by Anna Edwards
The man behind her growled, but she waved her free hand frantically, needing him to shut the hell up. Luke tended to be a drama king, only something told her this was different.
“Not this time, love. Not this time. King knows. He knows something. I love you, Ivy. Remember I’ve always loved you.”
She jerked backward at his words, her palms sweating. “Luke, open this fucking door. Stop talking like an idiot, and let’s sit down and figure this out.”
Time seemed to suspend at the sound she’d heard many times when she’d been at the rifle range, the sound of a shell being inserted and then the barrel being locked in place. Panic had her reaching above her head for the key kept over the frame to unlock the door, fearing she’d be too late, worried she’d piss Luke off. Fear won out as she pushed the key in.
Ivy burst through the door at the same time as the shotgun boomed through the small space. Most people would’ve been screaming, and maybe she did. Her body jerked as if it too felt the impact of the bullet, her hand going over her mouth. In slow motion, her feet took her the short distance where Luke lay, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, his body in a pool of blood. “Oh god, Luke, what did you do?” she sobbed, shaking, slipping on Luke’s blood.
“Holy shit. I’m calling 911.”
She heard someone say as if from far away, but she just wanted another moment with Luke before he was gone, but he was already gone, his eyes, those beautiful chocolate eyes, were vacant. “You promised you’d never leave me alone. You lied, damn you.” How many times she’d laid on his chest and cried her eyes out, she couldn’t remember, but none of them had ever been filled with only her heart beating. “We were going to raise our kids together one day, remember?” Another sob escaped followed by another. Her body felt heavy, the blood was cooling. Shouldn’t it stay warm longer? He was her best friend. They’d met in grade school when he’d punched a boy for pulling her pigtails. They’d become best friends when she’d punched a girl for breaking up with him in junior high. They became the it couple in high school when he became her…everything. Now, he was lying in a pool of thick, cooling blood.
Ivy stayed there on the bathroom floor with the tangy scent of copper filling every fiber of her being, covering every inch of her body. She was sure she’d never be clean again, but not wanting to leave Luke alone, needing to make sure he had someone with him. Fuck, his brothers were going to kill her was her last thought before she shut down and just floated.
Chapter One
Tymber shook Alan’s hand at the end of the meeting. “Thanks for coming and talking tonight,” Alan said.
“No thanks needed, man. You and I both know I owe you and this place my sanity. If I can give even a small amount back, I’ll do it.” He grinned at the raised brow his friend gave him. Sure, back when he’d first began coming to the meetings, he’d only done it to make his sisters happy. Of course, he’d found it an easy way to pick up women, then he’d actually found a little peace in the place. A win win for a man who hadn’t had much to look forward to back then. Coming up on his five year cancer free date, he felt a little bit of everything. One of them being the need to celebrate.
He saw a slim form pass by the open door, her dark hair shone in the hallway catching his attention. He was sure he’d seen her walk past a couple times before. He made his excuses and went to see if he could find the beauty, coming to a hard stop outside the door. His brows pulled down into a frown as he watched her stand on her tip toes outside one of the meeting rooms. Although he’d used the meetings in the beginning as his personal pickup place, ‘cause seriously, he was a guy who had issues five years ago. Cancer being the biggest one, losing his hair not really much of an issue, but undergoing a mastectomy seriously fucked with his head. He kinda became a dick and used the meetings as his personal playground. Hell, women there had been easy pickings, and he’d been just the dickhead to take advantage. Now though, he didn’t like the idea of anyone coming around to spy.
“Think she’s lost?” Alan murmured.
“No clue but I’m about to find out.” The woman in question had on black combat boots, giving her a couple inches in height, but he could see she was a petite little thing. However, the window was still too high for her to see through without jumping. Tymber didn’t think she’d be the type of woman to do such a thing, but he’d been surprised before.
“Isn’t that the suicide meeting?”
He glanced back at Alan, giving him a look that said shut the hell up, just as their friend Aubrey strolled out of the back room. “Hey, who’re we spying on?” she whispered.
