This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Stolen copyright @ 2017 by Kathryn Thomas and E-Book Publishing World Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

STOLEN

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

STOLEN

Chapter One

Sunny

“C’mon, Sunny girl! Come sit by us. Killer says it’s alright if we watch from here.”

Slutty Mary pats the empty space on the rust red beach blanket next to her with the palm of her hand. She smiles at me, missing teeth and all, as she beckons, “You’re not gonna see anything from where you are.”

She’s right. This spot is garbage. I only picked it because it’s where Ricco dropped me off. I figure if he wants to find me after the match, I better be where he left me. But after our lame and boring night together with him sighing heavily at the best parts of the movie and spitting tobacco on my apartment entrance, I really couldn’t care less if he ever finds me.

Of course, as soon as I take the spot Mary offered me, she launches into an assault of questions about my time with Ricco.

“I hear he’s real nice and treats his girls good. Leann was with him a few months ago, and he bought her all kinds of nice shit… like a necklace and some stuff for her kitchen. Real fancy, quality stuff.”

Mary’s not that bright. Ricco didn’t buy Leann shit. He stole it off the back of some guy’s truck—or it’s one of those gifts he passes on from girl to girl. None of his old ladies ever stayed with him for long. He either grew tired of them and lost interest, or they saw right through his facade and realized how freaking boring the guy is. I’m glad I caught on at the end of date one. I didn’t have to put out or anything like most girls would have. Filthy Bastard MC rules only force us to spread for a guy on date two if he pays.

Still, I’m not going to be rude to Mary. These girls are my family. They are the only ones who understand what it’s like to live this life. And we look out for one another, even though it’s pretty clear that most of us really, truly despise each other. I guess that’s what a real sister is supposed to be like. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen or heard from mine in years.

“Yeah,” I mutter as I play with a few of the grease covered rocks that dot the gravel ground of the underpass. “He was a nice guy. He’s not really my type though. I don’t think I’ll answer if he calls me again.”

Larissa butts in the way she always does. “Oh, girl, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” she says. She can’t help but be the gossip among us. She has to know everything and anything about our lives or else she’ll die or something. But sometimes it comes in handy to have a know-it-all in the group.

My ears perk as I listen to her explain, “Ricco is Killer’s right hand. You can’t get closer to Killer unless you are screwing with Cobra. And that’s impossible.”

Killer, the President of the Filthy Bastards, is like a trophy to most club girls. For one, he’s fine as hell for a guy in his early forties. He’s got that red-blonde beard and the curly hair with salt and pepper streaks that make him look as if he’s stepped off some Viking ship. At nearly six feet tall, he’s as imposing as one too. The first time I met him was on my 18th birthday. He was welcoming me into the club as club property. He even did my brand right on my shoulder—a small skull and axe that singed quickly into my skin. I was too distracted by the guy, the booze, and the excitement to even notice the pain.

I learned quickly that Killer kept his inner circle small. Unlike the majority of the guys here, he only took one lover for a long period of time. That girl usually disappeared from our circle once he claimed her. I heard that he bound her to secrecy about what goes on in the background, so she kept out of day-to-day club life. Leann was his old lady for a while. We hadn’t seen her for months when we figured it out. She only appeared at socials and didn’t talk much when we begged for answers, but it was clear who she was staring down throughout the night.

Besides his girl, Killer has a VP, a second-in-command, by the name of Cobra. They call him that because of his slight lisp and the long, dark snake tattoo that covers his spine and reaches up over his bald head so that between his ears appears a striking snake head. It gives him a look of someone chasing death, which I suppose with his job of managing club assets and running security, he is.

Cobra is the one who arranged tonight’s fight with the Wilderkind MC. Like always, there’s some dispute about one of the Wilderkind crossing into Filthy Bastard territory to harass one of their business partners. Ricco mentioned it to me as he rudely interrupted the movie to read his text that announced the fight. I couldn’t have rolled my eyes harder hearing about it.

It is pretty routine that these bouts happen. In fact, it was really messing with my schedule. Club events meant that the girls had to get dressed up to the nines. Missing one, with the exception of death or near-death illness, meant you’d be cut off from the small amount of money that trickles in from club revenues to the ladies. Hell, you might even lose the rent they paid. I can’t risk that. Outside Filthy Bastard headquarters, I have absolutely no place to go if I got cut off.

So, I threw on this ridiculous black and blue (Filthy Bastard colors) bodycon dress that barely covers my tits or my ass and put on my heavy black eye makeup that feels as if my face weighs about a million pounds and marched my way to the overpass under the skyline bridge. The lights of Los Angeles shine brightly enough that I don’t need any more light to study the rest of the girls sitting cross-legged on the blankets. They all wear similar outfits like mine. They have to.

“Are you even gonna tell us what Ricco is like, Sunny? You’re being all spacey and shit.” Mary taps me on the shoulder, bringing me back to my place on the blanket. I shuffle uncomfortably. “You know what they are saying about you, right? They say you act too good for them. That’s why the younger guys aren’t going for you.”

“I don’t want the younger guys,” I snap back. “If I’m going to be some guy’s property, he best be able to provide for me.”

The girls around me who aren’t even trying to hide that they’re eavesdropping nod their heads knowingly at me. None of us want to mess with the riders who just have earned their spot as a Filthy Bastard. Those guys come and go. A true MC rider is a lifer and a rare find. The ones who hold on to some power, are put in control, or elected to serve a leadership role, get paid the big bucks.

Even then, getting security from being an official old lady meant that your man had to claim you as his property, offer to take care of you, and stop seeing the rest of the girls in our club. Fat chance that it happens just like that when us ladies are out there on a platter to be picked and passed around. But for the girls like me, the only way to guarantee it is to have a guy’s baby. Then, club laws force him and the MC to provide for you and your kid no matter what.

“Well then, what about Ricco? Wasn’t he good enough for you?” Mary asks again. She’s not going to let up until I give her an answer. Dammit.

I think over my words before I say anything. Not only do I have an audience, but my audience also has ears and mouths. Those ears hear one thing, and the mouth says another—often to guys who can put me in danger with the club. If the boys were already saying that I am snobbish, dogging on Ricco could be a nail in my coffin.

Instead of letting them have the truth, I put it as nicely as possible. “Ricco was friendly. We didn’t get very far. I don’t know if I’ll meet up with him again.” I pause for dramatic effect before adding, “Why, Mary? You want him?” She smiles as she sits up a bit straighter. Her long neck cranes towards the guys gathering around a fire pit in search of him. He’s not hard to spot. Ricco’s the only one wearing a leather jacket and navy blue bandana on an eighty-degree evening.

“Can you guys shut the hell up?” an unmistakable voice behind us interrupts, “The fight is about to begin, and Cobra actually let me put some money on this.” Kitka appears next to me, flashing her long, silky, tanned legs. She slips off her heels and scoots next to me on the blanket, forcing me to move over for her. I can smell the cheap perfume rolling off of her skin as she leans over and steals the bottle of Jack the girls have been passing around. With her head tilted back and her red lips covering the rim, she chugs it back like a pro.

“C’mon, Kitty Kat! Save some for the rest of us. Sunny over here hasn’t had more than a sip yet, and it sounds like she didn’t get it good enough tonight. Let the poor girl take a turn.”

Thanks, Mary. The last person I want to tell my story to or even complain around is Cobra’s main girl, Kitka.

Ever since I joined the club four years ago, she made it clear that I would never be her ally. Other girls joined the inner circle when she felt like it, but not me. As I take a long, hard pound of the warm alcohol, I glance over her way. Leann, when she was around, told me that Kitka was jealous of me. I am the youngest one here, and that by default made me hot shit to the guys. Unlike her, I haven’t been passed around or claimed. Kitka, on the other hand, has been claimed by Cobra for a good long while now. All of us know, however, that Kitka’s eyes were on Killer. She has got some mad ambition like that.

But looking at her, I still don’t understand it. Why, besides the fact that I’m younger than her, would she be envious of a girl like me? Motorcycle club guys die and go to Heaven when they land a girl like Kitka. Dark skin, tattoos, jet black long hair, and always decked out in something leather—she was a dream. I, by contrast, look like I just stepped off a school bus. I’m tall, but I’m awkward about it. You can’t catch me out wearing those sky-high heels she wears on a daily basis, and my pale skin would look like patchwork with tattoos as colorful as hers. Add in the blonde hair, blue eyes, princess look and I rarely turn heads unless the guy is into that kind of thing. Nine times out of ten, they are eyeing a girl like her down.

Even now, with the boys down by the drawn-up ring placing their bets on the two fighters representing the Filthy Bastards and Wilderkind clubs, some of the guys look up and over at us. No doubt, to get a glance at Kitka and her latest outfit. Sure enough, a guy lifts his chin to her as she smiles slightly and looks away and back at our group. I take another long drink from the bottle. I need to pace myself. I’ve probably had at least half of this between my long swigs.

“Cobra says this is gonna be a good one,” Kitka explains. “The guy fighting for the Wilderkind is like a semi-pro or something. He fought when he wasn’t in the club for some boxing ring. But that rarely transfers to bare knuckle. The guy’s going down in two rounds, for sure.”

“Two rounds?” Mary shouts, “No way! Look at that guy—he’s a freaking beast! That’s why they call him Bear.” She points out the man leading a crowd of Wilderkind members towards the center of the drawn-up ring. He stands about three to six inches taller than the rest and is covered in black tattoos that I can make out from here. His thick, curly brown hair bounces as he moves stealthily through the crowd of men patting his back and giving him high-fives.

I scoot myself over a bit to watch him a minute more. The rest of the girls turn their attention to our fighter, a guy Cobra picked out himself to rough the guy up and bring home a victory for the Filthy Bastards. But I’m transfixed on the Wilderkind guy. I’ve seen my fair share of riders and MC members, but none like him. In my hazy, rapidly turning mind, I imagine him lifting me on his shoulders and riding off with me to some forbidden lair out in the middle of the wilderness. Standing on my knees, I take another long drink of the burning liquid. My tongue traces over the rivets of the bottle top as I try to think of what a man like that even tastes like…

And just when I think I see him turn his head toward me and smile, I get pulled back down to the group by Kitka’s claws. “What the fuck, Sunny? Are you really giving that guy your attention? You know who the hell you’re representing, right?”

I hand her back the bottle, my arm swooshing heavily and without much control towards her. “I know. I know. I was just… looking. No harm in looking at the competition.”

“That’s not the kind of looking you should be doing to a guy like that, and you know it,” Larissa adds. She always has to be a freaking square about this shit.

“Girls, girls, please. Let the lady have some fun. That guy is fine as hell, and we all know it. There is no shame in looking every now and then. And it’s not like Sunny’s got a guy claiming her. She’s a free agent,” Mary says.

All our eyes turn back to the fighter called Bear. This time, he’s clearly looking up at me. My face turns beet red, the kind of red you can’t conceal when you’ve got skin the color of milk.

“If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll close her legs and her eyes and pay attention to what’s going on,” Kitka says, with a sneer.

My haunches raise. I don’t need to be told what to do. I’m a fucking Filthy Bastards’ girl. I took my oath and my pledge to serve the club. I pay my dues and work my shifts. And just because I had a momentary eye-fling with some guy from another club, it doesn’t give her any right to badger me about my loyalty!   

But, of course, Kitka’s gotta play Queen Bee and add another nail to the coffin. “Plus, there’s no way in hell that Sunny would ever land a guy like him.”

“Excuse me!” I say as I turn my head towards her. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you saying that I’m not hot enough to bed him?”

She smiles one of those toothy grins that makes me want to punch her in the mouth and then sighs with fake concern. “No, no, Sunny. That’s not what I mean at all… I am simply saying that no guy from the Wilderkind could ever want a girl with a brand from the Filthy Bastards.”

Sure, Kitka. Sure. Every single girl knows what she meant. The Wicked Stepmother of the club clearly dissed my look and my ability to land a guy. I don’t know if it’s the drink running in me or the fact that down in that circle, a guy named Bear is still checking me out. I give him once last glance, this time fully putting on the flirty stops. My head turns towards my shoulder, my long, blonde hair flies backward, and my mouth curves. And to my surprise, the guy winks at me. He actually winks! It’s barely noticeable from where we’re sitting, but I know exactly what he just did, and it practically makes my insides squeal.

I grab the bottle of Jack back from Kitka and use a big drink of it to clear my throat. When the liquid courage is fully flowing through me, I’m ready to lay it on this arrogant little bitch.

“You want to make this interesting, Kitka? You want to actually challenge me on this?”

She laughs as she asks, “On what, Sunny?”

“On if I can get that guy to sleep with me,” I reply. Kitka pauses and looks me over. Her face transforms from that plastic fakeness to something more cold and terrifying. This was the real Kitka I knew.

“Okay, Sunny. You go ahead. Try to sleep with him. I’ll even be nice and give you twenty-four hours to lock it down. But I’m not going to take your word for it or any of these hoes. You better come back with something.”

“Like a prize!” Mary shouts as she claps her hands in excitement.

Both Kitka and I turn our heads towards her, beckoning her to shut the hell up and mind her own business.

I bite my lip and glare at Kitka again. “Oh, I’ll come back with something alright, and it won’t be just some hokey token to prove I bedded him. I’ll come home with something that’s really precious to him.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she throws back, clearly not banking on me bringing back a personal possession of Bear’s.

I take another drink, letting it wash over me. What’s done is done. And I just took on the bet of a lifetime.

“You heard me, Kitka. I’ll bring back something very precious to the guy, and then you can suck on it.”

“We’ll see,” she mutters.

“Yeah, we will. Then we’ll see who has more respect around here.” I keep glaring at her until she is forced to look away—towards where Cobra is prepping our fighter.

We all sit in stunned silence, but this time, I look on at Bear with a new, resounding determination. Kitka has pushed my buttons one too many times, and I am going to prove to her that I am worth my membership, even if it means sleeping with the enemy.

Chapter Two

Bear

Dammit! Where the fuck is that guy with my drink?

I’ve been out here for an hour now, waiting for the match to begin, and the least that little asshole could do is get my shot of whiskey like I asked him to. He’s taking too long. Everyone’s taking too long. I have no idea what the fucking holdup is, but things better get rolling soon, or I’m gonna get real damn antsy.

I do a quick scan of the crowd. It’s definitely gotten bigger while I’ve been here. These matches are always a draw, even if you aren’t a member of the clubs dueling it out. It reminds me a little of that Gladiator movie where all the outsiders come and watch men get slaughtered by lions or one another. They get their kicks from watching men better than them rip one another apart until they’re dead or unrecognizable.

My guy Cal told me not to take on the fight. There were guys way more experienced than me willing to duke it out. But shit if I was going to miss out on an opportunity to show my worth to the club. After ten years as a junior member of the Wilderkind, I have earned the right to wear colors and make some income off of my rides. Still, that’s not enough for me. I’ve got my eyes on the throne, and the only way I’m going to move up the ranks is to take on something huge like a fist-to-fist combat bout with an asshole Filthy Bastards member.

The other guys call me a beast—partially because my name is Bear, but also because I take the savage path to everything. I’d rather rip a guy a new one than talk it out. And I don’t back down from something that will get my hands dirty or wet and red.

It’s what got me in the club in the first place. I had been out of my house for a year or so. I lived on the streets doing odd jobs under the table for a few guys that owned a shady delivery service that was more focused on picking up than dropping off. I was given a job robbing this guy named Vance. Like usual, the owners gave me no info, just an address and what I was looking for—drugs, booze, and some jewelry. Nothing too special.

Getting into Vance’s place was relatively easy for a guy like me. Back then, I was about a hundred and fifty pounds when wet. But I was quick and agile. All my lightweight boxing training had taught me how to use my lanky but tall body to get what I want. With Vance’s place, that meant just slipping in through one of those square pane windows most old school factories have. The place was dark enough that I could just jump down to the ground without alerting security, if he had any.

However, I made the stupid fucking mistake of picking the lock of Vance’s office without checking first. See, Vance knew a thing or two about break-ins. The guy is a freaking master at them. And while he didn’t have security guards roaming the place, he did have the highest tech security system I had ever seen. Just me entering the main entryway of his business tripped a million damn alarms that silently signaled to him. Knowing I was there, he turned off the lights, grabbed a shotgun, and waited for me in his office next to his safe.

He should have shot my damn head off. But, just my dumb luck, he didn’t. While he watched me rob his joint from his office, he saw something in me. At the time, he called it potential. I called it desperation. So, instead of killing me right then and there, he offered me a job with his club. It wasn’t much, but it got me some new clothes, a place to sleep, food and beer on the table, hot women to fuck, boxing lessons to beef me up, and a few bucks to call my own. In exchange, I worked odd jobs cleaning the bikes for the riders, learned the ropes on the whole dealer management, and even rode along to see how he did deals with the business owners in our neighborhood.

And now, I’m here. I’m still not running the club, but Vance asked me to fight tonight, and I wasn’t going to disappoint him. All those years of him watching my matches were probably done to prepare me for fights like this where it was crucial we win. Each one we took home meant another piece of territory we fought back from the Filthy Bastards MC without having to spill some blood… well, other people’s blood, mine not included.

I heard some guy on the radio say that adrenaline tastes metallic to the taste buds. It’s gotta be true because my entire mouth tastes like a motorcycle revving up to go. My hands contract and relax against the tight tape around my knuckles and wrists to the beat of the loud, rock music playing over someone’s speaker set. The rest of the crowd shouts over it as they make their bets.

This would fuck with any other guy’s head, but not with me. I’ve mastered the way to tune it all out and focus on the task in front of me. I single out something away from the action and put all my efforts into it. For whatever reason, it helps me shut off my mind and drift away just long enough that I can think clearer.

Tonight, I’m eyeing off one of the Filthy Bastard chicks sitting on the gravel hill of the overpass. There are about five or six of them that I can see. Some of them lay flat on a blanket, staring at the sky. The others talk amongst the others while passing around a bottle of something hard. But in the center of them is this girl—this girl with hair like a halo and eyes that strike me even from here. She stands out not only because she’s looking straight at me, but also because she’s like a pristine piece among dirt and grime.

One of the other girls hands her the bottle, and she drinks. No, that’s not accurate—she chugs that thing. My mouth waters seeing her lips around that bottle top. Fucking hell, was she doing this on purpose? She hasn’t broken her glare in minutes now. Those eyes are, unabashedly, stuck on me. Part of me wants to go over there, pick her up, and toss her over the side of the hill, so she stops with the whole Ice Queen thing. But the other side of me wants to see how far she’ll take this.

I give her a wink. Hell, I give her two winks just to be sure she sees it. Her fuchsia pink lips twitch slightly and then shoot up into a full-on smile. Her face turns the same color of the label on the bottle. A few moments later, something happens because the girls around her, they go fucking nuts. Each one of their heads turns towards her, and the one sitting next to her shifts uncomfortably in her spot. But her eyes never leave my side, even as I begin to walk towards the match ring.

“Hey, Bear!” a high-spirited voice greets me. “I brought you your shot. Aaron told me you wanted some whiskey. I made sure you had one.”

I grab the drink out of the girl’s hand. I’ve never seen this lady in my life, but she obviously knows who I am. All the Wilderkind chicks know who I am. I haven’t just built up a reputation with the men, but I’m also killing it with the girls. They all seem to want to fawn over me like I’m hot shit. But I ain’t buying it tonight.

This girl is relentless, though. She chases me down as I walk away from her towards a few of the guys I recognize as the match officials. “You haven’t heard, right? You look like you don’t know.”

“Know what?” I growl as I spin back at her. I don’t fuck around. You tell me what you want to tell me or you get the hell out of my way. Playing these games is just a bullshit waste of time that women do to get me by their side.

