by S. Nelson
Stone slapped my shoulder, a sign of support. “You did what you had to. Don’t ever doubt that. I know it, and Marek will too as soon as you explain what happened.”
Shit! I’d completely forgotten about Marek and what his reaction would be to us killing two of our enemy. He held great contempt for them as well, but that wouldn’t justify taking two of them out without a good reason.
But I had one. Didn’t I?
I could only hope he saw the situation like I had.
Protection.
Pulling out a chair, Stone plopped himself into it and thrummed his fingers on the tabletop, the hammering noise rather annoying. Smirking, he gestured toward the chair to his right. Taking the invitation, I leaned back against the seat and folded my arms over my chest again.
“So, what happened to the two fucks afterwards?” he asked, taking a drink of water after asking me a question I didn’t have the answer to. Well, not exactly. I only knew what Ryder had told me; I never followed up with him afterward to find out if he had any issues.
“Ryder said he was gonna drop them off at their club. And I’m gonna be honest. While I loved the idea, I wasn’t sure it was the smartest move. Shoving the kill in their faces like that.” Unfolding my arms, I rested my hands on top of the rounded table. “Especially after what his buddy told us right before Ryder put a bullet in his head.”
“About coming for Sully?” When I looked confused, he added, “Ryder told me.”
I looked down at my hands briefly before making eye contact with him again. “Yeah. That.”
“Doesn’t matter, brother. We already know Psych is planning something. We just don’t know what or when. But rest assured, we’ll be ready. No doubt.”
I opened my mouth to ask him if he had ever thought about breaking away from Adelaide, before she got pregnant with Riley. Before his feelings for her had intensified and grown stronger. I wanted to know if he’d ever thought about sacrificing his happiness in order to keep her safe from our way of life, but the woman in question strolled into the kitchen with Riley on her hip and her purse slung over her shoulder.
After she passed their daughter to Stone, she kissed them both, whispered something in my buddy’s ear and walked toward the front door. “Shall we?” she called over her shoulder, not waiting for me to catch up before disappearing outside.
Kena
Five days had passed since I’d laid eyes on Jagger. Boy, the guy ran hot and cold, his lack of presence certainly speaking volumes. I tried my hardest not to read too far into things, but what choice did I have? The only thing I had to go on was what he told me, which was zilch thus far. Lame excuses about having to work for the club, or handle business for the club. However he’d put it didn’t make any sense to me whatsoever. In my head, if he truly liked me, he would make the time to see me, not confuse the hell out of me, day in and day out.
It seemed every day—no, every hour—I fluttered back and forth between deciding to give him his space and demanding answers to why he avoided being with me again. Sometimes my patience won out, and sometimes my aggravation shook the sense right out of me.
I was the furthest from a pushy person. In fact, I preferred to stay in the background, observing those around me instead of being up front and center. It was why I kept to myself, shielding myself from fully living. Until I’d met Jagger. Something about his soul spoke to mine, begging me to open up and give him a chance. So I’d stepped outside my comfort zone to meet him halfway. But his current behavior had me rethinking my decision to delve headfirst into what I’d hoped had been a budding relationship between us.
The way he looked at me whenever we were together was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. His silent promises made my heart soar, but would whatever he held secret end up destroying us before we even got started? Did I think him worth it enough to take that chance? To risk my heart?
I didn’t have to think about it too long.
Of course he was.
Any guy who would study sign language just to communicate with me, especially when he hadn’t known me very long, ranked high on my list of keepers.
After he’d showed up at my house at two in the morning, kissed me silly, then cuddled with me for the rest of the night, I’d mistakenly thought we’d moved forward with whatever was happening between us. But I’d been wrong. When I woke, I saw he’d left a note. And sure, he stayed true to his word and texted me later that day, but that was all we’d been doing.
Texting.
I wanted nothing more than to see his face. Hear his voice. Feel his arms around me. Savor his kiss. But something bothered him and I had no idea what it could be. Maybe his fights weighed heavier on him than he cared to let on, but I wanted to let him know I would be there for him if he needed to unload and talk about . . . whatever.
Deciding enough was enough, my fingers glided over the letters as I typed out a text which cut straight to the point.
Kena: Why are you avoiding me?
Sitting on the couch, a glass of wine on the end table waiting to be consumed, I impatiently counted the minutes until he answered. I could be here all night, or he could decide to put me out of my misery and respond right away.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Twenty minutes later, my phone finally dinged.
Jagger: I’m not avoiding you at all. Is that what you think?
I should’ve made him sweat a little, but I didn’t want to drag this out any longer than necessary, so I responded immediately.
Kena: You confuse me. You show up at my house late at night, looking like you’ve just been in a terrible fight, kiss me until I can’t think straight, and then end up holding me until we fell asleep. Never once did you tell me what happened to you, and to make things worse you left before I woke up.
Jagger: I left you a note.
Grinding my teeth in frustration, I threw the phone on the cushion next to me and grabbed my glass of wine. Not having the patience to savor the red liquid, I swallowed a few large gulps, allowing the alcohol to permeate my aggravated mood.