Tymber tipped his head up toward the ceiling and stepped back into the room. She was one of the only ladies he considered a friend and wasn’t one with benefits. Again, he was that guy before his diagnosis. Of course, she’d been pregnant when they’d first met and bent on keeping her child even if it had meant her life. Today, she’s a mother to a three year old, who she was crazy enough to have named him one of her godfathers to. Like him she was in remission and thriving. He’d told her she had to live, or he’d have her kid tatted up by fifteen. “Aubs, you need a filter.”
“So says the manwhore. Go see if she needs help getting into the meeting, Tymber,” Aubrey gave him a shove.
“Fuck, Aubrey, you can’t make someone go to a meeting if they don’t want to. Why don’t you two go home, and I’ll go have a chat. Maybe she’s just lost.” He winked at the two people who were the complete opposite of him, yet were two of his closest friends, next to Ember and Lincoln at Twisted Ink, the tattoo shop they owned together. “I’ll see if I can’t help her.”
“She doesn’t need your D to convince her to not end her life, Tymber,” she whispered.
Tymber rolled his eyes. “Did I say she did? What, do you need the D, Aubs? Not mine since that is off the table and all, what with you being like my sister and everything.” He grinned at the dirty look she shot him while flipping him the bird.
“Just don’t be an ass, Tymber Black,” she warned.
It was his turn to flip her the bird as he waited for Alan and Aubrey to leave. He was glad to see the two of them together and happy. Aubrey’s fiancé had left her as soon as he’d heard she was pregnant, then after the baby was born, he signed his rights away. If any man was a dick, it was that guy and guys like him.
Walking out the door, he made his way toward the mystery woman, wondering what would make a stunner like her want to kill herself. Her outfit screamed zero fucks given but clearly cost a lot of money. He was the only boy of four and knew enough to spot name brands. Harley Davidson clothes were sexy as fuck but weren’t cheap. Paired with the leather mini skirt, and the dollar signs were adding up. The slim, sexy legs he could imagine wrapped around his waist or neck…he truly was an equal opportunity guy, looked as though she worked out.
“You going to stand there all night and eye fuck me, or move on?”
Tymber brought his gaze up, startled to see bright green eyes glaring back at him. Black hair, green eyes, and porcelain skin. Black Irish his mama would’ve call her. Damn, he bet she had the fiery temper too. “Sorry, I was trying to get the nerve up to speak to you,” he lied.
She fell back onto her feet, no longer standing on the tips of the boots she wore, the leather making a creaking noise in the silence of the hall. “Uh huh, and you thought my ass had all the answers?”
A grin split his lips. “Sugar, many a fine ladies’ asses have left me speechless, yet none have given me answers. Does your ass talk?”
It was her turn to grin. “Well, I’m told when I walk away men’s tongues tend to wag. Does that count?”
He stepped closer, keeping his hands in his pockets, not wanting to appear threatening. Damn, she smelled fucking amazing. “I’d ask for a demonstration, but I find myself not wanting you to leave.”
She snorted. “Good line, lumberjack.”
Tymber startled at the name. “What?”
“The flannel and work boots. Hence lumberjack. Alth
ough I do have to say California is a far cry from the woods.” As she spoke, her hand went up and down, outlining his frame, indicating his attire.
He thought about her words, then nodded. “So, going by clothing choice, you’d be goth girl. Oh, we are a pair. The lumberjack and goth girl. Surely those are superhero names or should be.”
She laughed, then bit her lip. “I…this is odd.”
He moved across the hallway, giving her space when he sensed she needed it. He leaned against the wall, raising one leg up and resting his foot on the wall and then crossed his arms. “Nah, not odd. Ant Man was odd,” he said when the silence stretched too long.
Finally, she nodded. “You’re right; that could work. Our superhero names,” she agreed. “What would be our superpower?” she mimicked his pose.
Running his hand down his short beard a couple times, he tapped his chin as he thought. “Superman has several powers, but his disguise was fucking lame as shit. I’m gonna go with Iron Man.”
“I didn’t ask which superhero. I said what superpower,” she laughed.
Her laugh was deep, making him think of smooth whiskey.
“Yeah, but after giving it some thought, I decided a complete takeover was due,” he argued.