She cowers slightly and then fixes herself again. Her hands shift her dress neckline and smooth out the wrinkles. After a deep breath, she says, “They’re postponing it. Sounds like Vance is tied up at some business deal and can’t be here for a while. All the girls are going out to work the bar at Red’s truck. You wanna go get a drink or something?”

As soon as she explains what the hell is going on, a mass exodus towards the bikes and trucks happens. Everyone’s heading towards the free booze the clubs bring along to make this show worth the effort of attending. I mutter a “Thanks” to her under my breath and head towards the line of trucks opening up their beds to set up. The girls position themselves at the front with loads of red cups and beers in hand.

I don’t wait long before one of them approaches me. Daisy—I think it’s her name. She’s got a flower tattoo along her hips where she’s tucked a few sweating beers. “You want a drink, Bear? I’ll serve ya first since you’re getting in the ring soon.”

With a nod, I reach down towards her hips, my hands circling around her tiny waist before pulling out one of the brown bottles from her belt.

“Thanks, girl,” I say as I tip the beer towards her. She yanks out a bottle opener from her unbuttoned top and hands it to me. As I turn to crack the bottle open, I spot her. She’s even more killer than she was on the hill with that Barbie look on her. Her long, lean legs march in thick, black boots towards me, her smile cocked and loaded. I hand the beer back to Daisy and stride over to her.

We pause before each other, both taking a spot at the imaginary line that somewhat separates our clubs from mingling.

“I could use a drink, girl,” I say as I clear my throat. My low, rumbling voice must have taken her off guard because she takes a few, tiny steps backward on her heels. I’m pretty used to that reaction with women and pussy boys. They see this man about six-foot-four with muscles and tattoos running up his body and still think that I’m going to be this teddy bear of a guy. But I’m not. I’m exactly what you get from the outside looking in and in reverse.

The blonde mumbles a bit, but I make out her asking, “What’s your poison?”

“Whiskey. Beer. Bourbon. I don’t care. I’m thirsty.” She nods twice and then walks back towards where the other girls are tending to their Filthy Bastard clients. When she returns, she’s got three bottles in her hand—Jim Beam, Jack, and Bud. She holds each one up for me to choose, but I’m more interested in those perky tits she’s practically laying out on a platter for me. I can feel myself get hotter despite not having a shirt on.

“I’ll take the Jim Beam, lady,” I say as I reach over to her side of the overpass for the long, golden-colored bottle. She places the beer down and drinks straight from the Jack. Impressive. It’s not often you see a girl willing to get a little loose around the enemy.

When she’s finished, she carefully dots the drips of liquid from her lips, careful to avoid the lipstick, and says, “I’m not a ‘lady’ pal. My name is Sunny, Sunny Carter.”

“And I’m certainly not your pal.”

“No, I guess not, all things considered. You’re Bear.”

“Yeah.” I laugh. “They do call me that.”

“Is it your real name or some biker name you got?”

“It’s my real name now,” I shoot back. I hate it when girls try to sneak in the personal questions. Shouldn’t she know by now that this is not how it works? Still, I’ve gotta ask her.

“Is Sunny your real name?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.” She makes a face that looks as if she’s bitten into a lemon—pouty lips and all. “My momma was a little optimistic giving it to me.”

“Well, Sunny, how long have you been with the Filthy Bastards? I’ve never seen you around these fights before.”

She shifts her weight from side to side as she looks away at the group of girls staring at her like she’s about to melt or something. “Uh, it’s been a couple of years now. They took me in when I was a teen and old enough to get out of my house. But I’ve been around. It’s a rule that we go to these things.”

I can sense the hesitation in her voice, and I want to know more. “‘These things?’ What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re not a fan of the fighting?”

“The blood. I’m not good around blood.” She looks down at her feet as if she’s ruined herself to me.

But instead, I laugh. “What the fuck are you doing around here then? Are you crazy!”

“Probably… aren’t we all?”

“Fuck if I’ve been sane in years,” I reply, still chuckling to myself. I can’t remember the last time a girl made me laugh, or when I’ve given her a chance to even talk to me like this.

Sunny drinks again, this time locking eyes with me as she swills one back. I reach over, grabbing her by the wrist. In an instant, I can feel a hundred eyes turn to me. I’ve broken that seal, that line, that unspoken truce to not touch another club’s girl. But I couldn’t care less.

“Whoa there, girl,” I say as I take the bottle away from her. “I like to have a good time myself, but don’t get yourself messed up over me.”

“Why not?” she asks as her darkened eyelashes bat like moth wings. “Isn’t that what we’re all here for? To have a good time?”

She takes a step towards me but stumbles slightly. I’ve still got my grip on her arm, enough to make sure she balances straight back up. When she lifts herself higher up on her heels, her cheeks are as bright as a red moon on a warm day.

“Watch yourself. This ain’t the place to be fal—”

“My man!” Some asshole slaps me on the back so hard I can hear the crack of his hand hit my skin. I turn around to find Vance behind me—a beer already in his hand. He throws it to me, taking away my drink in the process as he says, “You need to be in your best shape. No hard shit.”

“Yeah, I know how to do this. I got more wins than any of the other Wilderkind boys.”

“That’s why I asked you to do this.” Vance eyes Sunny over my shoulder. He doesn’t break his glare on her as he says, “We’ve got some business to do before we get this fight started. Let me bring you over, so you’re not walking into the lion’s den alone.”

He heads back towards the meeting spot; the place where I was originally waiting for the fight to begin. It gives me just enough time to turn to Sunny and say, “You take care of yourself, girl. Don’t get into any trouble.”

“Is that an order?” she asks with a grin that could stop a train.

I give her a quick wink. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

The boys have already gathered and are in deep in conversation when I butt in. Crazy-ass Killer is already ranting over the terms. “Fuck that shit, man! I ain’t giving up the north corner of Vine. That’s our land!”

“You shook on it already, boss,” Vance corrects him, all the while keeping his cool. “This is what happens when you mess with our territory. Now we gotta fight it out… unless you’re too chicken to send your boy in against my Bear.” He pats my back again. I fucking hate when he does that.

“The Filthy Bastards aren’t scared! I can take this punk down in a few blows!” The Filthy Bastards fighter is almost frothing at the teeth. Good. My old boxing teacher told me that the easiest ones to take down were the guys who showboat before the match or put on too much emotion. It’s the cold, steely guys you’ve got to look out for. This was getting better and better for me.

“What do you want if you win, DJ?” Killer asks his man.

“Five hundred from the pot. And a bottle of the good shit. Not this bottom shelf crap the girls are serving up.” He spits on the ground.

Vance turns to me and asks the same question. “And you, Bear? What do you want if you win?”

My plan was to go in asking for the same as the Filthy Bastards fighter. Money was always a motivator, but tonight felt different. I am going to have fun with this—I can tell by the way that pussy bounces around on his toes and pounds his chest like a cartoon gorilla. I might as well make it interesting for myself too.

I look over towards the Filthy Bastards’ area where I spot her again. She’s unmissable now. Sunny’s like a siren in the ocean calling to me and only me… and fuck if that wasn’t just the hottest thing. I know what I want tonight.

“I want her,” I say as I point in her direction. “I want Sunny. Twenty-four hours to do what I want with her. I’ll give her back in one piece.”

The small group grows quiet; the kind of quiet that spreads quickly. The whispers of people repeating my request to their neighbor, however, could drown out the music and the sound of the cars passing by above our heads.

When it gets around to Sunny, she doesn’t stop or look away. She doesn’t even do that blushing thing when the men begin to catcall. She fucking smiles like this was her plan all along.

Killer reaches out his hand to me, and we shake on it. It’s a done deal. Cobra walks over and lets Sunny know what is at stake for her. She doesn’t turn to look back at me, but I can see her shoulders relaxing and her head nodding.

Sunny, the Filthy Bastards’ goddess, is gonna be mine.

Chapter Three

Sunny

Maybe this was going to be easier than I had thought. Men—specifically seducing them—was something I had an almost supernatural understanding of. But since joining the Filthy Bastards, my confidence has sunk to an all-time low. It’s not that I lack the look, per se, but for whatever reason, I can’t take on the attitude that the guys typically seek out. They are looking for a girl who is meek and willing, with perfect sized tits and a nice ass. It’s no question—I’ve got the ass and tits down pat. But I’m anything but meek—I know when to stand up for myself, and I’m not afraid to do it.

Kitka was the first one to point this out to me when the club “rescued” me. She had tried to teach me the rules and the culture, but I’d resisted. I didn’t go for the young riders or participate in some of the group activities. Even though I know an MC girl’s job is to serve the men first, I’m not giving up my independence and dignity to blow a guy in need. No way in hell will that ever be me.

I only get away with it because I have an air of mystery around me. I’m fresh meat. Hot shit. A wet hole they hadn’t managed to fuck yet. I make guys’ heads turn when I walk by, especially when I’m sporting these black leather boots of mine. I get the same look that Bear gave to me moments ago when I offered him a drink—toe to head, up and down scanning that’s scorching my insides. But his glare is different. His glare scorches me in a good way. And when he licks his lips at me and plays along with my flirty foolish act, I can see that he feels exactly the same.

Even now, as the fight is gearing up to begin, I see him stealing glances my way through the crowd. Every few minutes, he cranes his neck towards my spot back on the hill under the underpass. When I catch him, I smile, stick out my tongue, even wink. I have to let him know that I’m still interested.

The girls will not shut up about my dare.

“You’re a freaking fool!” Larissa cries after watching me flirt with him again. “Do you know what would happen to you if Killer found out?”

“Yeah!” Mary adds on, “You’re betraying the club all because you want to prove Kitka wrong.”

Kitka hasn’t said a word to me since I got back. She has been as steely and cold as ever. But I see the curve in the line of her mouth. She’s soaking all this up, waiting for me to get in trouble. Little do any of these girls know that I will be “out of the woods” on the consequences of my dare if Bear wins this fight. I will walk off as a free woman with him. Well, as free as you can call yourself as a prize in some hand-to-hand combat fight.

However, if he didn’t win, I could be out a ton of cash. My momma used to say to always bet on yourself. But what if you didn’t have the money to back it up? I won’t be eating for weeks, or I’ll have to rely on the good graces of guys like Ricco to tie me over until my next paycheck. Hell, I might even have to walk the streets for some paying clients, which is a downgrade in the club world. Girls with the brand don’t earn money slumming it with the urchins that pay the MC for protection and their network.

“Filthy Bastards!” cries a man in the center of the roped off square. “Wilderkind! We’re here today to settle a dispute between you two. The Filthy Bastards claim the Wilderkind is poaching on their territory by selling and dealing on the intersection of Columbus and Sunnydale.” A loud roar of boos takes over from the Wilderkind side of the ring.

“The club leadership has decided on a fist-on-fist, three minute round match with the first to KO as the winner. Both clubs have chosen their fighter. For the Filthy Bastards, there’s DJ, and for the Wilderkind, Bear!”

The two men enter the ring followed by the presidents, Vance and Killer. The crowd goes absolutely nuts. Beer cans and bottles are raised high in the air. Even us girls get to our feet, jumping and bouncing while our hands clap. I nearly trip on my own heels—what a great way to remember that I’m still feeling it from all the boozing I did earlier. I scream with the rest of them, refusing to say a specific name.

After a few minutes, it all dies down. The crowd grows impatient for blood while the men do their final handshakes and the boxers begin to stretch it out. The presidents take a spot behind the stakes holding up the ropes and a woman, a Wilderkind old lady no doubt, enters the ring holding up a piece of cardboard with the number one written in black sharpie. She walks the length before hopping out and ringing a small, vintage match bell.

Everything goes silent. Even the bookies shut the hell up in anticipation for the first hit. For several seconds, no one really moves. Bear dances around a bit, moving surprisingly light on his feet for a guy of his size. DJ, on the other hand, moves like a man who goes for the kill shot on the first blow. He’s been the Filthy Bastards fighter for a year now, and he’s earned his keep. A good few inches taller than Bear, he is the one who tumbles for him, his elbow managing to connect. The Filthy Bastards members go fucking nuts!

“Kill him, DJ! Get that bastard!” Mary shouts next to me, unable to contain her excitement. When she sees me eyeing her, she spits back, “What’s wrong with you? The winner gets a cash prize, and you know DJ takes a girl when he’s done.”

“He’s a great ride,” Larissa says, interjecting herself into the conversation once again. “I’ve had him twice after the matches. He’s like a bull. I could barely stay on!”

Fantastic. I could really have done without the visual of the bald bastard and little Larissa cowgirl style in some dirty bedroom.

What I need to be focusing in on is the fight. Bear’s landed some good hits now, mostly to the chest and back. He clearly has more stamina than DJ, so his hits land lighter, but there are more of him. It’s not exactly David and Goliath (more like Goliath versus Goliath), but the men circling the ring treat it like it’s life or death.

When I’m not looking, DJ strikes again—a blow so hard that it knocks Bear off his feet. He stumbles back towards the ropes. DJ, smiling wickedly, comes charging at him. He kicks and spits at Bear. Even though it’s fist-on-fist, no one seems to care. The Filthy Bastards are practically dancing in their spots in celebration. The bookies are starting to collect. And the other side looks on in complete disbelief. Even I hold my breath, waiting for the final knockout finisher.

DJ leans over Bear’s unmoving body. His fist rises into the air dramatically before swiping down. I turn my head over my shoulder towards where the other girls are sitting and cheering, unable to watch my conquest and my money go out the window. But Kitka’s face compels me to look back. Her grin turns to disbelief in milliseconds, and the other girl’s mouths hang wide open.

There is silence as Bear’s arm makes contact with DJ’s fist, swiping it away from his face. He manages to hold him by the wrist and then spins his arm so hard that DJ screams out in agony. His monstrous face goes purple while he drops to his knees near Bear with his good hand gripping his clearly broken arm. He looks even more shocked as Bear’s gigantic body suddenly springs to life. With one swoop, he swings himself onto DJ, pushing him down to the ground. He wastes no time in delivering a blow so powerful we hear it from our perch.

No one cheers when he stands—not even his own guys. They all look on him like he has risen from the dead. His chest is covered in splatters of DJ’s rust colored blood, and he wipes away a trickle of his own from his mouth. The announcer from earlier walks slowly into the ring to call it, but it was clear—Bear defeated DJ fairly.

I pull myself up to stand, not caring about the girls around me. The few behind me try to wave me out of the way, but I’m too excited to contain it. He won—he won me! I’m about to be $200 richer if I can pull this off!

I let out a small yip of joy. I couldn’t care less which one of these busybodies knows it either. Though none of them even dare to make a stand with Cobra walking up the hill towards us.

A knot in my stomach grows. This can’t be good. He’s obviously here for me. But would the Filthy Bastards really allow their property to be turned over to a Wilderkind man? A fighter that just brought down their prized enforcer? I have the feeling that I’m walking into something much bigger than just myself.

“You! Sunny! Let’s go.”

“Go? Where?” Kitka asks her main man.

“Him… the fucking bastard won her.”

Mary rises next to me, more interested than ever in the drama before her. “What do you mean he ‘won’ her?’”

Cobra doesn’t answer. Why should he? The girls didn’t deserve an answer. We were here to be slept with, not to be answered to. It’s my job to quickly explain in the few moments I have Cobra’s patience, “You know how the fighters get a prize if they win? Well, DJ asked for $500, but Bear, the Wilderkind guy, he asked for me… for twenty-four hours.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Mary blurts out. “So that means you won? You get Kitka’s cash?”

“No,” Kitka chimes in, “that’s not what we said. She has to come back with something precious of his… something he wouldn’t give away to any girl he slept with. If she wants to claim my money, she’s got to get it off of him and bring it back to headquarters. That is if she survives the night. Bear’s got quite the reputation.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, suspicious of her motives. I know she’s just trying to psych me out, but Kitka knows the MC world in and out, and she, above anyone else, would have the right info.

“Oh, you’ll see, I’m sure. He’s got a temper on him. He likes it rough.”

She slides past me and heads towards Cobra. An arm drapes around his neck, and she kisses him with a wide-open mouth. I swear I see her stare me down as they engage in a full-on makeout session.

Cobra eventually cuts it off, snapping his fingers at me. “Let’s go. I’m not going to wait all night for this.” He turns to the rest of the group. “Killer expects to see the rest of you bitches serving tonight. Best head back before the guys come in wanting to drink this off.”

I slowly march past the men staring me down. Word’s gotten around. I can tell. The Wilderkind catcall me, whistle at me, slap my ass as I move past their side. My boys just stare, completely dumbfounded that I would be okay with this.

A part of me isn’t. I feel like a runaway bride walking down the aisle. Bear stands on the other end of the ropes, toweling his chiseled body off with a t-shirt. He watches me carefully like I’m about to explode on him. I’m not sure I won’t if we get any closer. But Cobra leads the parade and does a quick handoff.

“Twenty-four hours. That’s all I’m giving you. Drop her back off at the clubhouse unharmed, and I’ll let you live another night.”

Bear chuckles loudly. “Did you see who fucked up your guy in the ring? I wouldn’t be threatening me.” He reaches for me, yanking me by the hand. The alcohol and the fear cause me to stumble straight into his arms. I feel like a damn fool grasping at his abs like this. Kitka, standing behind Cobra, looks mildly amused at it all.

“I know about you, Bear,” Cobra says with his finger pointed directly at his temple. “I know a helluva lot more than you think. You remember that this girl belongs to the Filthy Bastards come tomorrow.”

Bear pushes me behind him as he states, “But tonight, she’s mine.”

Cobra spits at the ground, nailing Bear on the boot. In the Filthy Bastards’ world, the guy spat on would’ve had to be leashed to be held back, but Bear doesn’t make a sound or move a hulking muscle. He just stares at Cobra and Kitka with his arms crossed.

Finally, he asks me from over his shoulder, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” my voice quivers. “Sure.”

I go to walk, but two hands hold me in place. They scoop up my legs and hoist me over a shoulder. Bear holds tightly to my waist as I squeal in surprise. I half-try to get myself out of this, but I know it’s a long way down from here, and I’m not about to fall in front of all of the Filthy Bastards watching me like hawks.

Kitka, out of sight from Cobra, waves at me with her little, thorny fingers.

“Enjoy.” She smirks.

I want nothing more than to wipe that smug little witchy grin off of her face, but I’m already halfway across the parking lot before I can make a move. Bear brings me to where is old Harley is parked.

It’s a beater, for sure. One of those 1980s models. It’s oversized and bulky for no reason whatsoever. Back then, guys liked them so they could show off some prestige. Nowadays, the riders want something smaller, sleeker, faster—especially if they’re outrunning the cops or another club. A ride like this won’t go too far.

Bear catches me staring. “It’s not gonna bite. I’d think you’ve ridden one before given your current… occupation.”

“I’m not a fucking hooker if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Didn’t say you were.” He hands me his jet-black helmet. At least no one will recognize me with this thing on. “Get on the damn bike so we can get the fuck out of here. I’m not ready to go for round two.”

Bear looks out to the greater parking lot, which is now filling up with drunk, bitter Filthy Bastards. I didn’t realize earlier what it would mean to win me for a night. He isn’t just taking the pride of the club by knocking out DJ, but he’s also challenging a different, more sacred, kind of territory. Even though us ladies get shit on and tossed aside, we are valuable status symbols. We make the club run and the men want to join up. Bear is taking away their newest girl, and that can’t be sitting too well with any of them.

Without another thought, I hop on, straddling the back of his thighs and hips. I have just enough time to wrap my arms around his waist before we lurch off. Instantly, I understand why a guy like Bear would love a ride like this. It’s smoother than any hog I’ve been on, and it roars like a lion out on the hunt. Each corner we take, it can speed through without threatening to tip, and it hits speeds easier than the newer models.

