by C. Tyler
“Back yard,” I reply. “I’m just having a beer at home.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
I don’t get the chance to tell him I’d rather be alone for the time being before he hangs up. For a moment I think about calling him back, but at the same time, if he’s with me, he isn’t with her. Childish jealousy I know, but I can’t seem to help it.
About ten minutes later, true to his word, I hear the roar of a bike and know it’s him. It cuts off, and shortly after he walks through my open back door. When he sees me, I smile lightly and he does the same. I don’t stand to meet him, and I think he notices how strange that is because he eyes me for just a moment as he approaches.
“Hey,” he says. Spencer plants his hands on the picnic table behind me, leans forward, and gives me a kiss I barely return. His brows come together as we part. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.” I openly lie and take another sip of my beer.
“Right,” he replies under his breath. Without bothering to ask, he reaches forward and snatches a long-neck out of the cooler near my feet and sits beside me with his legs out and back to the tabletop like I am. “Why’d you head out?”
I shrug, but don’t verbally respond right away. He hates when people do that—Spencer was always the type to prefer direct, to the point conversations—but again, I just don’t feel like I have the right to say anything and voicing my jealousy just makes me feel that much dumber.
“Jesus Christ, Mike,” he sighs with heavy aggravation. “Just say it.”
“It’s nothing,” I reply. “Just forget about it, okay?”
I keep my eyes forward, staring at the desolate, neglected back yard and refusing to meet his gaze, but I can feel him looking at me. I want him to drop it, to just let it go, but I somehow know he won’t. There have already been too many things I’ve asked him to overlook since I’ve come home, and something tells me this might be one too many.
“This about that chick?” he asks eventually with a deadpan tone.
I flinch whether I mean to or not. I hate when he does that. Spencer Graves is sharp, smart, and misses nothing, and I hate when he uses those powers of deduction on me.
“Seriously?” There’s a light chuckle to his question, and it forces me to look at him. A single brow is arched, and an almost smug smile is twisting his lips. It pisses me off immediately.
“The fuck are you smiling at?” I practically growl under my breath.
“You being jealous,” he openly says.
I roll my eyes and look back at the yard. “You should go.” I’m not in the mood to deal with him right now, or stroke his ego. I already feel a little stupid.
“Why?” He practically dares me to say what we both already know. “Because you don’t like that some chick was rubbing on my dick?” I clench my jaw and sink just a bit further in my seat in some weak attempt to avoid the conversation. “You don’t get to be jealous, okay?”
“I know!” I snap angrily. I can’t help it. Spencer and I have always been like this. We fuck and fight like pros.
“You left, Mike,” he shoots back because I know he feels attacked. “You found that guy of yours and ran away as fast as you could. You didn’t give two shits about walking out on me back then, so you don’t get to be jealous that some other chick wants to fuck me.”
He’s not wrong. I did leave Hope because I was “in love”, and when Travis wanted me to go with him, I went. It didn’t dawn on me then that he was trying to isolate me, to get me away from the guys that would kill him for what he had planned to do. I just knew I’d follow him anywhere.
I regretted that choice later, of course, but at the time I thought it would be fun to have an adventure, to leave a place I’d never left. I guess on some level, I thought a break from Hope would keep me from turning out like my mother, or the other women associated with the club. Whether it was intentional or not, most of them ended up drunks and into drugs. This life could drive people to anything just to cope, and that was their escape. I didn’t want that to be me. And besides, Travis said he needed me with him at the time, so of course I went.
Expecting to come home after so long without repercussions was naïve, but I did anyway. For some reason, I’d expected everything to be the same, for nothing to have changed. Clearly, I was wrong, and Spencer was angrier than I thought. But hearing Spencer openly say that he knew some other woman was trying to fuck him when I could see just twists my stomach into knots. It makes me feel physically nauseous.
My eyes burn as I valiantly do my best to keep from crying. “I said I know,” I tell him as strongly as I can. I pray my voice doesn’t shake. “Just leave, Spence. Go back to your old lady.”