Again, her husky laugh filled the hallway. “You’re a rule breaker, aren’t you?”
Tymber shrugged. “Only when the rules are stupid. Now, before you get your panties in a twist, I’m not saying your rules were stupid.”
When she held her hand up and gifted him with another laugh, he swore he’d do almost anything to hear it again and again. “First of all, I didn’t give a rule. Second of all, I don’t have any panties on.” Her cheeks turned a delicate pink, but she didn’t break eye contact.
Oh, he liked her sass. Now, he just needed to convince her to go to the suicide help meeting, or maybe he could help her. He knew all about thinking life was over. Five years ago, he was sure his time was up. He’d never heard of a man getting breast cancer. For fuckssake, he didn’t have tits like a woman. Sure, he had pecs, he worked out and had muscles, but not huge man boobs. A nice six pack and he felt he was good to go. No, he wouldn’t win any body building competitions, but he didn’t give a shit about them. He’d had women say they could wash their tongues on his abs…and he’d let them. Ahh, the good old days.
“Hey, you okay?”
Shit, he needed to keep his head on straight.
“My name’s Tymber Black, by the way,” he blurted.
Big green eyes widened. “Oh, um, I’m Ivy.”
He moved off the wall, holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ivy. Would you like to go grab a cup of coffee and discuss our superhero status further?”
Wariness filled her gaze. “Is that a euphemism for lets go have sex?”
Her pale hand trembled in his large one. “Sugar, when we have sex, there will be no euphemisms. I’m not one to worry about being too harsh or blunt. If I have something to say, or if I feel something, I just say it. Life is too short to play those type of games.”
Ivy looked down at their clasped hands. His tan, rough, work hardened ones with tattoos on them looked so different to hers. Oh, not that she didn’t associate with men who had similar looking hands, far from it. Most of the men she knew had plenty of tattoos, only they were big badass men who gave no quarter. She shook her head, clearing it of thoughts of anyone but the gorgeous man in front of her. “Alright,” she said before she could stop herself. “Coffee sounds great.”
He laughed; the rich sound made butterflies dance in her stomach. “There’s a great little place around the corner called The Brew and Sip.”
She knew it was probably a bad idea. Probably on the top of her ten worst, but she nodded her agreement. Her hand still clasped in his felt right, which was one hundred percent stupid, so she pulled away. “I’ll meet you there,” she stuttered, hating how unsure she sounded. Goddamn, where had the cocky girl gone?
“You gonna drive around the block? Come on Ivy Irish, live a little,” he implored, smiling, showing a dimple in his right cheek. Tymber reached for her hand again, his touch gentle like he was used to wary women. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Her heart lurched at those words. The same ones she’d heard dozens of times, only to be shunned. With a force of will her mama said she came out of her womb with, she pasted on a smile, gave his hand a squeeze before breathing deeply. “Lead the way, lumberjack.”
“You know that nickname kinda turns me on.” He winked. Before she could respond, he began pulling her back down the hall, away from the door that she didn’t have the guts to walk through. Next time, she promised herself.
Chapter Two
They walked out the front door, her hand still enclosed in Tymber’s. He was a complete contradiction. He dressed like a…well, a lumberjack. Yet he had the manners of a gentleman but talked of sex with her like it was a given. Her body said get it girl, while her mind was throwing up all kinds of stop signs. He was exactly the kind of guy she was attracted to, the kind of man she would’ve dated. The exact type she should be running in the opposite direction from, instead of holding his hand while they walked to a coffee shop together, thinking about what sex with him would be like. Or at the very least, pumping the fucking breaks. Instead, she was letting him hold her hand and lead her wherever he wanted. Damn, where did the Ivy who’d promised herself she’d make wiser choices go?
“Penny for your thoughts,” Tymber’s deep voice interrupted her internal struggle.
Ivy did a mental shake. “I was thinking how ironic this is.” Which was true. She’d gone to the center looking for a…a what, she wasn’t sure. Absolution, solace, a place to vent? Maybe a little of all three, only to chicken out and come face-to-face with a man who made every inch of her wake up and take notice.