I’m converted. No crapping on older rides ever again. I hate to admit it, but a moment with him on the highway and my mind is completely clear. There are no more fights, no more blood, no more Kitka irritating the hell out of me.

It’s just him, me, the open road, and the dare to bring back my own prize for my troubles.

Chapter Four

Bear

“This is it?” she cries as she sweeps her arm around her like some grand princess in her tower. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to do whatever you want to me, and you bring me… here?”

“What did you expect, Sunny? The fuckin’ Hyatt?” I slam the motel door behind me and walk towards the bed. Sure, this place ain’t great, but it was better than the alternative—bringing her straight back to my place in Wilderkind territory. She would’ve gotten eaten alive if I did that. This place was so much better despite the roaches outside and the drunks screaming at one another from across the patio.

“I just thought you’d pick something a bit more romantic.” She grins at me with those wicked pink lips. A pretty girl like her often doesn’t know what she’s got, but I can tell that with Sunny, she knows what she’s working with. She can get away with saying dumb shit like that to a guy like me. She’s probably even used to it—though I’m doubtful that her Filthy Bastards boys are as lenient as I am on the back talking and fake whining.

“You at least got some drinks in here for me?” she adds as she eyes the little black fridge underneath the desk. As she tries to walk over to it, she stumbles straight into the chair just barely avoiding hitting her head on the sharp corner of the desk. I find myself running to her side, scooping her back in my arms, and bringing her straight to the bed beside me.

“You’re not touching that tonight. When was the last time you had a damn water?” Her eyes look at me distantly as if they’re searching for something. She’s not gonna find it in me. I’m on lockdown, even for a girl like her that sends my cock straight.

Sunny licks her lips and says, “Yeah. Ya know, I could use one if you’re offering it to me.”

I stand back up and open the fridge. To my luck, there are bottles of water chilling next to the beer. I grab one of each and hand the clear bottle to her. The other is mine to enjoy after a night like this. The fight was one thing, but I sure as fuck caused some trouble with wanting to take Sunny as my prize. I saw how those guys eyed me and how my own men clicked their tongues at me as if I was some outcast or traitor. I am gonna pay for this night.

Turning back to her, I note, “If I’m gonna get a good night with you, I’d like you to be at least halfway sober.” I hold out my beer to her for a cheers. She follows along, clinking the plastic bottle to my stale old can. After a chug of mine, I add, “I’m not into chicks that can barely stand on their own. They’re not exactly good at riding with me.”

“Riding with you?” Her eyebrows rise. “You talk like it’s a rollercoaster ride or something. I wouldn’t be so… cocky.”

I burst out laughing at her play on words. The chick has personality too. I could appreciate that. If I brought a girl back to a motel or my room, the most of a conversation I usually get is a few groans and another couple, “Fuck me, Bear… please fuck me!” That’s about as intellectual as it got.

She seems impressed by my laugh. “You like that one, huh? Well, I’ve got plenty more where that came from. Did you hear the one about the boxer who got beat up in a fight? He was a sore loser.”

I blink rapidly before turning towards her, my hands on each side of her body. Standing up, I begin to tower over her until she’s got nowhere to go but down towards the bed.

Struggling not to laugh, I scold her, “That’s what you got for me? That lame ass joke… do you even know who I am, Sunny? I should knock you out for that one.”

She giggles and squirms under me. Her small, balled up fists pound away at my chest as she squeals. My head drops down to the space between her long, pale neck and the curve of her shoulder. The old beard I’ve been meaning to shave down scratches at her till she cries out, “No! No! Stop!”

I only mutter the word, “fine,” before moving up towards her mouth. In one, quick second I claim her lips. I feel her body melt beneath me. Her hands float down to the pale brown comforter, and her legs curl around my thighs and knees. A growl grows within me, but I’m not about to pull away from her right now. She is mine—totally mine. Her soft body, the curve of her arm draped around my neck, these sweet round breasts pressed tight against my torso… it’s like a dream to be on top of her, dominating her. But it isn’t enough. If I am going to do this—take some claim on a girl from a rival club—she is going to know her place.

I take that arm that rests on my neck and throw it above us. The second one follows before she can even react. I pin them up above her head with one crisscrossed above the second. Her legs come next. I use my hips to spread both as far apart as I can. I want a good angle. She looks too damn hot under my control not to enjoy it to the full extent.

Her eyes glow at the realization of what’s about to go down. I hate to admit it, but there are damn rocks in my stomach that are growing like weights just thinking about taking her. What the fuck was up with me tonight? There was no way I should be hesitating like this. My lips should be all over these delicious tits of hers. My cock should at least be warming itself up in her. But I can’t bring myself to move on her, not right now. Maybe it’s the taste of booze that lingers in my mouth from our deep kiss, or maybe it’s the way she’s looking on me like an eager puppy dog… but I pull up and away, rolling over to my side.

“I’m gonna take a second outside.” I sigh in an attempt to catch my breath. I can’t even look at her before I’m out the door. The brisk night air hits me like a strike of lighting. It’s much cooler than I remember, or maybe it was just me being some pussy shit asshole who can’t get himself to take a drunk girl when she offered it up. What was it about her that made me actually care if she was in her right mind or not?

I check my phone. It’s practically exploding with messages from the guys congratulating me on the win. But near the end of the list, the most recent messages, get nasty. Even the guys I’m loyal to—the ones that have come up with me—are questioning if I’ve gone out of my fucking mind to trade in the fighter’s prize for a one night stand with a chick from an opposing club.

Not that I blame them or anything. I’m half-considering jumping on my bike and stranding her here in the motel room. Feisty chick like her could handle herself for a night while she sobered up and then found her own way back to the Filthy Bastards headquarters. Still, it wouldn’t change my situation. I can’t change that I did pick her over the money and the liquor and that the entire two clubs watched me walk away with her draped over my back.

There is no going back from here. I might as well enjoy my spoils.

I take a deep breath and head back inside, but to my surprise, she’s curled up in bed with her thin legs clutched up to her stomach. The blonde hair stretches over the white pillows and her lipstick stains the corner of the bed linens she’s laying on. How the hell I ended up with America’s only angel was beyond me. I lift her up and over towards the right side of the bed to make space for myself. I wasn’t normally one for sharing. Okay, that’s a lie. I never, ever, let a chick sleep in bed next to me. It’s rule number one for guys like me when you’re just trying to have a good time. But tonight’s different, and she’s too drunk and tired to even notice that I’m breaking protocol here.

I reach over and click the light off. The room grows still and quiet, but my mind races a mile a minute as if I’m out driving it on the highway. In the background, I can hear her breathing like a beating drum with its own rhythm. Her hand eventually travels over to me, finding my arm through the thick layer of comforter I tossed on her. Her hand just barely clasps around half the muscle, but still, she holds on to me like she won’t let go for nothing.

I force my eyes to close and think back on the fight—the mistakes I made, the plays I followed, the look on my opponent’s face as I knocked him the fuck out. Years ago, this is how I usually fell asleep. That was when I slept in the moldy, damp locker room of my old gym long before I had a group of guys sheltering me and giving me a life to look forward to. Now look how far I’ve gone? From cement floor under a dripping shower to here, in bed with a woman’s leg slightly draped over my thigh.

Everything goes blank except the sound of the imaginary crowd cheering my name in victory.

***

Damn am I hot! Fuck! I never sleep under blankets or sheets. I always run a few degrees above everyone else. But tonight’s ridiculous. It takes me a few seconds to realize that I’m not in my own bed back in my apartment. There’s the chair I don’t know and the mini fridge humming along. A sign on the door I can barely read through my squinted eyes gives the checkout time as ten a.m. And beside me, a girl is awake and moving. Sunny. I can’t believe I forgot about Sunny.

She doesn’t notice I’m awake. She’s too busy fumbling with something on the side of the bed to even care that I’ve hoisted my head up on my arm for a better view. She’s got my pair of jeans in her hand and is going through the pockets carefully. The bitch is actually trying to steal from me! Was this the plot all along? Did she think I got some cash out of this as well? This little witch doesn’t have a clue what kind of sleeping bear she just woke up.

With one arm, I reach over and manage to catch her by the stomach as she screams in surprise. Her hand flies up and out of my jeans, and it’s clear as fucking day that she’s clutching something. I throw her back down so hard that her body bounces into the air off the springy mattress. With a quick leap, I am on top of her, holding her down like earlier in the night.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing going through my stuff like that, girl? You robbing me? Was that your plan?”

“No… no… please. Let me go. I just took…” She opens her balled up palm to show me what she’s holding on to. The brown and tan bear charm I wear on the backside of my jeans for good luck—a little trinket my old boxing coach gave to me years ago, right before I left him to join the club. He knew it was the best move for me, even if it meant giving up boxing, but the charm was there to remind me what kind of monster I could be when I let myself unleash it.

I interrogate her further, leaning my face down so that she can see the bulges of my veins along my throat and my eyes glaring at her with menace. “Why do you want it? You think it’s worth something to me? It’s just a shit toy you dumb girl!” I take the charm out of her hand and toss it onto the floor. The metal clasp clinks on the tile until it rests against the back wall. I’d worry about finding it tomorrow. Right now, I only have punishment in my mind.

I turn back to her as she cowers away from me. “What do the Filthy Bastards do with chicks like you who steal things? Or do they know what kind of low-life scum you are and that’s why they were all too eager to get you out of their hair?”

“No! No! Please. Just listen to me…” she begs, practically weeping under my control. “I’m sorry. I just needed it to prove to the girls that—”

“The girls?” I stop her. “What the fuck?” I ease up just enough so that she can spin and turn a little easier, though she gives up resisting when I allow her to speak.

“I need something to prove to the girls that I slept with you.” Her hands fly up to her face in what I think has to be embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I should’ve just asked. I didn’t mean for you to notice or find out.”

“Wait a minute. You’re telling me that this was some fucking dare?” I growl.

“Yes?” she squeaks, growing more and more uncomfortable at the sight of me. “But it ends up with you sleeping with me, so it’s all good, right?”

“Wrong,” I snarl as I lean down towards her before she can get out another stupid word from those beautiful lips. They open up to me like a secret passageway. She’s eager to please. After taking something of mine like that, she better be willing to play along with what I’m about to throw at her.  While her hands are wrapped up in me, I spin her around, so she falls on top of me.

“Go down,” I command her, not a bit of humor in my mouth. “Get on your knees.”

Sunny’s blue doe eyes grow bigger, her thin eyebrows raising in a question she knows she’s going to have to answer herself. How far is she really willing to take this? If she thought she was going to take my shit and walk away without giving me something in return, she was mistaken. She is going to work for that charm starting right now.

After a moment, she smiles and then sinks down the length of my body. Her head rests against the thin fabric of my black silk briefs where the bulge grows slightly at the thought of her and what she is about to do for me.

“Strip for me,” I order her next, “fully.”

On her knees, she works her way out of the tight, short dress. It leaves her in a strapless pushup bra and a thin black thong so skinny I can barely notice it. Intrigued, I ask her to stand up for me. I use my finger to show her how I want her to spin around for me.

“Lean down,” I add. “I want to see that ass of yours.” She places her hands on her knees and gives me the best damn view of an ass I’ve ever had. It’s just the right size—round with a little meat on it, but it’s small enough that I could see me punishing her from behind.

“Take the rest off.”

Her eyes lock on me as she first removes the panties. They curl around her finger as she pulls them off of her legs. Her bra comes next. The tight fabric pulls and yanks her boobs together, but when the clasp is released, you can practically see them go flying to be free. The round, perfect molds bounce slightly as they settle back in. Her perky tipped nipples point in my direction as they await my next order.

“Get back down. On your knees and get to work, Sunny.”

I lean myself back towards the bed with my hands resting behind my head. As I settle in, she removes my briefs. Just like her tits, my cock can’t wait to come out and play. I swear to God I think I hear her gasp at the size of it. Chick like her should know that nine times out of ten, a big guy like me comes packing large. What you see is what you get no matter where you’re looking.

Her hands wrap around my shaft, gliding themselves up the length to the top. I’m already a bit wet in anticipation, and she knows it too. I wonder, as she works my cock like putty in her hands, just how wet her panties were before she lost them? Her movements pick up speed, her hand pressure intensifies as I stiffen to a straight rod to her touch.

“More,” I growl impatiently. “Give me more.” She goes with it, her hands whipping relentlessly from top to bottom until she has a rhythm that could only be described as chaos.

When I’m there—when I’m good and hard and raring to go—I let her stop this tune up. I reach down to her, holding her by the wrist.

“Are you ready for this ride?” I ask, uncaring about her actual answer. She nods at me, slightly shaking. The alcohol might’ve worn off of her, but she still has some courage in those veins. She’s as ready as I am for the real show. 

With one pull, she’s back down on the bed with me on top. I kiss her again, her own lips meeting me halfway. There’s longing in that kiss with her tongue dancing up on mine and her lips sucking my bottom lip into hers. The pretty little slut can’t get enough of me, and we haven’t even really begun to have fun. I hoist her legs up and onto my chest so that her feet can press down against me for support. With her in position, I grab hold of my throbbing cock, and I glide it right on in between the sweet, moist lips between her legs.

Dammit, is she tight! A girl like her shouldn’t be walking around with a pussy like this that it could trap a man like me inside. Still, the clench around my cock feels like heaven on earth as I let out a groan of disbelief. She gasps as her head flies up and back into the sheets, those beautiful tits of hers bouncing as she settles into the feeling of me inside of her. I want to see her do it again, so I tease her this time. Coming out slowly, I leave just the tip inside of her before launching myself back in without warning.

“Bear! Fuck!” she screams, “Please…”

Mercifully, I pull back out of her. I feel her cunt ease up around me. She was getting used to my length already, molding herself to me.

“Please what?” I ask her innocently. “You want more of that?” I thrust into her again. “You want more of me fucking you?”

“Yes!” she cries out, her hands to her lips. She bites down on her index and middle fingers as I begin to pick up the pace. My hands wrap around her lily white thighs for support and an extra feel of her. She’s smooth everywhere from top to bottom. There isn’t a part of her body that I don’t want a taste of. But tonight, I am going to take her as hard and fast as possible. She is going to learn to pay the price for making a bet on me.

Even with revenge on my mind, I let myself enjoy her. Her folds wrapped around me is making me fucking delirious. Instead of entering her to the hilt, I can only get about midway in and out before something in me needs to push out. She doesn’t seem to mind. I can tell by the way her face has turned a pinkish-purple how much she wants me to take her like this—fast and hard. But as she grows closer and closer to the edge, I’m having a harder time controlling myself. Every bit of me wants to take and fuck the hell out of her.

My hips speed up. My cock crashes in and out of wet little puss with no breaks or slides. My skin beats up against her skin. Her cries become muffled as her head turns into a pillow for support. Those beautiful nipples of hers fly and flip with each one of my pounds. And then, finally, she lets go. Dammit do I love watching her when she orgasms. Her entire body eases up so much that I nearly slide right out. The juices of her pussy drip around the edge of my cock, giving me a natural lube to take her even harder. There’s no stopping me now. With her taken care of, it’s my turn to do what the hell I want to do with her body.

Pushing myself all the way into her, I use my arms to pull Sunny up and into me. She flies up at me with my dick still attached to her. She holds on for support while I hoist her up with my hips. Her thighs wrap around my backside as I take off towards the opposite end of the room for a small patch of wall not occupied by furniture. I throw her body onto the wood paneling and position her just the way I like it.

“No… no… too hard!” she cries out as I rocket myself deep within her. Here, she has no control; no say in how fast or slow I go. She can’t do a thing but be at my mercy or risk falling to the ground with a thud. This is giving me total trust that I, as her master, won’t fuck this up for her. Lucky for her, there is no way I’m going to let her down now. I want to see her come like this. I want to see that pussy drip from up in the air. And I want to feel my own cock shoot out its seed onto her stomach.

I work and work my cock so that it drills up into her. Each beat is harder, faster, more deliberate than the next. My breathing hitches in my throat as it becomes more of a gasp for air. Sweat drips down my back and neck where her fingernails dig into the lines of my tattoos. I kiss her again, needing to feel and taste the sticky sweet moisture of her lips. She breathes life into me as both my shaft and my mouth dive deeper into her own body.

She comes again. Unlike her last go, she’s so wrapped up in the wild chaos of us that she doesn’t pause or stop her thrusting back into me. The only sign is the smell of her ripe orgasm. She lets it roll on by for me. And I’m not far behind her. With the sensation of her cum mixing with my own sweat and juices, I’m nearly there. But it’s not until she whispers my name, “Bear… oh God… Bear,” that I unleash myself.

My cum blasts out of me like a volcano eruption. It shoots up into her like another extension of my thrusts. Sunny cries out again in pleasure and relief, and we are both left gasping and holding on to one another as we recover.

“That was…” she tries to say as I walk her back to the bed, my cock still stiff inside of her. “Jesus, I don’t know... “

“It better have been worth whatever bet you made on it.”

“Yeah, you could say it was worth it.” She pulls the comforter up around her while I head off to the bathroom to clean up. On my way, I snatch the bear charm I tossed earlier from its spot under the desk. I carry it back to the bed, placing it on the table next to her.

She looks up at me, appearing exhausted as I explain, “You’re gonna need this.”

A satisfying smile stretches across her face. “Thanks.”

Chapter Five

Sunny

This is too good to be true. Like, for real. First of all, I just had one of the best lays in my entire life with this guy who looks like he is part caveman, part motorcycle magazine cover model. And now, despite being pissed at me for the whole bet thing, he’s going to give me the one thing I need to prove that I conquered him.

Well, conquered is pretty subjective, I suppose. In all honesty, I’m not entirely sure who, in this tangled mess of hotel bed sheets, really won over the other.

  I clutch the charm to my bare chest, patting it gently with my fingertips. It was cash in my hand and a reward for a job well done. I wasn’t about to let this go until I absolutely have to. I even kept hold of it last night as I slept next to Bear. His large arm was draped around my hips, and his warm hand rested against my sex almost protectively. I could feel his breath like wind through my hair, and his quiet snore rattled my body the few hours I managed to keep my eyes shut. I loved it. The feeling of a man holding tight to me was nothing I ever thought I would want, but there is something so comforting in the feeling that nothing was out there that could harm me like this.

But now, in the morning light, everything is different. Bear’s hold on me is smothering. It’s keeping me in place when all I want to do is roll over, adjust the pillow, or reach down for the pair of panties I stripped off last night. It’s funny how fast that mood changes when it is in the light of day.

I start testing him to see how soundlessly he’s sleeping. First, I begin picking at some of the patches of his tan skinned arms—just small pinches and plucks to measure his reflexes. Nothing. To my surprise, he doesn’t even roll over to avoid me! I move it up a level by beginning to press my bony elbow in his side and kick at his kneecaps. Again, nothing.

With him not showing any signs of life besides the breathing and snoring, I take his wrist in my hands and gently move it up and off of me. Freeing myself, I replace my body with a pillow I’ve been laying on all night and replace his arm around it instead. He still doesn’t stir.

I take a step back to examine him. He’s quite the creature. I’ve never seen a guy like him, and that’s saying something. Bear’s skin is wind-worn and red in spots, especially at the high apples of his cheeks and along his third day stubble-covered chin. His hair is wild and untamed. The girl in me wants nothing more than to run my fingers through the matted tangles near the ends or at least give the guy a haircut. It would help see the chocolate colored eyes that bore holes through me last night. His pale pink lips pout as he sleeps almost like a fish gulping through the water.

Of course, there’s that body too. I didn’t get much of a glimpse of it last night since I was the one that was on display the majority of the time. This morning, I get to admire the statue of a man that is not only a prize fighter but a damn good lover. He is mostly muscles—they’re chiseled and defined along his abs and arms. His thin legs curl around the comforter with a pair of gigantic feet resting off the end of the bed.