Finally, I reached for my cell and typed out my retort to his pitiful excuse. Men.
Kena: Just because you left me a note doesn’t excuse your rude behavior. If you don’t want to see me anymore, just tell me. Be a man about it.
Before I could stop them, tears flowed down my cheeks, frustrating me even more than before I’d contacted him. Sorrow washed through me that whatever I thought was happening between Jagger and me would die before it even took flight. The chance I could have found “the one” quickly disappeared, evaporating into thin air before I could even hold the possibility close. I knew my emotions ruled me, as they always had. I just never had anyone on the receiving end before. Harmless crushes, sure, but nothing like this.
Jagger: I’m calling you.
Kena: I’m not answering.
Jagger: Yes, you are.
Kena: No, just tell me.
My breath caught in my throat, threatening to suffocate me if he made me wait much longer. The chime from my phone pushed the air through my nose in relief. Or was that delayed frustration?
Jagger: Please answer your phone when I call.
Realizing I desperately wanted to hear his voice, I gave in and agreed to hear whatever it was he wanted to tell me.
Kena: Fine.
Instead of another message, my phone vibrated in my hand, my generic ringtone slicing the air around me and managing to startle me, even though I’d been expecting his call.
Swiping the Answer option, I placed the device next to my ear. I’d learned to accept my challenge a long time ago, but during times such as this, all I wanted to do was speak my confusion. Unload all my uncertainties in a way which would make sense to him. But instead, all I could do was to either text with him or allow him to speak his mind.
“Kena, listen,” he started, breathing heavily as if he’d just run a mile. “I’m so sorry for making you think I don’t want to see you anymore, be
cause that’s simply not true. In fact, I want to be with you more than ever. The other night. . . .” He stalled, and if I had to guess he was probably pacing back and forth, his words temporarily failing him. Thankfully, the silence didn’t last long. “There are things I’m trying to work out. Take care of. And until they’re finished, I can’t really talk about it. I hope you’ll give me the time I need and not give up on me. I care about you. A lot,” he confessed, the deep timbre of his voice unraveling any doubt I’d held about his feelings toward me. “Can I see you? Tonight?”
I hadn’t expected for him to ask me such a thing, and right then I regretted my sort-of ultimatum. It hadn’t been blatant, but he’d surely read between the lines. Not wanting him to feel as if he had to see me, I let the silence exist between us, perpetuating uncertainty on both our ends.
“I want to see you,” he stressed. “It’s not because you gave me some sort of half-ass ultimatum, either.” I heard the lightheartedness in his tone, his amazing ability to read me without being anywhere near me.
I wouldn’t know the true depth of his feelings until I could look into those penetrating amber-colored eyes of his, so I gave him what he wanted.
What I wanted.
I pressed a number on the keypad one time, the sound booming in my ears, releasing the tension I’d carried since I’d first texted him that evening.
“Great. You won’t regret it, Kena. I promise. Can I pick you up in an hour?”
I pressed the key again. One time.
Yes.
“See you soon,” he promised, hanging up the phone and in turn erasing some of the reservation I’d allowed to rattle my emotions.
Kena
True to his word, Jagger showed up on my doorstep an hour later, looking as fantastic as ever. The cuts and bruises I’d seen days earlier had turned different shades, but he appeared to be healing nicely. My eyes lingered on his mouth; I couldn’t help it. Every time I saw the guy, I wanted to throw myself at him, wrap myself in his embrace and latch on to those delicious lips of his.
I knew what he held within his kiss, and I’d wanted to feel the promise of something more right then. But I held back. How would I look to him if I attacked him, when only a short while ago I’d come off as upset? Never mind what kind of precedent that would set for us going forward. If there even was an “us” after that evening. He’d know that all he’d have to do was be near me and he’d get his way. And let’s face it; he’d mess up a lot.
He was a guy, after all.
Stepping to the side, I allowed him to enter my house, his arm brushing mine as he walked past. A tiny shiver coursed through me at the slight contact, and I berated myself for being so weak.
The thick rustle of his leather vest tore me from my inner ramblings. The way he moved throughout the small space had me gasping for my next breath. He reminded me of a predator, assessing his surroundings before pouncing. Even though he tried to give me space by keeping his distance, the pull between us encapsulated my entire being.
I couldn’t think.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t wait to be consumed by him once again.
My eyes wouldn’t stop devouring the very sight of him. Dark, loose jeans hung low on his hips. His grey T-shirt clung to his torso as if it had been made specifically for him. All I wanted to do was run my hands over him, head to toe, but I remained unmoving. I wanted him to make the first move. Explain why he’d been avoiding me, even though he’d said he hadn’t been.
I fidgeted with the hem of my tank top, hoping and praying he would end the silence soon. Although I could spend all day just staring at him, the uneasiness of the quietness drove me insane.
Jagger’s eyes lit up the closer he stepped, his gaze lingering on my mouth, as I had done to him moments earlier, and I couldn’t help but to wonder if the thoughts running through his head mirrored my own.