He didn’t respond as they reached the coffeeshop. The heavenly aroma of fresh brewed beans had her inhaling deeply. “Lord, I love that smell. If I could I’d have it bottled up in a perfume.”
Tymber’s lips tilted up in a grin, and she just knew what was going to come out of his mouth was going to be dirty. The man didn’t disappoint. “Hm, that would definitely wake a man up. Not that I’d need that to wake up around you.” He wagged his brows.
She punched his arm playfully. “I get the feeling you don’t need help in that department.” She looked him up and down, admiring the way he filled out the denim jeans. Damn, he really was built.
Ivy was saved from further comment as they moved to the front counter, placing their orders. Tymber ordered two coffee cake slices, declaring her underfed. Ivy raised her brows, placing her hands on her hips. “Have you the need of glasses, sir?” she questioned him. She was a lot of things, but skinny wasn’t one of them. Curvy and proud of it. However, since Luke’s death she’d lost a few pounds, but not so much she would be considered skinny.
“I see you perfectly. Every damn inch of you looks perfect to me.” Tymber paid for the coffee and the cakes, smiling at the young girl who blushed as he winked at her. “Booth or table?”
She looked at the booth with its padded seats, then the table by the window. “Booth please.”
Once they were seated at the booth, he waited for her to settle in before motioning toward the coffee cake. “Alright, try it.”
Picking up the fork, she cut a small piece off, bringing it to her mouth. She felt Tymber’s eyes on her the entire time, but she forgot about him as soon as the delicious morsel hit her tongue, moaning her pleasure. “Oh my god, this is amazing.”
He sat back, a satisfied smile on his too handsome face. “Told you.”
She finished chewing, then took another bite before responding. “Aren’t you going to try it?”
They both began eating the little treat until their plates were empty. She sat back, smiling as he scraped his plate. “You have a sweet tooth, Mr. Black,” she announced, pointing her fork toward him.
Tymber shrugged. “Only when I know its good sweets.”
; There was no way she could miss his double entendre, or maybe she was reading too much into his words. Hell, maybe it was her who was the horny one, wanting him while he was being the polite guy.
“So, what do you do? I mean for a living that is?” Ivy asked after clearing her throat. Jesus, she sounded like a damn teenager on her first date instead of a grown ass woman who lived a crazy life.
The man across from her picked up his coffee cup, took a sip, then sat it back down. “I own a tattoo shop with a couple buddies here in town.”
His words had her sitting up taller. Sure, he looked like a, well a lumberjack with the flannel and jeans, but a tattoo artist was something she wouldn’t have guessed. “Oh, which one?” Their city was pretty big, nothing like Los Angeles to the south of them, but Santa Clarita had over two hundred thousand people. She chose the center on the opposite side of town for a reason, the main one being that nobody who ran in her circles would be around, she’d hoped.
“Twisted Ink. It’s right off the highway.” Pride suffused his tone.
Her heart beat against her chest. She’d heard of his shop. A few of the MC brothers had gotten inked there. Hell, she’d almost gone there herself, only circumstances kept her from going the last time. “That’s pretty cool. How long you been doing that?” Just because he tattooed members of the MC didn’t mean he would be friendly with them. She’d been around them her entire life and would’ve seen him if he’d been a prospect or a hang around. No, Tymber hadn’t been at any of the club parties or at the clubhouse. Of course, with his intensity, she could see him fitting in just fine with the Royal Sons, no problem. Fuck, she didn’t need another MC member in her life.
“What’s wrong?” He reached across the table, taking the coffee cup out of her hands.
Ivy hadn’t realized she’d picked up the hot liquid or noticed her shaking hands. “Nothing, I just realized how late it was. I should be going.” She really didn’t want to go. Something about the man sitting so calmly, like a solid tree, made her want to lean on him. She knew that was dangerous territory, because she’d learned not to rely on anyone but herself. To rely on anyone else would only lead to heartache and a letdown. No, she would only trust in herself. Men, especially big tough men like Tymber, like the men of the Royal Sons MC, didn’t care about anyone but themselves and their brothers.