Most girls would fall for him because he looks just like a giant. But where Bear wins me over are the dark tattoos that line his arms, chest, and shoulders. Most have club stuff—the symbols and signs I am used to seeing on long-term members of a club. I’m more curious of that large bear print drawn on his heart. Every tattoo tells a story. I wonder what this one means.

I don’t have time to wonder, though. If I’m going to slip out of here without him noticing me, I’ve gotta be quick and quiet. The last thing I want to do is talk to him. And I suspect the feeling is totally mutual. A guy like him most likely knows how this goes. The visiting party slips out in the morning, and the other doesn’t give a shit. It’s quick, painless, and less chance of making an attachment for both sides.

I grab my panties, bra, and dress and throw them on as quickly as I can. In the mirror, I use the few things in my purse to reapply my makeup and tie my hair back into a messy bun at the top of my head. I was never into that walk of shame look. If I plan on going back to the Filthy Bastards, where everyone knows or suspects I had sex with a Wilderkind guy, I best, at least, look decent.

Ugh. My boots are M.I.A. They have to be under the bed. I kicked them off as I soon as I got through the door last night, and I vaguely remember them sliding out of site when we began screwing. I get down on my knees and check under the sheets to pull them out from their hiding spot.

“You’re gonna need to put something on that back of yours.”

Gah! My head slams into the metal bed frame with a smack. What the hell was he thinking scaring me like that! If this leaves a permanent mark, I swear to God, I’m gonna…

“I’m serious, Sunny. That shit looks bad.”

I scoot myself out from under the bed fully to see Bear with his head draped over the side staring at me. He’s got that wicked smile on his face that I’d love to swat off of him.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your back. From last night.” I give him the most clueless, disinterested look I can muster up before he adds, “It’s rough and raw from when I took you up against the wall. You’re gonna need to put something over it, or the guys will think I whipped you with cattails… though I have to admit that sounds fucking hot.”

I raise my arm over my shoulder and gently press down on the marks. He’s right. As soon as I touch the skin, an instant sting shocks me. I can’t believe I didn’t notice the pain or tenderness until now. I walk over to the mirror to get a better glimpse of the damage. Yikes! Dammit! It’s so bad I cringe at my own appearance.

Without thinking, I ask Bear, “Do you have anything I can cover this up with?”

“Just my jacket. I don’t think you’ll want to go back wearing that.” He laughs.

“No, I guess I’m going to have to pull this look off or…” My eyes dart over to his black T-shirt.

“No. No way.”

“Come on, Bear. They’re going to think you did this shit to me.”

“I did do it, Sunny. I’m not gonna regret that one bit!”

“You know what I mean you asshole.”

He stands to his feet and then darts off towards the shirt. I’m quicker, having been in track all through high school. I manage to grab the shirt right out from under him.

“Fuck off!” he shouts as he pulls me to the ground. “That’s stealing, girl! And you already tried that once from me.”

“Come on! You injured me!” I laugh as his weight crushes me into the musty carpet. “Be nice and give me the shirt to use. I’ll give it back.”

“Hell nah! It’s mine. And you should know by now that I’m never, ever, nice.”

“Really?” I ask as he eases off of me slightly. “You were kind of a pussycat in bed last night.”

“Hey!” he shouts, going back to straddling me on the floor. “Do you know what kind of fucking insult that is to a guy like me? I should punish you for that.”

“Punish me?” I stare back up at him. He grabs my arms and places them behind my back. A hand moves under the tight hem of my dress and lifts it up and over my hips. He slips my underwear off without my permission, not that he would care about that. Without any warning whatsoever, I feel the slap of his palm on me. 

“Ah! Come on! Why would you—”

SLAP! Another hand hits me.

“Don’t question me,” he growls. “I’ll do it again.”

I’m not a sadist, and I’m certainly not one of those kinky girls who are into the whole being punched around thing. There are street girls in the club that make a good living being on the receiving end of that shit. But with Bear, I have to admit that feeling of him dominating me like this is a complete and total turn-on. He’s not hitting me hard—it’s just enough to make me a little raw. But what I do feel sends shivers up my spine, and my legs peel apart for him.

“Now,” he says, “are you ready to behave and give me my damn shirt back?”

“What do I have to do to keep it?” I throw back.

“I think you know the answer to that one.”

“Deal.”

Two strong arms reach around me before I can have a second thought. They scoop me up into his arms and place me around his front so that my legs are straddling his. I lay my arms around his head, and he pulls me into him so close that I can count the freckles that dot his nose and the few gray strands that hide within his hair. We’re so close that it’s like a magnet is pulling the two of us together so that we’re crashing, crashing, crashing towards a kiss.

His moist mouth opens up to let me in, and I can’t help but bite down and suck along the juiciest parts of his lips. I can’t get enough of him, despite my better urges to run the fuck away. He’s so good. The scent of sex rises between us and the carpet burns along my knees from us rocking back and forth in place.

Below my hips, his stiffening cock presses itself against me. There’s no way I can avoid that monstrosity. The man is packing and packing heavy. And he knows what to do when he’s locked, loaded, and ready to go.

“Why the fuck are you still wearing this goddamn dress?” he asks while pulling the material up and over my head. “Get it off. I want to see those pretty little tits of yours.” Bear dives his head straight into my cleavage. His strong hands press and massage my mounds against his face until the nipples curl into his mouth one after another.

The sensation is insane. My body goes wild with need while he continues to fondle and tease me. His thumbs roll across the tips of my nipples... his fingers pinch... and his hands massage. He plays with my chest like an expert sculptor at work. I can’t help but let out a small, urgent groan of pleasure.

“You like this?” he asks me, “You get off on that?” Underneath me, at my panty line, his knee makes contact with my sex. It follows the pattern of my hands as it brushes up hard against my folds, which are still feeling it from yesterday’s fuck.

“I want to see you come, Sunny. I want to watch you lose control,” he growls while his hand takes over where his knee is. The thin fabric of my underwear moves to the side while he spreads the top of my vagina wide for him to find a landing spot right against my clit. Bullseye. He’s so fucking good at this, I don’t even need to walk him through where to go to find my pleasure spot. And by the way I instantly tilt my head back and let out a rush of air, he knows he’s hit it as well.

“There we go,” he whispers in my ear as I press my body into his. “I know you want this.” His hand tilts to the side so that one finger slips right in between my legs. The combination of him entering me and his fingers rubbing my clit sends me out of my freaking mind. The pressure of his touch, the roughness of his urgency, and the need for him to fill me up are incredibly overwhelming. I throw my arms back around him and place my head upon his shoulder. My lips kiss and lick at his salty, sweaty skin while I tell myself not to scream. You never want a guy to know just how much you love it.

But it quickly becomes too much for me to take. This guy, this insane madman of a guy, will not relent. With his fingers gliding in and out of me, I can barely tell what way is up or down. My head spins, and the pit of my stomach grows until it sinks down to between my legs. My knees begin to tremble, and I give in knowing that it’s near. With three more quick strokes, my body becomes a supernova bursting through the sky. My lower half pulsates rapidly while my juices pour out of me.

Bear should pull away. Most guys do, but he seems to enjoy feeling my orgasm. With me limp in his arms, he pulls back and offers me the hand that was inside of him.

“Taste yourself,” he commands. I give him a half-hearted lick. I can barely muster up enough energy to look at him, let alone play his games, but he forces the fingers deep into my mouth.

While I’m focusing on my earthy, sweet taste, I barely process that he’s gearing up and ready to go. The entire time he was getting me off, I could feel his cock growing more against my leg, but now he is massaging my folds with the tip of his member. The smooth skin of his organ delicately pushes aside my soaking wet lips. And like that, he enters me completely unannounced. I scream as he moves me towards him so that my hips line up with his girthy, long shaft.

“It’s my turn now,” he snarls, looking more like his namesake than ever. Those brown eyes light up like fire in the night. I swear I can see sparks dancing near his black pupils. Along my back, he paws at me, grabbing at what little fat I’ve got on me for support. His hips move upwards, forcing himself even deeper into me, and then he begins to bounce.

The drive of him launching straight up in down barrels into me. I really don’t need to do a thing with his strength, but I’m no fuck doll who just lays there and takes it. When a guy like him pleases me as good as he just has, I give him what he’s owed too. I manage to position myself up on my heels so that I can squat further down on him. It takes me a few strokes to match his rhythm, but as we slowly line up, it’s hard not to follow his beat.

With both of us linked together, there is no stopping us. He doesn’t slow or play stupid games with his cock. He has one thing in mind and one thing only—to finish. And I’m more than eager to help him out. My body dives into him while his drives into mine over and over again, each time going faster and faster until I don’t think I can hold on anymore. Eventually, he wins out. I topple onto him so that he’s forced backward. His arms catch him just enough so that his head leans against the front of the bed and he rests on his elbows. He somehow manages to do it without missing a beat.

I gasp for air, struggling to keep up.

“Bear… God… Bear….” I mutter under my breath, “I love how you… how you...” My mind drifts away again as I feel it coming back—that sensation deep within my stomach growing larger than a crater. It needs to be filled by him. He pulls me down so that I lay on top of his stomach. His hips rise, and his shaft pummels into me. I claw at the carpet until it comes like a crash. My eyes shut, and I hold on tight.

“Sunny!” he shouts into my hair. “Fuck! Sunny!” His hips ease up slightly, and his dick pushes three long, deep thrusts into me. With my head on his chest, I can hear his heart thump rapidly against his dripping wet skin. I place my hand along the bear claw as he settles back in.

We both lay there for a moment, unsure of what to say. Do I thank him for that second strong showing? Do I ghost out of here without saying a word like my original plan? Or do I just chill and wait for him to force me out? This shouldn’t be so awkward for a girl like me, but with Bear, there were so many questions and landmines to potentially trip on. I don’t want to be that girl.

“Well, well…” he finally sighs, “I guess I can let you go now. You earned my shirt, but you’re gonna have to figure out what to do with your knees because I’m sure not giving you my pants.” It dawns on me that my original purpose was getting his shirt to hide my back. I glance down at my legs and see that now my legs are just as beat up from the friction of the carpet.

“I’ll just say I tripped,” I laugh as I peel myself off of him and over towards my dress. I quickly get dressed while he goes on.

“Tripped on my cock?”

“Oh, shut up. It’s gonna be hell enough getting back with everyone ribbing me for this. I don’t need you adding to the trouble.”

“You wanna know my secret?” he asks as I nod with a slight hesitation. He grabs my hand, yanking me back down to him. I somehow naturally rest within his arms as he whispers in my ear, “I don’t fucking care what anyone else thinks.”  

“I can tell, but you’re not me. You’re not club property either.”

“You could say that, but I’ve got just as much, if not more, reputation to uphold than you do. I’m gonna hear about this shit for the rest of my life.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing you won’t be seeing me again.”

“I suppose it is,” he says, his smile disappearing.

“Yeah,” I chirp back. I’m not sure if I should be insulted or relieved by his cold response, but I’m realistic, so it’s not like I’m expecting romance and rainbows. That shit is for girls with home mortgages and Gucci purses. Romance isn’t for women like me who do their men on the back of bikes and put brands on their shoulders for the clubs they want to be a part of. There are no happy endings for people like Bear and me—ever. I’m not sure why I would expect it now.

“I guess I should be going,” I announce as I find my purse. “You need anything from me, well, I guess you know where to find me.”

“Yeah,” he says from the floor of the motel room. “You too, Sunny.”

I walk myself out the door and into the sunlight. The bright California light practically blinds me after spending all night and day in that stuffy room. And it quickly dawns on me what rough shape I really am in. My legs tremble, my pussy’s sore as hell, and my head is throbbing from the unnoticed hangover. But what’s killing me now is the sinking feeling that something is off or that I forgot something. I hate these fucking feelings where I can’t tell my left from my right, and nothing really makes sense. I should be feeling like the damn Queen of Sheba after a conquest like that, but there’s a tugging feeling that just won’t go away every step I take towards the street.

With the motel room and Bear’s vintage motorcycle behind me for good, I hail a taxi back to headquarters. The whole while, I go through what I need to say and who I need to shut up around. There’s to be no bragging around the guys, no talking about how good or bad Bear was in the sack. I’d be careful around Mary and Larissa as well. They blab about every fucking thing. Kitka will just get the charm I’m carrying around. She didn’t need to know the rest. The other girls could get some more of the juicy gossip if they were trustworthy. Not many were, though. Here I was going through each one of the ladies one by one, and even though I’m surrounded by these girls each and every day, I’m realizing just how alone I actually am.

After the fight last night, the mood is definitely sourer than before. The men grunt acknowledgments at me, and some look as if they could snap at me at any second. I quickly dart out of the common area (where they sip their beers and talk about the day’s assignments) and over towards the kitchens where the ladies hang out when they aren’t on duty or back at their apartments above the warehouse.

  “Well, look at what the cat dragged in,” Larissa squeals as she sees me.

“More like who the cat tore apart, spat out, and threw back.” Mary laughs. “What the fuck happened to you? You look like shit.”

“Thanks. It’s great to see you, girls, too,” I reply deadpan. “I’m fine. Just hungover and tired.”

“You’re pretty beat up over there. I can see those knees of yours got some work.” Mary winks at me, and I’m about ready to rip her eyeball out.

“Leave her alone,” Kitka says as she appears in the doorway. “A skinned knee doesn’t mean she got the job done.”

“Pay up.” I smile as I reach into my purse and retrieve Bear’s charm. “He gave it to me himself.”

She looks at me slightly impressed. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t go through with it. But then again, you would do anything, wouldn’t you?”

“What the hell does that mean, Kitka?” I shout at her.

“Oh, just that some girls, like you, don’t really know when to stop.”

“You’re the one that egged me on and made the bet with me.”

“But you’re the one who slept with the enemy, Sunny.”

She has a point, and I fucking hate her for it. I didn’t have to let my pride get in the way, but there’s something about Kitka that could drive me to punch a wall with my bare knuckles. The fact that she looks at me like I’m the guilty party is something else.

I’m about ready to explode, so I hold out my hand for her. She pulls out a stack of cash from her back pocket and begins to count out the twenty dollar bills. As she hands me the last one, she places her hand around the stack and says, “There’s one more thing, Sunny. There are some rules you need to know about before you go anywhere.”

“What rules?” I ask, not believing a word that comes out of her scummy mouth.

“Don’t worry. I talked to Killer about this already. Girls who sleep with other club members have to take a bath… to wash the dirt off of them.”

“A bath? So what. I’ll do that at home before the party tonight.”

“Oh, tsk tsk. I wish it were that easy.” She laughs as she throws back her black hair. “But this bath has to be in public. In front of all us girls and whoever walks through here so we can see you really get that Wilderkind scent off of you.”

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say. I’ve never heard of this rule in my entire time at the club. Then again, none of the other girls have ever slept with a member of another club. There’s really no point in arguing if Killer’s approved of this, but I’m not about to just go along with Kitka’s plan so easily.

Kitka slides her way up to me, inches from my face, as she whispers, “No, I’m not fucking kidding anyone. It’s your fault you acted like a little slut, and now you’ll pay.”

“You did this, Kitka. I get that now. You set this whole thing up to get me in bad with the club. You bitch.”

“And you fell for it.” She smiles before turning around to the rest of the group who are practically salivating at our fight. “Ladies! Let’s get the tub! It’s gonna have to be a big one for a girl like Sunny.” 

They bring out an inflatable kiddie pool the club uses for the occasional mud wrestling match and fill it with the hose from the back. For kicks, the girls use dish soap for bubbles and toss in a few toys they find around the back. When everything’s ready, Mary walks over to me and says, “You need me to help you with those clothes or…”

This is it. This is my breaking point. I can get hazed by Kitka with tears in my eyes, or I can take it like the kickass woman that I am and do it my way. With my head held high, I remove Bear’s borrowed shirt and my dress from last night. I fold each carefully on the chair before removing my panties and bra next. The girls stare at me as I calmly walk over to the pool, dip my toe in, and then force myself to sit in the knee deep, freezing water. Only once I’m in do they force themselves to laugh.

“Scrub,” Kitka commands as she throws me some hand towels from the kitchen.

The first of the guys walk in moments later. Some chuckle and keep moving, while the more pervy ones watch me from the chairs around the kitchen prep area. No one says a word in my defense, not even Ricco who looks smugger than Kitka at my punishment.

Luckily for me, the bubbles the girls tossed in keep me well concealed. I don’t break my gaze from the crowd as I use the towel to wash and scrub at every bit of my body. I don’t want to risk Kitka making me do it over again. When it’s time to wash my hair, I ask for a bucket of clean water, and Mary turns up at my side with a pale much warmer than what I’m sitting in. I have her pour it over my head, and to my surprise, she doesn’t just dump it on me. She sprinkles it over me, allowing me to run my hands through the tangles and add a layer of soap to it. When she’s done, she throws me a look that’s a mixture of pity and friendship—an expression I’ve never imagined Mary could make.

I sit in this stupid fucking tub for about an hour until I suspect each and every guy has had a chance at seeing the show. It’s not until Cobra and Killer walk through that I know my time is done.

“Get her out,” Killer whispers to Kitka. His stoney face is unreadable, but part of me thinks that he’s not terribly impressed by what’s going on.

The men clear out quick, and the girls go to look for a clean towel. While I sit waiting, Killer leans over me and coughs before speaking, “You look beat up. Did that bastard do something to you?”

Whoa. I am totally shocked by this. Kitka is too. He’s not a man of many words, and the words I’ve heard him utter haven’t been pleasant. But there’s a hint of caring in his voice.

My own trembles as I answer, “No. He didn’t do anything. This was… I fell.”

“If he did…”

“He didn’t. It wasn’t a big deal.” Yikes. I know that’s a mistake as it slips out of my mouth.

“What you did last night was a fucking big deal, whether you think so or not, Sunny. You’re not gonna forget it, I suspect.”

I doubt I—or any member of the Filthy Bastards—will ever forget the day I slept with Bear.

Chapter Six

Bear

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Bear? You look like shit. That little piece give you a run for your money?”

“What?” I ask, my mind somewhere far away from the Wilderkind meeting room. I process Jake’s words slowly until it dawns on me what he’s trying to say. After a second, I growl back, “No. It was fine. I’m fucking exhausted and still beat up as hell from the fight. Can a guy recover?”

“No,” he responds, slapping my back with a loud crack. “You’ve got no time off this week, Bear. With the Filthy Bastards circling, I need you on watch at the neutral territory. I don’t want to hear any shit about them trying to poach any more territory back from us.”

“That’s grunt work. I ain’t doing that. Make one of the initiates do it.” I go back to sipping my whiskey. No one, not even Vance, can tell me what the fuck to do today. I get my time to enjoy being the winner for a few days.

“Did you question me?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

I shake my head as I continue, “I don’t get why you think I’d do that shit. I haven’t had a fucking day off in weeks, boss. After last night, I thought you’d lay the hell off of me.”

“‘Lay the hell off of you?’” he sneers. “You think I fucking give a rat’s ass about when you got your last day off or what you did last night. All I know is that you screwed some chick you shouldn’t have and started shit bigger than you know. So no, I’m not gonna ‘lay the hell off of you.’”

“What does bedding the Filthy Bastards chick have anything to do with it? You and Killer both agreed to the price. If you had a problem then, you should have said something!” I shout while rising to my feet. I am not interested in mind games tonight. If someone has a beef with me, they say it to my face. Pussyfooting around the subject was the sure way to get your teeth knocked in—even if you are my club’s president.

“Did you really think you could get away with that? That girl you plucked was Killer’s girl. She was a newbie property. The boys in her club are seething. And now you’ve gone and got a target on your back the size of Texas.” He walks closer to me, adding, “And that’s not to say what the boys here now think of you.”

