by Jaci J
I’ve been out of the hospital for two months.
I’ve been within T’s reach for the same amount of time.
I left the hospital two nights later. I don’t know how, and I honestly don’t care. I was just happy to leave when T took my hand and pulled me out of that room.
My mom left after I woke up, after she asked me for money and I told her I had none to give, even though it was a lie. The cops came and went after I told them some bullshit story that T’s sister helped me concoct. As bad as I was beaten, I think they would have believed just about anything I told them. I mean, it wasn’t like I did all that to myself. And T? He never left, and I’m glad he didn’t. I’m not sure I would have survived him really, truly leaving.
How do I feel after being taken, beaten, and almost burned alive?
Fine.
I have no other choice. It’s either pick your shit up and move on, or fall apart and become a mess, and that’s not an option for me. Falling apart would be weak, and I’m not weak. I’m strong. I’m wild. I’m me. I have no other choice, especially since everything else in my life is changing.
“I’ll be fine. It’s drinks with the girls.”
T frowns, his hard baby blues narrowing on me.
Sam, Ellison, and Lennon. We’re going to a new bar in town, and we’re doing drinks and dinner. Nothing too much, but it’s something. Something I figured I could get away with where T is concerned, since it seems like he’s never going to let me out of his sight.
“Buzz is goin’ with you.”
“I don’t need a prospect,” I argue, lingering by the front door of T’s place—our place.
I moved in here as soon as I left the hospital. I let my place go, my job, my cash flow and my lifestyle, just like I let my idea of independence go.
It wasn’t as hard as thought it would be.
Love will do that to you.
And fuck, do I love T.
I love his hands, his protectiveness, his strength. I love the way he touches and looks at me. The way he holds me, cares for me, and most importantly, the way he loves me. And I love the rush he gives me. It’s better than the sex, the money, the life, the shit I always thought I wanted. The rush? It’s everything when it comes to T.
“You’re taking a prospect whether you want one or not.”
“T—”
“Not a fucking argument, baby.”
“I’m not arguing. I’m telling you no.”
Lifting one dark, thick brow, he grunts—his favorite sound. “You’re telling me no?”
I cross my arms. “Yes.”
Throwing his head back, his thick, corded neck flexing, he laughs. “You’re pushing your luck.”
“Am I? Too bad.”
I’m pushing his buttons. It’s been two months of T treating me like a glass doll. I’m tired of it.
I want rough. I want nasty. I want mean.
I crave it.
“It fucking is too bad, because now your ass isn’t going anywhere.”
“No?” I tease, twisting the door handle.
I don’t get it open because T snatches me away from the door, tossing me over his shoulder. I go over it willingly.
Dropping me on the bed, he stares down at me as he pulls his shirt over his head, the scars on his stomach and shoulder uneven and discolored.
“Fuck no,” he growls, pulling on my ankles, dragging me back toward him.
“T…”
“Bailey.”
“I’m going out.”
“Yeah,” he growls, his lips on mine, firm and possessive. “Maybe. Only after I fuck you.”
“Haven’t you had enough of me?”
“Never.”
“Never?”
“You love me?” he asks, his hand sliding under my shirt, rough against my smooth skin.
“I love you.”
“You sick of me yet?”
I smirk, running my fingers through his hair when he pulls my shirt up, kissing his way down my chest to the top of my bra, his beard scratching against my skin. “Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” he huffs, nipping at the top of my boob.
“Every once in a while.”
“You’re a fucking monster, baby.”
“I know.”
“But you love me.”
“And you don’t love me?” I ask, watching as he works his way down my body, his wide muscular shoulders wedged between my thighs.
“You know I fucking love you. Love you more than anything.”
“Yeah?” I smile, licking my lips.
“Yeah. Love you enough to let you go.”
“For how long.”
From between my thighs, he looks up at me, smirking. “Only for the night.”
“Good. I might miss you.”
“I know you would.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, because I’d miss you. Can’t live without you, Doll Face.”
“Good, because you’re stuck with me.”
“Wouldn’t have that shit any other way.”
EPILOGUE
T
IT TOOK ME a long damn time to get over what happened to Bailey, or even okay enough not to let that shit get to me every time I looked at her. A long fucking time. I’d close my eyes and instantly have a flashback. Certain noises, voices, and smells would take me right back to that night, right back down to that hell. My mind was completely fucked for a while.
I was rash, cocky, and too goddamn proud, and that shit is what took that situation too damn far.
I almost lost her, and that almost fucking killed me.
Wasn’t the only thing that almost killed me. The loss of trust from my old man and my club was rough. They understood, but they didn’t like it. They forgave, but not easily. I broke their trust, and it took me a solid six months to get it back.
Sitting alone in a chair, the room around me dimly lit, I smile when the door opens and Bailey walks in.
Wearing a dark green lace and satin corset deal, I can’t keep my eyes off of her. She wears the motherfucker with confidence, and she wears it only for me.
Six months ago, Bailey started her own club, The Velvet Room. It’s all hers. Her design. Her ideas. Her girls. The whole goddamn thing is hers. She doesn’t strip anymore, but she does spend her time there, making that shit run the way she wants it to.
I’m fucking proud of her.
“Spin for me, Doll.”
Bailey does what I tell her.
Her body is still something straight out of dream. Pure fucking perfection.
“You dancing for me tonight?”
She licks her lips. “You paying me tonight?”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a rolled stack and put it in her waiting hand. Pulling off the rubber band, I watch her count the bills slowly, all with a smile on her face.
Once she’s finished counting, she holds up the bills and fans herself with them. “This’ll get you fifteen minutes.”
“Pretty steep, baby.”
“I’m worth it.”
“More than worth it.”
Bailey dances for me to “Love You,” slowly.
I watch her like it’s the last time I’m going to see her. I watch her, committing everything about her to memory.
That body, that mind, that heart—that shit is mine.
“Sit,” I tell her as I get up from the chair, taking her small hand in mine. “Close your eyes.”
Sitting down, Bailey looks up at me. “You going to dance for me?”
“If you’re lucky.”
“Definitely lucky. I’ve got you.”
“Close ’em.”
As soon as she does, I do something I’ve wanted to do since the moment I met her almost two years ago.
I get down on one knee.
I wouldn’t do it for anyone other than her.
“Can I open them?”
“Yeah, baby, open ’em up.”
When she does, she starts to cry.
I know
they’re happy tears, and I fucking feel that shit in my chest.
I don’t even have to ask her, because she’s already telling me, “Yes, yes, yes! Oh my God, yes!” as she falls into me, wrapping her arms and legs tight around me.
She may be mine in every sense of the word, but I’m gonna make that shit official.
No more bullshitting.
THE END
OTHER BOOKS BY AUTHOR JACI J
Sick Bastard (1)
Twisted Bitch (2)
Wild Heart
Shattered
Bad Love
Bumped
Dirty Things