Silence stretches between us for a moment or two, and I’m well aware that “play time” is over. The joy of being reunited and together again is gone and reality has come back. I left, abandoned him, and he’s moved on. Shit happens, and I have to deal with it.
“I don’t have an ol’ lady,” he sighs with a growl. “You think I want some random gash on my arm, or in my bed?” I don’t speak. “Jesus, Michelle.” I flinch when he says my name. It’s a rarity and still makes me kind of uncomfortable. “I haven’t even fucked anyone in a year.”
My head snaps to him, and my brows are pulled together in confusion. Spencer’s a good-looking man, and insatiable. To hear he hasn’t slept with someone in a year is a shock, especially since it was obviously by choice. He could have a piece of ass whenever he wants. He literally only has to ask.
“Why?” I don’t think I removed as much skepticism from my voice as I meant to.
A soft smile takes his lips as his eyes dance over my face. It’s so sincere, so caring that I don’t immediately know how to respond. It’s been a long time since someone’s looked at me like that.
“Wasn’t the same,” he finally replies. “It’s never been the same without you.”
My chest swells, and my heart thunders. “Really?” I ask before I can stop myself.
A light breath of a laugh leaves his upturned lips. “Come here.” He grabs my wrist and pulls me even closer, twisting me around until I straddle his lap. He squeezes my hips and runs his hands up my back, forcing me closer to him. “It’s always been you, Mikey. You’re my girl.”
I sigh as he wraps his arms around me and hugs me close. I can feel the heat of him pouring into me, and I’m immediately comforted by it again, like I have been a thousand times before.
“I never should’ve left,” I sigh.
Spencer slips his hands under my shirt. His calloused fingers glide along my sides, across my back and down again, and every scrape of his hard-worked digits sends shivers down my spine. I nip at his lips and kiss him fiercely as my desire for him grows. It never takes long with us, ever. I honestly can’t remember a time where it took more than ten minutes for both of us to reach the point of no return, and after what he said, it just makes it that much easier.
His growing erection is already straining against his jeans and pressing into the apex of my thighs. I want to come through my skin. I want him to take me, and I know I need only ask.
As he continues to run his hands over my skin—igniting me even further—he suddenly stops and draws back sharply. It’s so abrupt that it takes me a moment to realize what’s happened. As I look at him, he’s eying me skeptically. There’s a strange expression marring his handsome features, and I don’t know how to interpret it before I notice something. His hands have stopped on my back, and I’m suddenly well aware of what he’s found.
Ice trickles down my spine, and I can tell he knows I know. The instant he opens his mouth, I react. I don’t want to hear his questions, and as a result, I practically jump out of his lap and immediately turn my back to him.
My mind is racing with lies I can tell, with a thousand stories that’ll explain away the scars he felt across my skin, but I don’t get the chance. Without warning my shirt’s lifted.
“Hey!” I snap as I shoot away fr
om him, spinning in my spot to eye the young man who’s now glowering angrily. “Don’t.”
“What happened?” he asks as he takes stilted steps towards me.
“Nothing,” I lie. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Mikey.” He throws his beer bottle to the ground and it shatters, forcing me to jump. “Who did that to you?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words are stuck in my throat. I’m not afraid of Spencer or what he might do to me because I know he’d never hurt me, but I am afraid. But I can’t make my mouth work, and I can tell he’s getting more and more agitated the longer the silence persists.
“I can’t do this,” I breathe. With tears gathering in my eyes, I turn abruptly and head inside. I don’t want to be around him right now. I don’t want Spencer to see me cry, to see me broken or breaking. I just want him to go home, but I should’ve known better.
I go to my room and close the door behind me, telling him to just leave. As I sit on my pathetic air mattress that I’d pushed against the wall after inflating (an actual bed is the one thing I refuse to get second-hand from a bunch of bikers, no matter how well-meaning), the tears finally come. Burying my face in my hands, I just cry.