“I don’t give a shit what they think of me. It was my decision. I did what you asked me to do, and I took what was owed to me.”

“That don’t matter, kid. How many fucking times do I have to get it through your head that you’re part of a MC? You ride with us. You die with us. There’s no ‘you’ in that equation. Whatever you do, you do it for the fucking club.” He smiles with that sadistic grin as he drops the hammer, “And tonight, you’re going to the damn neutral zone and making sure your club is protected. End of discussion.”

I fucking hate being talked to like I’m a teenage girl home late from the dance. I didn’t sign up for Vance being my mommy when I decided to join up with the Wilderkind. Back when I was some piss-poor fighter living on the floor of my boxing gym, I had more freedom than I did now. It was Vance who promised that I would be rich, I would have a family, and I would be able to do whatever the fuck I wanted to do! And now that I’ve made the decision to fuck with a girl that’s not club property, the entire MC has gone mad over it.

It takes everything in my power not to kick over the damn chairs or toss the tables out from under the fuckers that sit there. I know when I’m being punished, and this is punishment. If Vance wants me to work, like do actual real work that’s part of my skill set, I will be riding security for him tonight—not this patrolling neutral parts of the city for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

Still, I can’t argue. As much as I know when I’m getting shit on, I also know when to shut my goddamn mouth and just bare it. I crossed the line when I stood up to Vance. He is, after all, the president of my club and the one who makes the decision on if I eat tomorrow. He could turn the rest of the guys on me, if he hasn’t already, with a click of his fingers. Then where would I be? Back to living on the streets or, worse, dead in some gutter. That’s the reality here. It’s fucking bitter, but I gotta know my place and when to stand down.

Luckily, my shift passes quickly. The neighborhood I’m assigned to is basically a ghost town except for a few nail places, a barber shop, and a few dead bars where only a few of the old timers go to drink the day away. I spend most of my time hanging out on one of the corners where I’ve got the best advantage point of the dealers and hawkers standing outside. None of them are loyal to either club, which is exactly what we’re looking for. Neutral stays neutral when the businesses are independent.

I chat with one of the dealers I recognize, Old Anthony, who has been selling dope on this street for God knows how long. Because he’s harmless and small-time, no one messes with him. Unlike the younger guys who bring in big stocks from the Mexican cartels, we don’t try to poach him—and that makes him valuable. He sees things that only someone riding in the gray can.

“What’s shaking, Bear?” he asks, stretching out his arm for a friendly handshake. “I haven’t seen your sorry ass around these parts in over a year. Your Wilderkind sends these tiny young guys out here who think they own the place. It’s nice to see a friendly face.”

Friendly face? That’s bullshit. No one in his right mind would call me a friendly face. I keep a pretty tight reputation between these parts as being as terrifying as I need and want to be. The owners of the shops here and around my area would rather avoid me altogether than talk to me. This crazy ass embraces me like someone’s long-lost cousin.

“Not much, my man,” I reply as I take a seat next to him on the rickety old ramp to one of the closed-down business. “What’s going on? You got any info for me I should know?”

“You know me. I keep my nose out of everyone’s business.” He leans in closer to me and adds, “But, I hear you got yourself messed up in some shit yesterday.”

“You could say that,” I mutter. Great. Even the lowlife pond scum knows about the girl and me.

“If it were me, and it’s not… I’d keep my eye on my own boys. There seem to be more rumblings from them then the Filthy Bastards. I’d watch your back, Caesar.” Old Anthony rubs his neck and then looks out at the clear street. “I’ve seen a lot of guys get caught up in their own club’s drama because of their pride. That is, I’ve seen them not come back. You know what I’m saying?”

“I hear ya, man. I hear ya.” His warning is enough for me: keep my head down, my nose clean, and my mind on my money. No more messing with chicks like Sunny. Show club loyalty and earn back whatever trust I lost by messing around with her. That’s all I can do to survive and get my place back in the club on the right standing.

My phone buzzes at my hip and I move away from Anthony to take it. As I suspected, it’s Vance again, probably with another bitch-level job for me to do.

“What is it?” I answer as I try to fight back my anger.

“You’re off. Your shift’s done.” Vance’s matter-of-factness gets the prickly little hairs on my back raised.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I just got here two hours ago? My shift is eight. I’m not leaving unless I’m getting paid for all eight.”

“Your shift is done, Bear. Get the fuck out of there and report in when I call you up next.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I growl. “You first give me a crap job, and now you’re gonna dick out on paying me for my time too? What the hell man?”

The other end of the line goes dead. What a son of a bitch. He can’t even pony up an answer for me. Spineless, power-tripping motherfucker. I curse under my breath as I walk back towards my bike. But Old Anthony calls me over before I can get too far.

“That’s the other thing I was gonna tell you, Bear.” He clears his throat before whispering quietly, “Don’t you trust any of them. They may be your brothers, but you look out for you and your own first.”

After listening to Vance, the guy I always thought was my real father figure, shit on me and dismiss me like this, I’m taking Old Anthony’s advice to heart. I nod my head at him and slowly walk back to my bike. It’s not even twilight when I get back to headquarters to clock out. The boys gearing up for the night shift shuffle around mindlessly, most likely jonesing for a drink or a hit or two that Vance won’t let them have before they head out for the ride.

“Yo! Bear!” one of the younger guys, a newer recruit, calls towards me. “What the hell are you doing back here? I thought you were working the afternoon shift?”

“I got pulled,” I shoot back. I don’t owe this kid any details. I’m more surprised that he’s even talking to me considering the rest of the group are avoiding eye contact with me like I’m some kind of catchable disease.

“Damn, that sucks,” he shouts over his friends. “You wanna go grab a beer with us? We’re supposed to be in training, but they canceled that tonight.” One of the boys next to him elbows him in the side, but he insists by offering to buy me a round. I’m not gonna refuse that, especially if my cash is going to be lower tonight.

Him and two of the other newbies head off with me to a bar in the neutral territory. The Roaring Eagle is as dinky as you can get, but it’s a biker bar where most of the new club recruits go when they’re not allowed in the real club owned bars. I’d much rather be sitting barside at the Wild One Tavern, but this will do. The drinks are cheap. The women, women who don’t belong to any club, are out in full force, and I don’t have to talk to anyone about what happened between Sunny and me.

For the Roaring Eagle being what it is, it sure is crowded tonight. The music is blaring some kind of oldies rock station through the open windows while the foggies smoke their hand-rolled cigarettes on the wooden porch. A few heads turn in my directions, but no one of consequence is here. I grab a bar stool near the corner where I can watch the door, and force myself to listen to the kid that dragged me in here ask a million questions about club policies and traditions.

“When we get tested, what do we need to know? Tommy Tee told us that we need the routes memorized. Is that right? Like all the routes or just the main stuff? And do you know what happens if we get failed? Do we get a second chance, or is that it? No one is answering that for us, and we’d really like a straight ans—”

“Shut up, kid.” I put a hand on his chest as I stand to my feet. Just out the corner of my eye, I spot her. Sunny’s hard to miss with that long, blonde hair tucked up in a high bun on her head. She glides across the room to a few of her friends who place their arms around her in a hug. Something about her looks worse for wear from when I left her this morning. She’s been crying. The smeared makeup she wasn’t able to wash off all the way tells me that. And her black painted fingernails tap anxiously into the wooden bar top as she talks to some guy I don’t recognize. She looks just about as interested in him as she would a math lecture.

The guy orders something from the bartender, smiling at her the whole time. He points over towards the jukebox and hands her a few quarters. Real slick, kid. Every guy’s tried that one before. But this motherfucker ain’t like anyone. I watch as he quickly grabs a little mint tin out of his pocket and drops a quick-dissolving tablet into the drink he ordered for Sunny. He stirs it up with the cocktail straw and hands it back to her with a sadistic little grin.

I can’t move fast enough to stop her from drinking it. But I am able to land a swift punch in the face before either of them can realize that I’m there.

“What the fuck!” she screams at me as the man falls to the ground at her feet. “Bear! What the hell are you doing?”

I grab the drink out of her hand, tossing it to the ground. The glass shatters on the ground near the man’s head. With a kick to his ribcage with my steel toed boots, I explain, “This asshole just drugged you, Sunny! I watched it myself. Check his pockets!”

Sunny eyes her friend who kneels down beside the stranger and rummages through the unconscious man’s jacket pockets. She finds the tin and holds it to her.

“It’s just a mint, Bear,” Sunny says, exhausted.

“Fuck that shit. Open it up. It’s a damn roofie, girl.” I take it out of her hand and show her the white tablet with the crisscrossed line running through it. The words have been carved out. I pass it over to the bartender, and he nods in agreement.

“Holy shit,” Sunny’s friend says. “What do we do?”

“You’re getting the hell out of here,” I say as I grab Sunny’s arm.

“What? No.” Sunny looks back and forth from her crew and me, clearly reluctant to take off like this. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Bear.”

“Like hell you’re not.”

“Call Killer or Cobra,” Sunny orders one of the girls standing near her. “He’s gonna want to know what Ricco’s done.”

“He’s not gonna be happy,” the friend says.

“Come on, Sunny. Let him handle it. You need to get out of here.” I pull on her.

“I don’t care!” she shouts, frustrated at both her friends and me. “I’m not going anywhere until I talk to Killer.”

I force her aside, pushing her to the opposite corner of the bar where she’s out of reach of her friends. With nowhere for her to run, she is forced to look straight up at me with those sparkling blue eyes of hers. I place a finger on her face as I scold her, “Listen here, I’m not in the mood to start a war between your club and mine, but you have to be fucking joking if you think you’re safe here.”

“Why not? I’ve got protection.”

“Those girls you’re with aren’t protection. They didn’t see that guy of yours drop a roofie in your drink. You really think they’re gonna protect you when your boss comes around?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Dammit! Are you really that blind, Sunny? Someone’s after you and me both. My club’s trying to push me out, and yours is trying to reclaim you—get you to fall back in line with the rest of the dumbass girls they own.”

“Nobody owns me,” she protests, standing a bit closer to me—so close that I can feel her sweet breath on my neck and chin. She needs to stand on her toes to reach my eye-level.

“No one should,” I answer back. “But don’t be a fucking idiot about this. Get the hell out of here before whatever you drunk knocks you the hell out, and you wind up in someone else’s bed.”

“Not yours?” she asks, blinking rapidly.

“Not mine.”

“Good.” She pulls back. I can’t tell if she’s disappointed in my answer or just being her sarcastic, flirty self. “Goodbye, Bear,” she adds as she ducks under my arm and heads over towards the girls. They huddle together in one of those girls-only formations until someone takes Sunny’s arm and leads her outside to the parking lot.

I stand in the corner, alone, for a long while. The whole bar has its eyes on me as the seconds tick by. But no one moves or dares say a word about the man lying on his back in the middle of the bar or the fact that I’m the one who knocked him out. Finally, the new rider I’m with has the balls to step up to me.

“What are you gonna do, Bear?”

“I’m not gonna do a damn thing,” I say as I sit back down at the bar and order another myself another drink.

If my world is going to end tonight or a war is going to break out because I defended Sunny, I’m sure as hell going to make sure that I’m not sober enough to watch it happen. Bring it on.   

Chapter Seven

Sunny

Oh shit.

Oh God.

Oh shit.

What the fuck did I just do?

My hands shake as I look down at the white and purple stick. This is the fifth one I’ve used. I don’t think I have enough tears or pee left to do another. I can’t avoid it—it’s true, there in a strong purple plus sign on the pregnancy test in my hand, and the half-dozen other ones in the sink.

It can’t be true, though. This has to be some kind of sick joke. The girls must have replaced the box or are playing a trick on me. They’ve been complete bitches ever since Ricco got a beat down for attempting to drug me in a bar. Most of them aren’t even talking to me outside the shrug or a grunt here and there. I wouldn’t put it past them to find some fake pregnancy tests and place them in our bathroom knowing that I was more than two months late for my period.

I turn the box over, reading it carefully. There has to be somewhere on the box or the shiny metal wrappers that says, “HAHAHA! Screw you! You thought you were pregnant, but you aren’t! All these are fake positives to freak you out, make you throw up a few times, and lead to you hogging the bathroom for three hours while you cry yourself an actual river.”

But there isn’t any evidence whatsoever that this is a prank. The box is one hundred percent legit. The tests look and feel like the real thing too. I’ve taken enough pregnancy tests in my life to know what they should look like or how they should act when you pee on them. I’ve never, ever, seen them pop up with a plus sign before. Not until today.

Okay. So not defective or joke tests. What else could be wrong? I think I’ve heard from another one of the girls about how her sister’s friend’s something-or-other once took a test, got positive after positive, and it ended up being an infection. I mean, that sounds plausible. It could be that. I haven’t been feeling myself lately. My back has been hurting, and my stomach has been upset a few times. I’ve blamed it on food poisoning and Mary’s shitty cooking, but it could be an infection or something.

But none of the other girls are sick or acting strange or barfing up their morning breakfast. I haven’t even seen one of them with a fever in months. If I’m the only one in this apartment with any symptoms, maybe it isn’t an infection. Maybe this is the real deal. These tests with the humongous plus signs are telling me the God-awful truth.

It can’t be. It really can’t be. Ever since the whole Ricco incident at the bar, I’ve been basically excommunicated from the Filthy Bastards. The guys have been assholes. They bring up that public bath whenever I’m around, even though that was months ago now. There are even some pictures floating around of me sitting on the floor in a huge tub covered in soap. Thank goodness I’m not nude.

That being said, my sex life has been… well, nonexistent. I can’t remember the last time a guy has even touched me beyond the regular pinch on the ass or rub against my chest. Outside of explaining to Killer what happened the night at the bar, I haven’t even been alone with a guy since…

Oh shit.

Oh God.

No. No. No! It can’t be. It really cannot be. I pull out my phone and check my calendar for the invite to the fight. I’ve got to scroll back about nine weeks, but there it is. That little dot for an event jumps out at me like claws to suck me back into that night with the Wilderkind guy, Bear, pushing me bareback and all against the scratchy stucco walls of the motel or us, the next morning, holding onto one another for dear life as we moaned and screamed on the dingy carpet.

It’s him. It’s gotta be him. There is no one else it could be. The timing matches up too perfectly to deny. I’m two months late, and it’s been about eight or nine weeks since we slept together and when I last heard from him. If my last period was about a week before that night, it means that there’s only one man this fits in with. It just so happens to be the last man on Earth I would want to be having a baby with.

FUCK! I scroll through my phone’s contacts until I find my OBGYN. After a quick call, they can see me today. Just my luck. At least I’ll get some straight answers. I quickly gather my stuff into my bookbag and head out the door. With no guys willing to give me a lift to town, I’m on my own on the walk. For one, I’m actually thankful for the quiet. I can hear my thoughts, unlike back at the apartment with the girls constantly talking, singing, playing music loudly, screwing… Without anyone bothering me, I’ve got all the time in the world to think about what life would be like with a baby.

If it really is Bear’s, there is going to be hell to pay. Already, Filthy Bastard girls who get knocked up outside being someone’s old lady are almost always thrown on their asses. They’re not wanted. No one wants to take care of them either. And without a court ordered paternity test, the guy who did the deed gets away with it like it’s nothing, like we are disposable. Sometimes Killer or Cobra takes pity on a girl if she can prove that it belongs to a club guy or the guy confesses that it had to be him. In that case, Killer’s pretty fair in having the guy’s pay docked, so the girl gets it. We call it “club child support.” There are a couple of girls that have managed to get that lucky break. The rest of the girls I know are long gone—forgotten faces replaced by new girls like me.

But I can only imagine what would happen to me if someone found out I have a bun in the oven and then put two and two together that the child belonged to him. No doubt I’d have no chance to appeal. I would probably be gone that night without anyone even knowing what had happened to me. No one would question it. No one would come looking for me, because, in their minds, I’m still the girl that spread her legs for a Wilderkind.

The sterile doctor’s office with the pretty pregnant women stroking their tummies isn’t making me feel better about the situation. The girls waiting all look like they have their lives figured out. There are rings on their fingers and designer bags on their shoulders. They are the ones that should be having kids—not wild girls like me whose life revolves around where the party is. Even as I am sitting in the waiting area flipping through last month’s Vogue, my phone is ringing off the hook with messages about a boxing match downtown the girls are all going to. I should be getting ready for it. Not waiting to hear if my life is about to change.

Eventually, the nurse calls my name, unceremoniously hands me a cup to pee in, and leaves me alone in cramped exam room while she runs the same test I did at home. A few minutes later, a white coat doctor, who looks to be about my age, walks in.

“Sunny? Is that right?” She waits for me to swallow the lump in my throat before proceeding. “Well, congratulations are in order! It looks like you’re pregnant.” I glare at her, so she immediately loses the celebratory tone and moves on. “According to the notes the nurse took, it looks like you’re about eight or nine weeks along. It’s a little early for the heartbeat, but we could do a quick ultrasound to check to see if everything’s okay since you’re complaining of some stomach issues. Would you like that?”

I nod. I can’t bear to talk after hearing her confirm that I am in fact pregnant. There’s life growing in me. What am I going to do?

She helps me up to the table while the nurse wheels in a small cart with a monitor the size of my iPad hooked to it. Within a few minutes of searching, the doctor finds a white-ish gray spot floating in the center of a larger circle. Satisfied with herself, she exclaims, “Yes! There it is. That’s your baby.” She draws a few lines, measurements she explains, and makes some calculations. “It looks like the nurses’ estimates were right—about eight or nine weeks. It’s hard to tell until further along, but your dates look pretty exact to me. That would put your due date at about December 15.”

Maybe sensing my complete shock, the nurse gently presses on my shoulder as she says, “I’m going to print some pictures out for you. Would you like a copy for the dad?”

For the dad? For what dad? For the guy who I shouldn’t have slept with but did on a bet and now will have to answer to that night over and over again. For the guy who protected me, made me feel whole and wild and free, and then gave me this pulsating, beating life? For the man that I will never and should never see again?

“No,” I answer quietly and turn back to watching the small bean inside of me flicker slightly with the beat of its growing heart.

***

“Are you coming or not, Sunny? We have to leave in like ten minutes.” Larissa pounds on the door of my room in frustration. I don’t blame her. I haven’t left this room all day—not since I got back from the doctor’s office. I really don’t know what I would say or do if I could make myself leave. Nothing is the same as it was before.

“Sunny? Come on! The whole club is going. If you’re not there, you’re gonna get hell for days!” I don’t know why Larissa cares this much. Maybe it’s because the rest of the club treats her like a freaking princess when I’m not there to abuse and toss around. Maybe it’s because she likes the drama. Either way, I’m not biting. Not tonight.

Suddenly, I hear some jostling on the other side. Kitka forces her way through, snapping, “Move out of the way. Let me handle this.” She clears her throat before yelling, “Let me the hell in, Sunny, or I’ll use the goddamn skeleton key! You hear me?” There’s a beat of silence before I watch in horror as the doorknob begins to twist and the old lock turns. I grab the tear stained sonogram picture and toss it under my bed before running to open the door for her.

“What the hell are you doing, Kitka! I’m not going to the damn fight!” She pushes past me until she’s fully in the bedroom. Her steely brown eyes give me a once over, but I can’t care less about what I look like right now.

“Is she coming?” Larissa asks as she sneaks her head in.

“Get the hell out of here,” Kitka replies. “I have some business for Sunny.” My stomach instantly turns over. Whatever’s growing inside me is making my nausea so much worse with Kitka around and lurking. Larissa shuts the door quietly behind her, and we’re left alone—never a good thing with Kitka.

“What is this? Why do you think you can barge into my room like this?” I whisper. My throat scratches as I try to keep it down.