Without notice, he brought his hands up in front of him, and at first I couldn’t focus on anything other than the scrapes and bruises desecrating his knuckles still. Wanting so desperately to reach out and touch him, I held back. Whatever he wanted to say to me had to happen in order for us to move forward.
Placing his fist against his chest, he rubbed it in a circular motion. I’m sorry, he signed, the apologetic look on his face replicating his message.
Although I appreciated the sentiment and effort, I couldn’t help but wonder how many times I would see that specific gesture.
Why? My one-word question was all I could think of to ask in response.
Reaching out, he captured my hand and led me to the couch, jerking his head for me to take a seat. Once I settled in, he joined me, continuing to hold my hand as he turned his body toward me. “I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but I hope you’ll give me the chance to stick around. I really like you, and I think we could be really good together.” I tried to tug my hand from his but he only tightened his grasp. “I need to get this off my chest before you start asking me more questions.”
More questions? I’d only asked him one, although it had been an all-encompassing one.
He licked his lips and exhaled a heavy breath. “There are some things I can’t divulge right now. Things that have to be secured, taken care of so there’s no more threat to me or my club.” I knit my brows at his unexpected statement. “I’m just trying to be honest. Well . . . as honest as I can be right now.” Shifting closer, his knee bumped mine, the slight touch distracting me. “I’m just asking that you be patient and not get angry when I can’t explain certain things. Can you do that? Can you give me the time I need to straighten some things out?”
His thumb danced back and forth over the top of my hand, his gentle touch a complete contradiction to the guy sitting next to me. His intimidating appearance warned the world not to get too close, his club’s emblem etched on the back of his leather cut enough to scare most people. But from what I could tell, Jagger—and his friends I’d had the pleasure of meeting—seemed to be good men, even though a secrecy shrouded them, clinging to them so closely it was hard to see them for the people they truly were.
I realized my impression of them could’ve been misguided, but my gut told me they were good people.
I gave him a simple nod before brushing my lips against his. I hadn’t meant to fold so easily, but Jagger’s words, combined with his pleading look, assured me he was telling me the truth. As much as he could, anyway.
Surprised, he leaned back and searched my face for an explanation to my complete one-eighty. But he didn’t find one, because I couldn’t explain it myself, except to say I trusted him.
Explicitly.
For the next twenty minutes, we made out like a couple of teenagers, although we weren’t too far removed from that age group. He’d repositioned me so I straddled him, his apparent arousal pressing against the most sensitive part of me.
Hands explored.
Kisses promised the world.
My heart beat so fast I feared it would burst from my chest the longer Jagger continued to tease me. A warmth flooded my insides as an ache I’d come to recognize well blossomed deep within, pulsing and demanding release. My body reacted to his, no doubt threatening to detonate if I continued to refuse what should have come naturally.
Although inexperience held me captive, I knew Jagger would be the one I’d give myself to.
Utterly and completely.
He’d already captured my mind and soul.
The only thing left to offer was my body.
With trembling hands, I gripped the hem of my top, inching the material higher until air flowed across my belly. Jagger’s fingers had been entangled in my hair, but when I attempted to remove my shirt, he pulled back, resting his hands on my thighs and gently kneading my skin.
“What are you doing?” he asked, a reserved smile tentatively lifting the corners of his lips.
Letting go of the material, I answered. Removing my shirt.
“Why?”
A
sudden flush doused my skin, but irritation quickly replaced the abrupt embarrassment I’d felt. Why do you think?
“I’m not ready for that,” he said, chuckling once he realized what he’d said. “Let me clarify. I’m not ready for you to be ready for that. Does that make sense?”
No.
“Kena,” he huffed, “I don’t wanna rush you into something I don’t think you’re ready for.”
But I am ready, I pouted, the incessant ache intensifying between my legs.
Removing me from his lap, he rose from the couch before reaching out and waiting for me to place my hand in his. Once I did, he led me toward the front door, completely disregarding that we were just talking about possibly having sex. Tugging my hand from his, I took a step back.
“What are you doing?” he asked, turning around to face me.
Where are you taking me?
“To eat. I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”
Yes . . . but not for food.
Clenching his jaw, Jagger decimated the space separating us and tugged my arms behind my back, pinning my wrists with one of his hands. Spinning me around, he trapped my back against the wall and leaned close to my ear.
“Trust me, I want nothing more than to sink inside you, but not here. Not now.” Nipping my earlobe, his warm breath prickled my skin, a shiver my sole reaction to his teasing. The smooth skin of his cheek rubbed against mine, the closeness undoing the last strand of my restraint. But I kept myself in check because the last thing I wanted was for Jagger to keep refusing me, landing blow after blow to my suddenly fragile ego. “Understand?”
A nod from me and he released my wrists, pulling me behind him out the front door.
We spent the next few hours enjoying a meal at a small Italian restaurant we both loved, talking about everything under the sun, from my job at the restaurant, to our favorite movies, to places we dreamed of visiting someday. Surprisingly, we both wanted to travel to Europe, taking in as many countries as could be afforded.