So lost in my world, I barely notice the door open or hear Spencer approach. He kneels down in front of me and touches my knee when he finally reaches the bed. I jump and nearly leap back before realizing it’s him. He stares at me angrily, but with sadness touching his features. I can tell the situation has him irate, but he’s trying to keep me calm. The problem is, I’m not sure he can.
“What happened?” he asks as he gently sets his hands on my knees.
My brows come together so tightly it actually hurts, and my vision blurs with welling tears. God only knows how pathetic I look right now.
“Travis,” I breathe. Nothing else need be said.
I see the ripple of rage cascade over his body and feel myself shudder when I watch his crystal blue eyes turn black. They actually turned black, I swear it, and it’s terrifying. He must notice my fear because he tries to soften his expression, but he can’t. Not really, at least.
“Where is he?” His jaw is tight and rigid like the rest of him.
“I don’t know,” I whimper pathetically. I suck in a hiccup of air. “When I got out of the hospital,” he clenches his fists and has to look away for a moment, “they told me he was still in jail.” Spencer slowly meets my eye again. “But he wasn’t. He’d made bail and skipped a week before I was released.” My jaw starts to quiver again. Now that everything’s out in the open, I can’t keep it back. “I don’t know where he is, and I had to get away, so I came home ‘cause I know you’ll keep me safe.” His brows slowly pull together as he stares at the whimpering mess I’ve become. “You’ll keep me safe, right?”
“Fuck,” he sighs. Spencer reaches forward and pulls me to him. I immediately conform to his body, curling in his lap like I’m an infant. “You don’t even have to ask,” he replies as he strokes my hair. I can still feel his anger. He’s actually vibrating. “I’ll fucking gut ‘im.” He growls. “I’ll rip every bone from his body while he’s still breathing.”
He continues to console me, to bring me back to the rational world while I weep like a child. Everything I’d been holding on to since being discharged from the hospital suddenly leaves me all at once, and Spencer just takes it, running his hand down my back and doing his best to make me feel better. It was a practiced action he perfected when we were kids and my parents went on benders, leaving me behind terrified to fend for myself.
I love him for every horribly violent thing that leaves his mouth, every disgusting torture technique he wants to use on Travis when he gets the chance. Honestly, the things he’s saying would make a cartel hitman queasy, and it just makes me love him more. And I know he isn’t kidding.
After a little while, I calm enough to breathe without a hitch. With a deep, unshaking breath, I pull back. He watches me closely as I wipe the tears from my eyes and cheeks.
“Thanks,” I reply softly as I return to sitting on the inflatable bed just in front of him.
A weak smile twitches at the corner of his lips, but it vanishes quickly. “Can—” He hesitates. I look up at him with tears still staining my lashes. “Can I…”
I somehow know what he’s asking, and it makes me shift in my seat. But on some level, I want to show him. I don’t know why, but it feels like I need to, like it’ll help me move forward, or maybe just accept that this is part of my body now.
“Yeah.” My voice remains soft because I can’t muster much more.
Clearing my throat, I stand, and he joins me, but keeps a few feet between us. With my back to him, I gather the hem of my shirt. It takes me a few minutes to gather the strength because I know what’s hidden beneath the fabric, but eventually, I manage. I lift my shirt and gradually peel it off completely. When my arms fall to my side once again, I drop the shirt at my feet.
I chose to show him my back first because one, I don’t have to see his face, and two, it’s the worst of what’s wrong with me.
Silence stretches between us, but I can feel the tension grow. I know what he sees. He sees the incision the surgeons had to give me to remove the rib fragments and bullet when Travis shot me. He used a twenty-two-caliber bullet. It bounced around inside my chest cavity, splintering my ribs just enough that it worried the doctors. They knew the bones would heal without issue, but the shards had to be taken out alongside the bullet to keep them from causing further damage.
As though that weren’t horrifying enough, I have thin, pink scars that stretch across my back, too. Travis was a fan of the switch and used it frequently near the end.