“Why can I barge in here? Hmmm… Let me see…” She pulls something out of the back of her bright red skirt and holds it up for me. That pit in my stomach sinks as I instantly recognize the positive pregnancy test from this morning. I must have dropped one of them or left it behind when I was rushing off to the doctor’s. Dammit!

Still, I have to keep it cool. I can’t let Kitka know. She’s the last person in the world I would want to figure this out. Her connections with Cobra could get me in deep shit.

“It looks like a pregnancy test,” I reply with my usual bit of sarcasm and distaste for her.

“Well, aren’t you a freaking genius. Do you know who it belongs to, Sunny?”

“I have no clue, Kitka. I can’t tell ownership by the pee on that stick.”

She sits on my bed, spreading her skirt neatly in her lap. “Well, here’s what I’m thinking. You haven’t had your period in, oh, a month or two. I would know since we’re on the same schedule. And you’ve been sick lately, right? Right. Then there’s the fact that you were the last one in the bathroom when I came home this morning. So putting all the clues together…”

“It’s not mine,” I attempt to finish her statement.

She stands again, walking straight toward me, so I have nowhere to go but to land against the wall of my bedroom. “Don’t play fucking dumb with me. I know you went to the lady doctor today. I know you were in the bathroom for a helluva long time. And I sure as fuck know what morning sickness looks like. You’re pregnant, and it’s that bastard Wilderkind’s baby, isn’t it?”

“What the hell are you—”

“I already called Killer, Sunny.”

My mind goes blank as I ask, “Why the fuck would you do that, Kitka? Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I did what is right for the club. That’s what I always do. Those boys are my boys. And when you went off and screwed one of the others, you lost all your chances with me.”

“You wanted me to sleep with him!” I shout as I push her hard in the chest. She stumbles backward as I continue to yell. “You’ve wanted me out since the day I got here. You couldn’t take that I was younger and hotter than you and that the guys wanted me more than they wanted you! You set me up, and you damn well know it!”

Kitka flies back onto the bed. Her arms held up high for protection. I raise my arm in the air with my fist balled up and ready for the smack, but a hand suddenly grabs me away and pulls me down to the ground.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” Killer roars while he towers over me. “What are you doing, Sunny?” The club president looks so out of place in my bedroom with the floral prints and the light pink comforter. His face is seized up in rage at the sight of his ladies fighting like this. The rest of the apartment goes quiet. Through the open door, I watch as the girls file out of the place as quickly as they can. No doubt they want to know what’s going on, but Killer probably ordered them off to that fight.

When the last one’s gone, Kitka holds up the pregnancy test to him. “This is why I called you, Killer. It’s hers. I know it is.” He turns it over in his hand—almost like I did when I couldn’t believe if it was real or not.

“Is this yours?” he asks without looking at me.

I gulp down the lump in my throat. It’s time to tell the truth, no matter the cost. I can’t keep this up any longer. “Yes, sir. It’s mine.”

He sits down on my vanity, the test still in his hands. “How far along are you?”

“Eight or nine weeks. They can’t really tell…”

“It’s not Ricco’s?” His voice almost sounds hopeful. I hate to burst the bubble.

“No. I didn’t sleep with him without protection. We just went on a few dates.”

“Then it’s—”

“It’s that fucking Wilderkind guy, Bear!” Kitka shouts. “This whore fucking got herself knocked up by him!”

“Shut up, Kitka,” Killer commands. “I don’t want to hear anything about this.”

“But… but it’s club rules,” she contests. “Sunny’s got to go.”

He looks down at the ground towards his feet. I have no idea why he doesn’t just take my be the arm and throw me out the window. That’s what I would think a guy like Killer would do to girls like me who are stupid enough to sleep with a guy without the right protection.

After a long pause where both Kitka and I stare at him in wonder, he calmly explains, “I’m not kicking her out. It was her duty to sleep with Bear that night as the prize. I agreed to it. I am responsible for this.”

“WHAT!” Kitka’s voice thunders through the empty apartment. “She made a bet with me that she could sleep with him.”

“Then it’s your fault too,” he shoots back. “You are in with club leadership. You should fucking know better than to play that game. That goes for you too, Sunny. I should kick both your sorry asses out of the club, but I’m loyal to Cobra and, like I said, I’m taking responsibility for what went down between Bear and you.”

He stands and heads towards the window. “I’m taking claim on you, Sunny. You’re gonna be an old woman for Cobra.”

“What! Cobra is my… he’s my…!” Kitka looks towards me desperately, but I don’t dare question Killer when he’s showing me mercy.

“You’re going to sleep with him and soon. There’s going to be no denying that the baby isn’t his. After it’s born, Cobra can leave you, and you can get the money the club owes you and the child.”

“No. No, please Killer.”

“This is punishment for you too, Kitka. You’re no one’s boss around here, and it’s fucking time you learned that lesson. What is said in this room goes no further or you’ll end up where I should be putting you. You get me?”

Her feet tap into the ground as I can see her literally bite her tongue. “Is that it?” she asks, breaking her silence. “Is that all you want from me? Can I go?”

Killer dismisses her with his hand, leaving only us in the room. The man’s shadow casts long on my floor as he stands there before the window undoubtedly watching Kitka storm off into the early night.

I’m not sure what to say in a moment like this. He is saving me, throwing me a lifeline, but he most likely knows that putting me with a guy like Cobra is dangerous. Cobra’s the kind of guy who is best described as a ticking time bomb. He’s unpredictable, hard to read, and untamed. No one but Kitka can keep up with him or take him on like she can. Killer’s throwing me into a lone, hungry wolf’s den without a way out or a gun to fight myself off with.

“What if he says no?” I ask under my breath. “What am I supposed to do?”

“He will say yes. I will make sure of it. But you need to do your fucking part by making it work with Cobra, and keep yourself away from the Wilderkind. They get word of it, and they’ll come gunning for that baby and for you for hiding it. I’m not gonna have a war break out over some bastard baby.”

“Okay,” I say with a resigned sigh. “I can do that. I can sleep with Cobra.”

“Good because you don’t have any other choice, Sunny.”

He walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. With the apartment quiet again, I pick up the photo from under the bed and place it on my pillow. I quickly strip down and curl up under the light comforter. The pillow rests next to my head as I whisper to the dot of a baby. “I know it’s gonna be hard, kid. But we’re gonna make it. I’m gonna do whatever I have to do to keep us alive and safe—even if it means keeping you away from your real daddy.”

The sunlight dies, my room turns a blue-ish black, and I dream of Bear and his arms draped around my body.

Chapter Eight

Bear

Outside the small locker room, the people are going crazy. I hear them chanting, screaming, and calling out my name. I used to live for this shit. I used to peek outside those doors and watch as the fight girls with their big tits and tiny T-shirts talked excitedly about me. This was my scene. But tonight, I’d rather be a million damn miles away.

“You got your head in the game, man? You look like you’re sleeping on the job.” Jack tosses a towel at me that I barely catch in my taped-up hands. Who knows how long he’s been staring at me drifting off into space. I blink rapidly and then glare back. It’s none of his business what I look like.

“Another ten minutes,” Cliff says as he paces the floor. He stares down at his phone with his fingers rushing across the keyboard. “The presidents want to let the betting go on a little bit longer before the first match. They’re probably making a killing out of it. It looks like all the riders in the tri-county are here.” He stops at the door and opens it just enough to let the sound in. The roars send shivers up my spine.

“Who is fighting first?” I ask, not really caring about the answer. Truth is, I want these guys off my fucking back. I hate having a crew in my locker room. It distracts me from my pre-bout routine, and it forces me to talk when I’d rather sit here in silence and go through my plan of attack.

“You’re last. That’s for sure. After you knocked out that Filthy Bastards guy, you’re gold to the club… at least with fighting.” He doesn’t want to mention how I’m still being demoted in every other area. I haven’t gotten my original route back since I took my Sunny prize. It has been weeks since I spoke with Vance about it, but I have been making some progress. Just last week, he stopped assigning me back-to-back graveyard shifts with the young riders. My punishment is, from how it appears, coming to a close.

Jack, always the honest one, isn’t afraid to speak his mind on the subject. “Yeah. Get one more win for the Wilderkind against the Filthy Bastards fighter tonight, and you’ll be back up on top. No one’s gonna question your loyalty if you knock him out in the first round.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” I tell him, shaking my head. I’ve got confidence and the balls to back it up, but I’m also realistic. I haven’t trained in a month. The shifts and demotion have kept me from working out, and my mind has been everywhere else but the gym when I was able to get in a few hours at the weights and cardio machines.

“The guy’s a legit fighter,” I justify myself. “He’s not some fucking pansy they think is gonna be able to take a hit because he’s 250 pounds of muscle. They’re gonna be smarter about it this round.” I had time to do my research on the guy they are putting me up against. He’s not a huge name in the boxing circles. My old coach had zero clue who he was, but he eventually found his info from one of the smaller training circles. The guy took some classes and advanced pretty fast through the amateur rings. That was dangerous enough—young, stupid, and somewhat skilled. Those guys were the ones you couldn’t prepare for.

There’s a muffled knock at the door, and us three spin on our toes to see Vance and Killer before us. I have forgotten about this part. They all look a little green in their face as Vance takes a step forward. “You know how this goes, Bear. What do you want if you win?”

I don’t even hesitate. No way in hell am I getting in trouble like I did the last time. “Ten percent of the winnings from the bookies, top shelf alcohol, and a $500 prize.” I reach out my hand and practically grab Vance’s arm to seal the deal. Both of them nod coldly at me and then take a step backward. They each take turns eyeing me as they make their decision.

Finally, Killer comes back and says, “It’s done. Good luck out there. You’re gonna need it tonight.” He’s always a hard one to read, but tonight, I’m getting a strange vibe off of him. There’s no smugness; no arrogant bastard attitude that I’m used to from Vance. He is, instead, stone-faced and all business. He can barely look me in the eye as he shakes my hand. Something about it throws me off. What the hell is this guy up to that he can’t treat me like a fucking man?

“We’ll see,” I reply, a cocky smile plastered on my face. If this was his ploy to psych me out, it sure as shit isn’t going to work on me. I am too experienced for that mental mind fuck, and I’m too cold to let some sorry ass excuse for a club president get to me. I turn back to my crew with my fists pounding into one another, finally pumped up to get out of this dressing area and into the crowd. I could practically feel their vibrations through the ceiling and floor.

Jake stands next to me, his hand on my shoulder, as he whispers, “This is your time, Bear. You get this win, and you’re back on top. No one in their right fucking mind is gonna question who you are or where your loyalties are. You hear me?” I growl in response, and he continues, “Good! Get that damn fighting spirit going and do this for the Wilderkind!” All three of us shout together, howling towards the ceiling. The adrenaline has begun pumping through my veins, coursing up to my brain. I grab my towel and sweatshirt, and we’re out.

“Oh my God! Bear! Bear!” one of the women in the crowd shouts as we pass a line of club girls sitting at the top of the bleachers. “You can do it, Bear! Just think of what we have in store for you when you win!” I turn my head just in time to see the brown-haired biker bitch maven lean across one of the other women for a juicy, deep kiss. Her hands massage at her round and full boobs just slightly. I lick my lips in return. That’s some meat I could bite into.

I haven’t had a chance to satisfy my cravings since my time with Sunny. There have been a few offers—mainly from the opportunist girls who want to sleep with someone, anyone, that would possibly get them in with other, higher up, guys. They were the ones that were totally inexperienced, who said all the wrong things at all the wrong times. Amateur hour, really. What I want is a girl like the ones fawning over me. I want a girl who will let me push her hard up against a wall … a girl who will let me take her on the floor before a hotel bed with her tits bouncing up and down before me…

Fuck! No. I am not going to do this. I am not going to think about Sunny. I’ve spent the last damn month washing her out of my memory—erasing every trace of her from my system. I thought going on a sex fast was going to make it easier for me to crave someone else, anyone else. But it always seems to come back to her. Even as I am about to repeat the night I met her and then ruined my reputation, I am still hung up on her Barbie-blonde hair pinned up in a ponytail and the smell of her perfume against the inside of her wrist.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Jake calls towards me, “Let’s go get to our spots!” God knows how long I’ve been standing here nailed inside my own shoes. The entire row of people is staring up at me like I’m about to keel over or run away. Down by where the rest of the Wilderkind fighters and their men are waiting, there’s an empty set of chairs for us. They’re just getting colder.

I march past Jake, being sure to clip his shoulder on the way. I grab my phone and headphones out of the gym bag Cliff’s holding on to and turn on the only few songs I let myself listen to before fights. Hard, heavy guitars fill my ears and blasts over the rest of the makeshift arena. I can barely hear myself think, and tonight, that’s a good thing.

The first fight goes off quickly. It’s a quick KO for the Wilderkinds. The guy up there is one of my trainees. I’ve been working with him for a year now, teaching him the basics. He’s a little guy, but he gets the job done. It’s such a fast change for the second fight that they don’t even bother to wipe up the blood splatters covering the floor of the square, poorly built ring. As the next two get to their starting points, my music fades, and I hear the ping from a message. It’s an unknown number, but I expect that—probably someone wishing me luck or some dick from the Filthy Bastards trying to get to me.

I’m partially right. It is a Filthy Bastards member, but it’s not one of the boys sending me dick pics or taunting messages about my mom. It’s a girl named Kitty Kat. I’m familiar with her. She’s the number one girl over there—the second’s lady. It’s only a few words long, but it manages to send chills up my spine: Meet me at the dressing rooms. Now.

What the hell could Cobra’s girl want from me unless this had to do with Sunny? I scan the room quickly, allowing myself to do the one thing I had promised I wouldn’t. There’s no sign of Sunny even in the group of FBMC girls. I would be able to pick her out easily with that golden hair of hers, but she’s missing. If Kitty Kat wants to talk to me about her, I have a damn impossible choice to make.

I spin my head towards the dressing area I just came from. I can see Kitty waiting there, phone in hand. She leans casually against the door to the men’s room as she waits for me. I know I should say no or at least ignore the damn message. But I can’t stay away. I’m like a fucking moth to the light. There’s no way in hell I’m going to avoid her.

“I’ve gotta run to the bathroom!” I shout over the noise of the crowd. “I’ll be back for the third match!”

“You’re not gonna miss much, Bear. This guy is gonna get the shit kicked out of him.” I look up to the two men duking it out before me. Our guy can barely stand on his feet. I didn’t have much time if I was the fifth one to go. With my head ducked down, I sprint off towards Kitty Kat with some prayers that no one is watching me go off with another damn FBMC girl.

I don’t acknowledge her when I pass her by. I open the door to the makeshift locker room and dressing area so she can pass through without me. She lowers her long, tan neck to avoid smacking into my arm and then finds a seat on one of the metal folding chairs. She crosses her arms and her legs and looks off towards the tiled walls. “That was quick.”

“What the fuck do you want?” I spit back. I’ve got no time for sassy-mouthed bitches tonight—especially if being with them alone for even a minute could get me in a helluva lot of trouble.

“Oh, I just wanted to check in on you, Bear. See how you were doing. I don’t think I introduced myself the last time we were around one another. You were too busy with… uh, what’s her name?” She smiles wickedly, white teeth glaring like fangs.

“If this is about Sunny, I’m not interested.” I go to walk back towards the door, but she stands up and forces the chair to drag on the cement floor with a horrible squeal.

“It’s not about Sunny. It’s about me.” She smooths out the folds of her skin tight navy blue dress, the kind of dress you have to peel someone out of if you wanna get anywhere with them. “You see, with the Filthy Bastards, we have this thing that if one girl goes for another girl’s man, we get to make a little trade.”

She stops dead in front of me, a hand resting on my bare chest. Her slim, long body rests slightly against mine so that I can feel her thigh resting right underneath my junk and her tits brush against my stomach and abs.

“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.

“It means that Sunny is with my man now, so I get a taste of what she found so fascinating with you.”

“‘With your man?’” I repeat as I try to ignore her hand sliding down the line to the waistband of my shorts. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that Sunny’s been claimed by Cobra. He is—was—my man. And if she thinks she can go in and pull rank, she’s forgetting that I can do the same to her. So, I’m here to offer you some services.” She stands on her tippy toes and pulls her face towards mine. Her pearly teeth bite down on her puckered red bottom lip while her palm of her hand locks onto my cock.

Startled, I try to bat her away, pushing my face away from her. “What the fuck!” I growl. “Get the hell away from me. I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last fucking bitch on the planet.”

“You touched Sunny,” she coos. “I’m much, much more experienced than her.” She nibbles on my ear, and I can practically taste her breath on me. But with the information she’s given me, I can’t even focus on how she’s massaging my dick or that her mouth is nearing me. All I can see is Sunny, my Sunny, with her arms draped around Cobra’s thick, tattooed neck, and her thin legs wrapped around his waist and hips.

A fucking fire flames up in me—a fire I thought I had lost months ago. I grab Kitty Kat by the shoulders and spin her off and around me so that she falls on her ass on the concrete floor.

The funny thing is that she doesn’t look wounded or upset as I reject her. In fact, she looks completely delighted. She stands and reaches for the door. The crowd sounds have died down with the ending of a round.

It’s not until she starts yelling that I see her plan in action. “Help me! Get off me! I don’t want you like that, Bear!” It takes a moment for her yells to register with the Filthy Bastard boys sitting in rows before us, but after a few tries, they stand to their feet and look back to see Kitka—hair disheveled and dress barely clinging to her—put on a half-assed attempt to look as if I was holding her back from leaving the room. 

“What the fuck is going on here?” one of them cries as they stand to their feet. A group of four or five of them march over towards us before I can even think of some fucking lie to get out of this mess.

“Oh my God! Hank!” Kitty Kat practically wails into his chest, “I was just coming to give this asshole a message, and he was… touching me, trying to make me go with him into the locker room!”

“Fucking hell I was!” I argued. “I don’t want anything to do with this dried out pussy!”

“What did you say about Kitty?” the largest guy shouts back as he stumbles towards me. “You wanna mess with her, you gotta go through me.”

“That’s fine, pal,” I say with my hands up. “I don’t want jack shit with her. Get her the fuck out of my dressing room. I’ve gotta match to win.”

The Filthy Bastard boys look around at one another before taking Kitty Kat by her arm and leading her out the room. From around the corner, I see her smile at me. That chick got exactly what she wanted.

Chapter Nine

Sunny

“Oh man… that fight last night. I am still reeling!” Larissa squeals as she leans back into her dining chair. “Do you think that Enrique is gonna be okay? I heard from Paulo last night that he’s pretty jacked up. They ended up taking him to the hospital.”

“Damn! The hospital? I mean, that Bear guy was pounding fists into his face, but I didn’t think it was that bad until the guy completely KO’d. But then again, they did have to take him out on a stretcher…”

My ears perk hearing Bear’s name. Instinctively, my hands go back to my stomach as I massage around my belly button. I try to casually take another sip of my orange juice and nibble on my toast, but it’s clear to the other girls that I’m listening in on their recap of last night’s fight.

Larissa eyes me as she exclaims, “That Kitka and Bear thing was fucked up though. I mean, it’s one thing to do it to us when you’re part of a club, but it’s another when you go for another club’s girl like that. Like, come on, get your damn hands on the girls you know you can get.”

“What?” I ask, completely forgetting that the girls have iced me out for the last month now. But I have to know more about this. Why in the hell would Kitka be around Bear if she was told to keep my secret? Does Bear know about my condition? My mind races with the possibility of him showing up here at any moment to whisk me away to some Wilderkind hideout.

“You didn’t hear?” Mary turns to me with a grim smile stretched on her gaunt face. “Kitka says she was waiting to use the bathroom, in the wrong spot, when Bear all of a sudden charged at her and then dragged her into the dressing room. He copped a feel, probably more, and she managed to break away screaming.”

