my nonverbal communication and advanced, regardless of the hesitant look he saw on my face. Or at least I hoped that
was the look I portrayed. Because there was another one—lust. For as maddening as the man standing before me was, he was everything I’d ever dreamed of in a partner.
Well, mostly. I’d prefer him without the secrets and the potential danger following him everywhere. While he swore his club was no longer involved with anything illegal, that they’d gone legit a while back, it didn’t assuage my feelings that something bad could happen where he and the rest of the Knights Corruption were concerned.
Refusing to give life to all the random thoughts firing around inside my brain, I tried my best to focus on one thing at a time—specifically Ryder and his incessant need to drive me crazy, of both the good and bad persuasion. The silent battle of wills wore on me, to the point that I was the one who caved that time around.
“You need a haircut.” I had no idea why I said what I did, but it seemed to relax him, all while doing the opposite to me. The last thing I wanted was to be in such close proximity, touching him, staring at him to make sure my work was impeccable. Ryder naturally kept his hair short, but as of late the strands were a little longer than normal, hitting his collar. I thought he looked sexy no matter what style he chose, so I suppose my offer was my way of extending an olive branch. Of letting go of the need to keep the distance between us, even though I was uneasy and on guard with the way he continued to exclude me from certain aspects of his life. I understood the need for privacy with his club, but what I couldn’t wrap my head around was why he wouldn’t share anything about his past with me.
He never spoke of his family. I asked him once, and he shut me down right away. I figured I should consider myself lucky he’d told me his real name, Roman, although he asked me not to use it. When I asked him why, he shook his head and never answered. From his demeanor I knew not to pry again, or at least for a very long time. Maybe as the months passed, he would become more comfortable with me and want to open up, but as of yet, the topics were off the table.
“Why don’t you come back to my place and give me one, then?” His fingers danced over my side before pulling me close so our chests were touching. I could feel his muscles, even beneath the thin white fabric, hard and chorded, twitching and warm.