When I feel Spencer’s fingers on my skin, I flinch. He hesitates, but when I don’t shy away from him, he continues with what he’d planned. I can feel his touch as it glides tenderly along the marks on my skin. He barely grazes me like he’s afraid I’ll break. Those and the doctor’s scar were what he felt outside. They’re raised just enough I’m sure he realized something was different. I used to have perfect skin.
As he traces the mark that wraps around my chest, he steps in front of me. His eyes are focused solely on my body. When he reaches my front, his eyes lock on my chest. I watch his brows come together, and like with my back, he touches the round, healed hole just beneath my collar bone. As his thumb grazes over the raised mark, he notices the slash in my opposite shoulder. A soft sigh leaves his lips.
I slam my eyes shut and refuse to look at the sadness, remorse, guilt, and anger that continues to stain his features. Spence has a habit of taking everything onto his shoulders, and it breaks my heart. It’s not his fault I’m broken, and it’s not his fault that Travis turned out to be an asshole, but I know it won’t stop him from thinking he’s somehow responsible for every scar, simply because he wasn’t there to stop it.
While I struggle to keep my returning tears at bay, I suddenly feel breath against my skin. I feel the heat of Spencer as he leans in close, his breath as glides over my breast and a moment later, his lips as he kisses the bullet wound. I gasp before I can pull it back. On reflex, my fingers lace themselves through his hair and hold him close, but I leave my eyes shut.
He drags his lips across my chest. His scruff makes my skin prickle, and a moment later, he kisses me again, this time on the linear scar near my shoulder. I gasp again.
My lips part as I take in short, soft breaths. I keep my eyes closed and my fingers in his hair while I cradle his head as Spencer slowly drops to his knees. My stomach trembles when he nips softly at my skin just before placing a kiss against the same spot.
I let him move against me, do whatever he wants, and my eyes remain closed the entire time, until I feel him undoing my jeans. I force my eyes open and look down. Spencer continues to kiss and softly bite me while his fingers work.
In mere seconds it seems, Spencer has my pants undone and is gently pushing them over my hips and down my legs. Wh
en he reaches my feet—still with the utmost care—he lifts them and guides them out of the garment entirely. I want to ask what he’s doing, but I don’t. I already know.
Spencer stands fluidly and finally meets my gaze. I can’t fight the sigh when he sweetly runs the back of his fingers over my heated cheek. The action is just so loving, I’m nearly lost.
Without a word, he lifts me into the air and I wrap my legs around his waist. He takes the few steps to my airbed and gradually—awkwardly in my mind—we both come to lie on it. Honestly, I’m a little amazed neither of us tumbled onto the thing considering the extreme height difference and how unsteady it is, but his grip remains steady and strong.
When I’m lying on the bed, he sits up on his knees and I feel colder for it, but he remedies the problem after shedding himself of his jacket, cut, and shirt. Bare from the waist up, he closes the distance between us again, and the heat of his skin pressed against mine is almost enough to burn me alive. With the same care he’s shown me so far, Spencer kisses me. It’s soft and tender, and I almost don’t know how to respond, but it doesn’t stop me from returning the sentiment.
His hands caress me, cradle me, and hold me close. I’m not used to such sweetness anymore. Years ago, sure, but not anymore. It’s been so long since someone touched me so fondly that I don’t really know how to react.
Spencer breaks our kiss, but he doesn’t leave me. Like he had while we were standing, he begins a slow descent down my body. My eyes drift shut, and I draw my bottom lip between my teeth as I swim in what he’s doing to me.
He reaches my panties within seconds and slides them easily out of the way. His fingertips dig into my thighs, massaging them softly before pulling them apart. Not a moment later, he sweeps his tongue over my slit. A strangled moan leaves my lips and my fingers plow through his hair once again. Spencer doesn’t hesitate to work me.
Pleasure begins to slowly build inside me as he spears my channel with his tongue. He glides it over my clit, presses it securely against the sensitive nub, and suckles it between his lips. My hips begin to move until I’m grinding against his face, begging silently for more. He seems to happily comply, and his actions increase.