My mouth has to be hanging off its hinges. Kitka is smoking hot. I’m not going to deny that one. But, for what I know about Bear, I would think that she isn’t exactly his type—nor is she the kind of girl you can steal away for yourself in the middle of a crowd. My stomach sinks as I wait for more details, but the girls are waiting for me to react, maybe to burst out crying. I am not going to give them that satisfaction—at least not right now.

“So, what happened?” I coax them on. “What does Kitka have to say about it?”

“Well,” Mary says eagerly, “I heard that she managed to get to the door and scream out to some of our guys. They got in Bear’s face, threatening to kill him or something. Do you blame ‘em? I mean, we’re club property, and he’s already gotten a taste of us before.” She stops right there while eyeing Larissa for some guidance. Neither girls want to touch the elephant in the room; that Bear did get a Filthy Bastard girl before, and that girl went quietly off with him without putting up a fight.

Kitka, whether I believe her or not, has gotten us both into a shitstorm of trouble. If Bear were a Filthy Bastards member, he would have been excommunicated that very night for trying to score an opposite club girl twice. Clubs took pride in their ladies. They pick them just with their men in mind and they get the girls that will do just about anything for their boys and the patches they wear. That’s the pledge I took for the Filthy Bastards. It’s why I have my small little brand right on my shoulder. Trying to poach one of us is a death wish—doing it again with another girl is basically writing your own death sentence.

Kitka’s situation brings the attention back around that I did sleep with Bear and that I didn’t refuse or even try to run. And given that I haven’t been really active in club life lately, I know I’m on shaky ground in the loyalty department. Once my pregnancy is out and public knowledge, there’s gonna be questions unless I can convince Cobra to play around. 

“Well, anyways. Nothing happened after that except Kitka went home, and Bear knocked the shit out of our guy.”

“Oh yeah?” I sit up a bit straighter. “That bad, huh?”

The girls’ smiles were their answers.

“It was a bloodbath. I mean, I love watching fights, but this was hard for me to stomach. Bear was like a man on a mission.

“Yeah! We thought he was gonna kill him if their president didn’t pull him back and out of the ring. The whole place was going mad. The Wilderkind boys were screaming like savages, and our guys were itching to start shit. We got the fuck out of there before things got crazy. We heard someone may have gotten knifed.”

“Damn…” I murmur as I try to picture Bear all wild and in his element, his brown curls sticking to his sweaty, tanned skin. His hands would be flying in every direction while his muscles in his biceps and chest flexed and retracted. In my mind, he is part animal, part God. And I can’t help but smirk at the thought of me bedding a guy like him… Again.

“Where is Kitka?” I ask as I snap out of my fog. The girls are already putting away their late morning breakfast and getting out their magazines. There was never much for us to do early in the day. Nothing really starts up for us until the sun sets.

Mary flips through the pages of some cheap gossip rag you buy at the checkout line and throws a hand in the air. “I have no clue. Girl said she was coming back home after the whole Bear thing went down, but I haven’t heard her in there all morning, nor did I see her last night. Her lamp light was on all night too.”

“I bet she went to Cobra’s house. Desperate girls gotta run back to her man for support.”

Mary laughs as she replies, “Some girls don’t know when to quit. No one is gonna lock down Cobra for good. Kitka’s been at it for years now, and all she’s got is that he’s been faithful to her and given her some cash from time to time.”

“Time to move on.” Larissa nods. “Some girls…”

I try to hide my reddening face from them as I go off to finish my morning routine. First the dishes and then cleaning the apartment. My mind turns off as I begin to sweep around the table where the two are still lounging. I’m no Cinderella, but today, I’ll gladly do their chores if it gives me time to process what they’ve told me went down last night.

I don’t know Bear well enough to know if the rumor about Kitka is true. After Killer’s convo about Cobra leaving her for me, she sure as hell walked out on us fast. There’s certainly nothing worse than a woman who has been scorned. I’ve been there. I would probably burn down the entire freaking planet if I were told I couldn’t have something that I loved and worked for years towards.

And Bear… well, he’s a motorcycle club member. As much as I want to think that there may be more, especially after he saved me at the bar, in reality, he’s just what he is—leather jacket, standard issue boots, and bloody knuckles. Men like him have urges and needs that I don’t really understand. It is stupid of me to think that I could ever be more than just a girl he lays claim to, even though there is part of me who wants it to be more, who is willing to risk it all to jump off the cliff with him.

But now it’s not only me I have to think about—there’s a third person, even if not present, I’ve got to watch out for. I slam the broom down against the wall and run back to my room. I send a quick message to Cobra letting him know that I’m on my way before changing into my tan pencil skirt and black blouse. As quickly as I can, I do up my hair and fix my makeup and bolt out of the apartment before anyone can ask any questions or Kitka shows her face.

Cobra’s apartment is only a few blocks from where the girls are located. It’s in a row with other MC boys and higher ups. Killer himself is across the street in a tiny Spanish style cottage that looks too quaint and picturesque to be owned by a single guy like him. As I round the corner, I send Cobra another text warning him I am near. It’s a defensive mechanism. I don’t want to scare him, and I certainly don’t want anyone else around while we discuss the business at hand.

Lucky for me, he’s alone when he answers the door wearing only a pair of tight black boxer briefs. The snakes that line his torso, back, and neck, look more real than ever before. They stare at me as I try to politely and confidently ask to come in. It takes me a moment to catch my breath as he lets me pass through and head towards his large, leather-clad living room. The smell of his cheap cologne and musty cigarettes is nearly unbearable,

“I don’t want to waste your time,” I offer, unsure of how intimate I should be. I’m basically putting myself out on a platter for him to take. “But have you talked to Killer… about my…”

“Yes,” he answers quickly as he takes a seat and then gestures towards the space on the loveseat next to him. The couch squeaks as I take my place, looking forward towards the blank wall. Cobra’s long arms drape over the back of the couch, and his fingers find their way towards my back and hair.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” I confess, “but it’s not like Killer’s giving me, I mean us, much of a choice.”

“You should be grateful, Sunny.” He laughs, “He should kill you for getting your slutty self knocked up, or at least force you to get rid of it. That’s what he would do to other girls. You’re lucky he wants to nail you so bad.”

“What?” I ask completely dumbfounded. Killer took me in when I begged for a place to go and a position with the club. I was only a teenager then—running away from a life I knew I didn’t want and parents who couldn’t tame me. He is like a savior to me, but it never crossed my mind that he has shown pity on me because there was something more to this. Not once has he given me the idea that it would be a possibility…

Cobra interrupts my thoughts with, “Secondly, you get to jump rank on all the other club skanks and land yourself someone with money and power. I’ve got plans, and Killer’s trying to clip them before I get too big in the club.”

I know exactly what he’s alluding to. Cobra’s been running power plays for a year now. He’s got a following, but there’s not enough for him to challenge Killer for the top spot. Killer runs the club with an iron fist and locks down any kind of dissent. Even us girls know when to keep our mouths shut when around one of his eyes and ears.

“I guess if he’s gonna force me to claim that bastard as my own, I might as well get a little fun out of it.” He leans himself over me with his second arm landing right along my outside hip. I’m pinned in place as he towers just above me. “I am man enough to admit that I’ve always wondered what your tight little pussy tastes like and what that Bear guy got out of it that night.”

He licks his dry, pink lips and comes in for a kiss right along the base of my neck. I instantly freeze. I mentally prepared myself for this, but now that it’s happening, that I have to do this, I’m incapable of moving from this spot. In the back of my mind, I see Bear and can feel his own hands and lips on me. If I can just keep him in my mind, everything will be okay. I can do this.

I let Cobra unbutton my shirt, practically ripping it in the process. He’s rough, but what did I expect? All the guys are, even Bear was on our first go around. But as he moves to my skirt, I notice something. This entire time, even with my hands on his lap, his boxers haven’t moved an inch. I need to get this over with before I lose confidence, but at the rate we’re going, I doubt he’s going to be able to get it up at all. Me being laid out like this should do the trick… what gives?

“What’s wrong?” I ask, knowing I’m about to put myself in a ton of danger. “Am I not doing it for you?”

“Shut up, slut,” he orders me. “Get down on your knees.”

A lightbulb goes off in my head. I don’t need to do this. There’s a way out that would get me what I want and need if I am brave enough to take this route. I smile as wide as I can and slip under his arm. He grins as I kneel before him in between his long, thick legs. I place my hands on each of his thighs and begin to massage. His head falls back towards the ceiling, and I hear him let out a groan as my hands move up towards his groin. Still, nothing—no movement, or growth.

I tug on the boxers, yanking them down his hips. I can tell he’s hesitating, but he can’t stop me from removing them. His limp cock is fully there for me to see. My hand reaches behind me towards where I dropped my purse. As I begin to kiss along his knee and inner thigh, he doesn’t notice me reach for my phone or hear it click to unlock. And as he sighs in frustration while staring up at the same spot on the ceiling, I snap a few pics.

“What the fuck are you doing!?!” he roars as I lean back, phone still in my hand.

“Getting what I want,” I say confidently as I stand to my feet. “I’m guessing, with a soft dick like that, you haven’t gotten off on anyone in a while. How’s that gonna look to the club and your supporters?

“You’re a lying bitch, Sunny. I’ve got a rep—”

“You’ve got Kitka lying for you for whatever reason, but I’ve got proof that you can’t get it up.”

“I’ll break your fucking phone!” he stammers as he stands next to me. With one rough grab, he pulls me back towards the door and slams the phone out of my hand so that it falls to his feet. “What you gonna do now?”

“It’s fine.” I smile. “I saved it to my cloud. Those pics aren’t going anywhere.”

“No one’s gonna believe you, Sunny,” he sneers. “You’re a lying little tramp who had the nerve to get knocked up by a fucking Wilderkind. You’re tainted.”

“Not if you’re right about Killer wanting me. He’ll defend me as long as I give him what he wants, and I’m sure he’s capable of getting it up for a skank like me, right? There’s nothing wrong with his package.”

With a lowered voice, he growls at me, “What the fuck do you want?”

“Exactly what Killer promised me. You protect this baby and me—claim it as your own, and maybe throw me some cash to make it look believable. In return, these pics stay between you and me. I’ll keep your, ahem, little secret.”

He storms off back towards the living room, kicking at the leather stool so that it slams to the ground and rolls around at his feet. He picks up my clothes and tosses them back at my face. “Get dressed, and then get the fuck out of here.”

“I can’t do that unless I’m gonna be seen,” I correct him. He practically has a heart attack right there and then. He walks over towards the kitchen table where his own phone is while I throw on my clothes, careful to not look too dressed. He dials up one of the guys I know is in his apartment building and orders him to come over for a meeting about the day’s shifts.

“Good,” I say, testing my power. “Now we should do this again, or at least tell people we did because I doubt you’ll be able to… do anything otherwise. Let’s plan for next week? I’ll pencil you in and get back to you. After all, you’re my man now.”

“And you’re my woman,” Cobra scoffs. “That means I can do whatever the fuck I want with you now. I make the rules.”

“Like what?” I ask, the pit in my stomach growing.

Before he can answer, there’s a knock on his apartment door. Standing on the opposite side of it, I fluff my hair, mess my shirt, and smear my lipstick on the back of my hand. Cobra lets the guy in, and the guest’s beady little eyes practically grow the size of baseballs when he sees me standing there, messing with my heels.

“Oh, hey, Sunny…” his voice trails off. “I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“You’re not. I was just stopping by. It was a short visit, right Co?”

“Not that short,” he shoots back.

“Great. I’ll let you boys get back to business.” I go in for the kill, standing on my toes as I rest myself against Cobra’s bare chest. In his ear, I whisper, “I’ll see you soon, darling.”

He turns his cheek into mine as he places a firm hand on my back. His voice drops about two octaves as he replies, “You too. Sooner than you think.”

With a glance back at the guest, I see myself out. Any longer in that apartment with me playing blackmail and I doubt I’d make it out alive.

But as soon as I’m down the block, death itself finds me in the form of a lone rider. He’s beat up—black eyes and a twisted nose—but even under the helmet and the bandages, I can tell who it is.

“What are you doing out here?” Bear demands. “What happened to you?”

It suddenly occurs to me what this must look like. “I could ask the same about you,” I counterpunch. The words barely escape my mouth. I’m having trouble just breathing.

“Get on,” he commands, throwing me a helmet from under the storage compartment of his bike. Do I have any choice? With Bear, I’d go just about anywhere to get away from what looms behind me.

Chapter Ten

Bear

If I said I wasn’t expecting to see her on my drive, I’d be lying to myself. Since I ran into Kitka last night—or maybe, more accurately, since Kitka forced herself on me—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Sunny. She was with me while I slept, haunting my dreams, and she was there with me through every single hit, punch, and jab I landed on that Filthy Bastards son of a bitch.

When I had finally knocked the little motherfucker out, his body lying still and silent at my feet, Vance came bounding towards me, a look of fury in his eyes.

“You did that for the club!” he shouted over the cheers and boos from the crowd. “My man! You’re back in action!”

I knew what he meant, but he was dead fucking wrong. After I’d talked to Kitka, after I’d heard her story about Sunny and Cobra, I didn’t want to win for anyone but me. This was my victory, goddammit!

I woke up this morning with her smell surrounding me and her taste on my tongue. I’d been dreaming about her again, but it felt like more than that. Even though it’d been nearly two months since I’d felt her body on mine or seen her round, full breasts bounce just for me, her ghost lingered, felt as real as if she’d just been riding me, grinding her wet pussy into me.

When the dream had faded, my eyes fluttered open, and I felt my stomach lurch and my groin burn. I ached for her, but all I had instead was a thin, worn-down old pillow mashed between my arms and the bed—the same bed I’ve slept in nearly every night of my adult life. And the other side of it was empty.

I couldn’t take that shit anymore. I had to go and see her for myself. I was certain that Kitka’s story couldn’t be true. Even though I’d only spent a handful of days with Sunny, I feel like I know her to the core. I saw her at her most vulnerable; I’m convinced that’s when she’s at her smartest. Sunny can be independent and intelligent while remaining smoking hot—everything these club bitches who cling on to ass-clowns like Cobra for dear life aren’t. She’s like me in so many ways, and there’s no way in fucking hell that she would willingly go with a scumbag psychopath like Cobra.

No one, and I mean no one, but me can take claim on a girl like that. So that’s why I came here.

It was a risk, that’s for sure. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since the fight, and the last I heard, the guy I beat to a bloody pulp is still in the hospital undergoing some major surgery. But I didn’t think of him as I pulled into Filthy Bastards territory. I kept my mind focused on the addresses and places we put in the dossier of Filthy Bastards members—info sheets of all the intel we have collected over the years. Guys like me, who are in charge of training, memorize where to stay away from and where to tell our riders to run like hell if they get caught up in it. This neighborhood happens to be one of the main spots I go over when mapping out territories: Killer’s little house is on the corner of this street, and the row of apartments that led up to it house any number of Filthy Bastards’ faithful girls.

I slowly drove past the houses, checking them one by one for signs of anyone or anything that might be related to Sunny in some way. I searched for almost three hours, but there was nothing. There was barely even a sign of life on these quiet streets. I was about to throw in the towel and get on out of here before one of these motherfuckers saw me and smacked me down with a steel pipe or something—but then I saw her.

She was awfully hard to miss. Even though it was only mid-afternoon, she was wearing a tight nightclub dress, the kind I’d never expect her to wear. Her long blonde hair was tied up tight into a ponytail that swished against her backside as she paced along the sidewalk. Her arms were crossed tight around her chest, but she looked strangely confident.

I snuck up on her, and she flinched as she realized who I was. I didn’t tell her the truth of why I was there looking for her. All I wanted was to get her the fuck away from there, and to my surprise, she went without any hesitation.

But now that she’s on my bike, I have zero clue where to take her. None of my usual places seems safe or good enough. I don’t want to bring her back to some seedy motel or a spot I know she’ll be recognized. 

I remember something from my childhood—there are not many good memories. When I think back on those years, I remember being scared shitless with nothing to hold on to. My whole life was lived out in the back of cars and moving trucks, always on the run from God knows who. Sometimes my old man made it worth it. He pretended like it was some adventure to be happy about as we were on the run. When I was about ten, he took me to see the Hollywood sign. My mama waited silently in the car as we pulled over on Mulholland Drive. It was my first taste of L.A. after growing up outside the city, and I was addicted then and there.

It’s about a forty-five-minute drive to the start of the road. I’m surprised Sunny hasn’t complained or asked to pull over for a break. Riding up hills wear on you when you’re riding bucket. But she holds on tight, squeezing me during some of the winding, rolling parts of the street where it looks like we are mere inches from smacking into another car or diving head first off a cliff. She’s lucky I’m the type of rider who knows what he’s doing, but there are times I can feel her breath hitch as we make hairpin moves around curves.

By the time we make it up there, to the same pull over my daddy took me, the early fall twilight’s beginning to take over. You can hear the sound of the fall night around us, invading our ears. The cool, L.A. breeze is striking, so much so that I play the role of a gallant knight and take off my sweatshirt for her. She wraps it around her with a nod of her head in thanks and then walks to the edge of the viewpoint. Her hands clasp around the white fence as she leans slightly over it and says, “I’ve never seen the city like this.” Her eyes glitter in the reflection of the view. The buildings light up almost one-by-one like stars stuck to the ground.

“Yeah. There’s nothing like it.”

I know I should look with her, but I can’t take my eyes off of her. The ghost from this morning is right here for me to take. I want to reach out and grab that strand of her hair that falls against her long, pale neck, but I can’t—I can’t help myself. I take her, instead, by the shoulder and spin her around so that her back rests against the fencing. She doesn’t struggle or collapse from the shock. Instead, she leans into me and lets me kiss her like this. Hard, fast, unrelenting—our heads and bodies struggle to keep up with what our mouths want. She bites gently on my lip, her mouth sucking me in. My hand runs up along her backside, taking a fistful of her ass.

“No,” she gasps as she pulls away, “we can’t.”

“What?” I say. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she takes out her phone from her purse and pulls open an app for a taxi service. “I can’t do this. We can’t do this…” her voice breaks as she tries to focus on her typing. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry!?” I shout, a vein in my neck throbbing.

“I shouldn’t have said yes to you. Not after…”

“You screwed Cobra,” I answer for her.

“I didn’t screw him,” she says, though she has a guilty look on her face. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

“Complicated? What the hell does that mean? You’re either with him, or you’re not. You’re either with me, or you’re not.”

“It’s neither, Bear. It’s just that—”

“Don’t bullshit me, Sunny. I know a bullshitter when I see one. You tell me the motherfucking truth. You owe me that after all we’ve been through because of your stupid little dare.”

Her head drops as she quietly replies, “I’m with Cobra.”

“You’re what?”

She stiffens as if I put a knife through her. “I’m with Cobra. He’s claimed me,” she repeats.

“But you haven’t slept with him.”

“That’s not how it works with the Filthy Bastards, Bear. And it’s more than that, it’s—”

“I know. I know, Sunny. I get it.” I turn to face the street. A few headlights shine along the gravel. “You made a mistake sleeping with me. We both fucked the wrong person back then. And now—now you gotta get back in with the boys. Fucking around with the FB’s number two is probably a guarantee, right?”

She doesn’t answer right away, but after a few beats, she finally responds, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

“I don’t know why the fuck I brought you up here,” I spit back. “You’re just another stupid fucking club girl. You’re no different from them.” I’m very aware that I’m being cruel, but I want her to feel every last word of it—whether it’s a lie or the truth.

“My car is coming,” she says as she begins to walk towards me. I feel her hand touch my shoulder blade, and she holds out something for me, something she dug out from the bottom of her bag. “This is yours.”

It’s that keychain charm I gave her back when we first slept together. She holds it out in the palm of her hand for me to take, but I refuse to even acknowledge it. Finally, she reaches over me and places it in the pocket of my jeans, so it’s securely tucked away.

“Goodbye, Bear,” she says, quiet as a whisper. “Be safe out there.”

Her heels crunch into the gravel until I can’t hear them any longer. I refuse to watch her get into the waiting yellow car or see it drive by. But in the pocket of my jeans, the remainder of her, that charm I gave to her, burns a hole straight through into the skin.

Chapter Eleven

Sunny

“Today’s the day! Can you believe it?” Larissa squeals as she squeezes me into an unwanted hug. “I am so, so, so excited for you!”

“Shut up. Please.” Kitka rolls her eyes while walking towards the fridge for a bottle of beer, despite it being only eleven in the morning. She gives me a nod up and down before focusing on my growing belly. “Damn, girl, you sure it’s not twins?”

“Seriously?” I shoot back, knowing it does no good. The five months since we found out I was knocked up and I went with the Cobra scheme have been hell on Earth. Kitka hasn’t gone a day without giving me some kind of jab or sting. Lately, it’s been commenting on how freaking round I was getting. Even with about two months to go, I Iook as though I’m about to burst.

“Oh, c’mon Kitka, you’re not excited to find out if she’s having a girl or a boy? That’s like the best part of this whole thing!” Larissa, on the other hand, has been nothing but a giddy fool over me being pregnant. First, I thought it was because I was out of commission. Me being both claimed and knocked up meant I didn’t work the bars or take on any of the boys. It’s less competition for her and Mary to fight over under Kitka’s new, iron-fist rule. But then, she started acting sweet, genuinely sweet. A few months back, she bought me a few yellow onesies with the money she had from tips. I almost cried over how kind it was. The hormones didn’t help.

“I couldn’t care if it’s a mole rat… or some kind of other animal.” Kitka’s eyes peer at me half-open. We both know what she’s referring to. She played these games early on when there were questions about the fast romance between Cobra and me, and the rumors about him dumping Kitka swirled. Killer had to stop her from giving away too many hints that the baby wasn’t Cobra’s. I watched that shit show go down and couldn’t have been more pleased to get her off my back—at least for a while. Now, Kitka’s gone back to Kitka bitch mode.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, shut your bitch-ass mouth, Kitka,” Larissa snaps. Then she turns to me and says, “Seriously. I’m excited. I can’t believe you’re letting me go with! I’ve always wanted to go to one of these appointments.”

“It’s nothing, really,” I reply. “They put some gel on you, show you some pictures, and you’re out of there.” That’s a lie, really. The first time I saw my baby on that screen, I burst into tears. I was alone, sobbing in a white, undecorated hospital room with only the image of my baby floating in a pool to keep me company. That’s why Larissa’s coming today. I need to share this with someone.

“What does Cobra think it is?”

“He, uh, hasn’t said.” Actually, the truth is that Cobra hasn’t said anything. At all. We don’t exactly talk when I go over to his place every night. Killer’s been generous by upgrading Cobra’s condo to a two-bedroom for the baby, but the nursery has been turned into a place for me to get the hell out of his way and lay low until morning when I can creep back to my apartment and sleep with both eyes closed.

“That’s a shame. I think it’s a boy! I read somewhere that if you’re carrying low, it’s a boy. If it’s high, like a basketball, it’s a girl.”

“What if you’re somewhere in between?” I ask as I take a look at myself in the full-length mirror. I’m still so unused to seeing myself like this.

“C’mon.” She laughs. “We gotta go.”

“Good luck,” Kitka murmurs under her breath. “You’re gonna need it.”

I turn to ask her what she means by that, but Larissa is practically dragging me out the door. We walk the five blocks to the hospital, arm in arm, as she gossips about Mary’s new boyfriend or the new recruits the club has just brought in. There’s some talk going around that most of them are boys from the Ruby Eyes, a street club that’s been up against the Wilderkind in territory disputes. If that’s true, Killer’s getting an army ready right before our eyes.

But all that fades out of my mind once we’re in the hospital room with the blue, cold jelly practically melting on my bare skin. I hold my breath and close my eyes until the silent nurse is done with the scan. She clears her throat and then says reassuringly, “It’s okay now, dear. You can open your eyes. The baby’s doing great—measuring right on time. I’d say you’ve got another month-and-a-half to go before you meet him or her.”

“Wow,” Larissa whispers as she stares memorized at the picture of my baby on the monitor. Unlike my last ultrasound, the baby’s feet and toes are so distinct, so human. I watch it jump and then feel it kick against me all at the same time, and I laugh—my first real laugh in months.

“So… do you want to know?”

“Yes!” Larissa shouts.

“Yeah, I do,” I agree, giving her a knowing glance.

“Well, it’s a—”

She stops in the middle of her answer as we hear a crash on the other side of the door. We all turn our heads towards the entryway as the voices grow louder.

“Sir! You cannot go in there! We will have to call the police if you do not leave! Sir!”

“Call the fucking cops!” a man growls. “I need to see her! I need to see the baby!” The door suddenly swings open, and Larissa jumps back just in time to avoid being hit by it. Holding tight to the handle, Bear breathes in heavily as if he’s just run a marathon to get here. He looks about that way too. His curly brown hair is always unruly, but today, it’s a total mess. He’s wearing black, tight sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt. I wonder if he just got out of bed and ran here given that he’s still wearing a pair of beat-up sneakers and not his usual riding boots.

I attempt to sit up, but my weight and the pressure of where the baby is lying drags me back down to the table. Instead, I call out to him, “What the hell are you doing here, Bear?”

“Ma’am, is he with you?” a security guard asks me from just outside the door. The older man is half Bear’s size and probably twice his age. Even if I told him to take him away, I doubt he’d get Bear out of here without backup or a gun—or probably both.

“Yeah, he is,” I reply through gritted teeth.

“Sunny… should I…” I nod towards Larissa who leaves as quickly as she can. She doesn’t look up at Bear when she brushes past him. Who knows what she must be thinking, but I know it’s not going to stay in this room for long.

“Can we have the room please?” I ask politely. “It will only be a minute. I’m so sorry about this.”

The staff and doctors who had poured into the room file out one by one past Bear. No one dares get close to him, even though he looks harmless as he stares, mouth agape, at the monitor.

The door shuts, and I turn to him. “How did you find me?” I demand.

“Why, Sunny?”

“How did you find me?” I press him.

“Kitka. She told me to find you here.”

That bitch. I should have known. She had been acting like she owns me for weeks now, and I let her get away with it because she knew my secret. Now I should have seen that this was her revenge plan all along.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“Because I couldn’t,” I say in a hushed voice. “Our lives… this baby’s… it’s already fucked up. We can’t be together and keep this kid safe.”

“You made that decision on your own,” he replies.

“No. I didn’t. Kitka found out and told Killer. Killer felt guilty for letting me sleep with you in the first place and came up with the whole Cobra thing. It was the only way I could keep the baby and you safe.”

“You should have told me, Sunny,” Bear answers. He sounds more upset than angry, and my heart breaks for him. It was unfair of me to do this, but he needs to see that what I did was the best for everyone involved.

“It was my only option. And it still is. Larissa out there is gonna tell everyone, and you’re not safe here or with me.”

“I don’t care!” Bear slams a fist into the wall behind him. “I don’t care what the fuck they’re going to do to me, I’m not gonna leave you or my baby again.”

“You have to. They will kill you and me.”

“Come away with me,” he shoots back. “Let’s get the fuck out of here before they can find us.”

“It’s too late for that.” I point at my beach ball or basketball of a stomach. There’s no way I’m in any condition to get on a bike for a road trip to who knows where.

“We’ll find a way.”

“This is the way!” I shout. “Bear! Please! Go back to your life and your club. Forget about the baby and me. We’ll be fine. I’ll take care of him.”

“Him?” He tilts his head to the side.

“I don’t know,” I mutter, “I just feel like… Ugh. Bear. Please!”

“I don’t want to leave you, Sunny. I’m not taking no for an answer. Get the hell up and let’s go.” He walks towards the door, ready to burst it open. 

“There are other girls out there, girls who aren’t impossible or tainted,” I quietly say. I remember those rumors about him wanting Filthy Bastards girls and how he may have hit on Kitka back in that locker room before the boxing match. That story hasn’t left me in the months that have passed, and it calls back to me now.

“Other girls?” Bear exhales deeply. “Sunny, there hasn’t been another girl—not since you.” He walks back towards me and takes a seat at the doctor’s rolling chair. His large hand rests on my cheek. Every part of my mind is screaming to push him away, to make him take a step back, but I can’t. I don’t want to let go of the feeling of his skin on my skin. I tilt my head up towards him, my mouth ready.

“Bear…” I sigh. And before I can finish whatever it is I’m trying to argue his lips are there. Tilted to the side, I struggle to cling on, but as soon as we link, it’s like lightning. The baby kicks and dances, and I seriously think he or she can feel this too—this electric current that pulses through me when I’m with Bear. Time stops, at least the urgent time that pounds the seconds passing in my eardrums, and I feel as if I could float right here on the doctor’s office table.

“We can do this, Sunny,” Bear says as he pulls away. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. I could protect you. I could die for you. Come away with me. Please. Say yes.”

A million pieces inside of me pull apart at the seam. Everything in me, including the dancing baby, is crying out to take his hand and leave everything behind me. But there is no future in that. There is no security—just open roads and knowing that we will always be on the run. No matter where we were, we would always be looking over our shoulders.

My head trembles as I shake it. I will myself not to cry. I’ve already said goodbye to him three times now. Why couldn’t this stick? Shouldn’t I be used to it by now?

He stands up slowly, pushing the chair behind him so that it rolls away towards the wall. He doesn’t say a thing to me, just walks out of the room and back towards the waiting area. I struggle to catch my breath before Larissa bursts into the office.

“Oh my God, Sunny! Are you okay? What did he do? What did he say? Was he upset when you told him it wasn’t his?”

“Uh…”

“Don’t worry about it. I called Killer and Cobra. They’re on their way. If they find him, they’ll know what to do with him.”

I sit up straight, the blood pooling to my head. “You did what?!” I cry.

“I called them. They should know when you’re under attack. Bear could’ve killed you.”

“Oh, Larissa…” I grab a towel off of the table and wipe the goo from my stomach. After throwing my shirt back on, I barely give her a glance before I storm out of the room and off towards where I heard Bear go. The nurses shout at me, but I ignore each one of their cries. This was more important than knowing the sex of the baby or paying my bill.

This was me saving his life.

Chapter Twelve

Bear

How could she? How could she think she could hide my own child from me? Goddammit. My blood is boiling, and my ears are ringing. I’ve got the urge to slam my fist smack into a brick wall right now. But I don’t have time for that. I’ve got to control myself until I get the hell out of this office. The last thing I want is some red-nosed nurse calling the cops on me and nailing me for some bullshit trespassing charge.

It shouldn’t be trespassing considering it’s my fucking baby Sunny’s carrying! I have every right to be in there with her. If that’s a crime, then damnit, maybe I should be locked away.

It was just a few hours ago when Jack found me. I was minding my damn business, getting my shit together for my night shift, when he basically accosted me in the parking lot. He yanked me hard by the sleeve of my jacket as he whispered, “Dude. You need to fucking know something.”

“What?” I had asked, totally pissed off that he’d pulled rank like this in front of the rest of the guys. I was just getting my reputation back. The last thing I needed was someone who was ranked under me getting in my face.

“I saw that girl… that girl you slept with from the Filthy Bastards.”

I waved my hand at Jack and turned back towards my bike. “I don’t give a shit about her, man. I don’t want to hear about her either.” It had been too many months to count since I last saw Sunny. But I still saw her when I slept; imagined the curve of her body against mine. No one I tasted compared to her. No girl I threw a bone to managed to come close to her. She was still that ghost haunting me, always coming back to remind me that I’d never be satisfied. Now, hearing anyone refer to her was like resurrecting her from the ground I’d buried her in.

“I was walking to grab some lunch at Fredo’s, and I saw her with another chick.” Jack paused like he wasn’t sure how to drop the next part. I’d rolled my eyes before he spat out, “You should know, Bear. The chick, she was pregnant.”

I admit that I wasn’t fazed by this. The main thoughts that ran through my head were the rumor Kitka had passed off to me the night of the big fight and the day after when I stole Sunny up to the Hollywood sign only to be rejected like a punk. There wasn’t a real denial there that she was with Cobra. I wasn’t convinced then, but hearing she got herself knocked up sealed the deal.

It wasn’t until Jack added, “I mean, she was like, ready to pop.” He had that big, hairy caterpillar of an eyebrow raised suggestively. “My old lady looked like her at eight or nine months.”

I’ve always sucked at math—fucking hated the subject as a kid. All it was good for was figuring out the invoicing for my shifts and measuring out the miles on the road. But I could do this math real quick. No way in hell was that baby Cobra’s if she was that far along. Unless she had something going on—on the side—that she wasn’t telling me or anyone else, which seemed way outside of her character. Yep, there was only one person who could be that baby’s father.

I didn’t thank Jake for the info. I didn’t even say a word to him. I tossed him my supplies for my run and got on the bike. I first headed towards the last place I saw her, back to Cobra’s apartment complex, but I stopped before I could pull into the street. The last place I should be is here. But there was someone who could help me; someone who was more than willing to speak. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows that Kitty Kat girl. And while she may be the last person on the damn Earth outside of Cobra and Killer I would want to talk to, I remembered the hurt that dripped from her eyes when she told me about Cobra. He betrayed her by picking up with Sunny. And no doubt time hadn’t healed a wound that large yet.

Sure enough, within minutes, I was on the phone with her. She laughed as she exclaimed, “About time you fucking figured it out. I thought word would’ve gotten around to you months ago, but fucking riders are stupid as hell when it comes to ladies…” She gave me the address to some clinic—told me that Sunny would be there with another FB girl, but Cobra wasn’t around, nor was Killer. None of them cared enough about it to be there—another sign that the kid wasn’t Cobra’s.

I raced off towards the doctor’s and was lucky enough it was one of those places where it was a few rooms and a small waiting area. No security to mess with, no oversized doctors to contend with. I walked myself in and got to Sunny’s room within seconds. It was when I saw the image frozen on the screen, the snapshot of the kid floating in a pool, its hands held before its head like it was gesturing to me, that I knew. I was a dad.

I can’t get that image out of my head. My baby… my fucking baby! Whatever reason she had for denying me the right to my child was not worth it. I would give anything—my whole world—for her to have gotten off of that table and walked out the doors with me. I would keep them safe, move mountains for them, change my life for them. Whatever Sunny wanted, I would give to her. Whatever that kid needed, it would be his or hers—if its mom would just give me a chance.

I’m too lost in my own thoughts to notice the sound of the bikes roaring to a stop next to mine. Maybe it’s because I’m immune to the smell of gasoline or the sight of boots on the ground to think them out of place at a women’s clinic, but it’s a fatal mistake. As soon as I’m seated on my bike, I’m knocked down by a man throwing himself on me. My Harley, the one possession I care about most in my life, topples over me. I managed to yank my leg off so I’m not pinned under, but the man’s weight keeps me stuck to the ground without the bike’s help. A fist slams into my face, and I hear the ringing in my ears. It distracts me from the boot slamming into my side. I manage to roll myself over, crawling on the gravel with my fingers digging into the dirt.

Above me, a hazy figure leans over towards my shoulders and pulls me to my feet. Even with my busted eye, I can make out Cobra’s giant snake tattoo as he winds up for another slam. This time, I’m ready. I duck straight down, landing an elbow to his chest. With a burst, I deck him in the cheek so hard that the blood splatters out of his mouth. He clearly isn’t a fighter because he makes the rookie mistake of opening up his chest with his arms out. It’s enough for me to jab his throat. He tumbles backward.

I’m ready to go for round two. The cloud that was clogging my head is clear, and I’m on the attack. I can feel the adrenaline spike in my blood as my mouth waters. I’m not letting Cobra get away with this. No one pussy jumps me like that and gets away with it! But as I am near mid-air, I hear her voice crying out, “Stop it! Stop it! Don’t do this!”

Sunny and her friend stand in the doorway of the clinic, mouths agape. To my surprise, Cobra doesn’t stop. He barrels into me without caring about her at all. I’m fully on the ground, my fists ready to go, when Killer appears above us. He grabs Cobra by the neck and shouts, “Get the hell off. I’m not having you two start a fucking scene in a public parking lot like this.”

“You piece of shit!” I shout to Cobra. “What, you can’t even fight your own battles? Yeah, that’s it, ain’t it? You’re too much of a little bitch to be a man!” I know I’m inciting shit, but hell if I care. If he is gonna play dirty, damn straight I am too!

But it’s Sunny who has the reigns on me. “Please, Bear! You’re as bad as they are.”

“No, I’m not.” I spin around towards her, wiping the blood from the small cut on my lip off with the back of my palm. “I’m not the one pretending to be that baby’s father!”

“You think I fucking want this?” Cobra snarls. “But that’s my woman now, and you’re out of your damn mind if you think you can walk in here and challenge that.”

“That’s my baby!” I shout. “I didn’t give a fuck who you are, but that’s my kid, and I’ll go to the grave for it.”

“Good. ‘Cause that’s where I’m about to put you.” He starts again, one of those running gags you see in cartoons where their feet never leave the ground but the rest of them look like they are in a sprint. Killer barely holds him back. Cobra snarls as he says, “You may be good with fists, but what about knives?”

“Are you challenging me?” I scoff. No one challenges me—not after I put that Filthy Bastards kid in a coma. No one’s wanted to touch me in the ring since then.

“You’re fancy on your feet, and with those punches, I’ll give you that. But if you want Sunny, you best earn it. Bring a blade, and I’ll gut you like the fish you are.”

“When?” I ask, my interest piqued.

“Bear… please, no. Just walk away. Go back to the Wilderkind. You don’t have to do this.”

I don’t look her way, keeping my eye contact on Cobra’s beady black eyes as I respond, “Like hell I don’t. I’m done with this. For once and for all, I’m putting this guy under—for us.”

“She doesn’t belong to you,” Killer jumps in with that slick calmness of his. “She’s Filthy Bastards property.”

“Not if I win her,” I throw back. “You want a show, I’m gonna give you a show. And if he manages to take me down, you guys can come back knowing you’ve taken down the Wilderkind’s number one fighter. And if I survive and he wins, I’ll leave you and Sunny alone for good. It’s a triple win for you.”

“Bear… please. You can’t do this.”

“Stop!” I shout at her. “I told you what I would do for you back in the room. Now I’m gonna prove it.” 

“Ha!” Cobra laughs that nasally laugh of his. “The only thing you’re gonna prove, brother, is how much you can bleed out.”

“Do we have a fight, or not?” I ask Killer directly. He and Vance are the only ones that can approve of a duel like this. No doubt that after this, he would have to send out a formal request to my boss. That’ll be waiting for me back at Wilderkind headquarters, but I couldn’t care less about that. All I need is Killer’s handshake for it to be written in stone.

“Tuesday night,” Killer sighs with what seems to be the weight of the world in his voice. He looks over at Sunny who clutches her stomach with both of her hands. He reaches out his hand for me to take, and like that, I’ve sealed my fate.

***

“What the fuck did you do?” Vance roars as I enter the clubhouse. I should be surprised at how fast word travels. It was only a twenty-minute ride from the clinic back here, but every eye is turned on me like they’re in the know.

“Clear the room!” he shouts to the group of guys playing cards at one of the round folding tables. “Get the hell out of here and get back to work!”

The men slowly stumble out one-by-one. Each gives me the side eye glare. I don’t think any of them really know what to make of me agreeing to knife fight Cobra over a Filthy Bastards chick. I can’t say I blame them or Vance for being pissed.

When the room is empty, Vance kicks one of the metal folding chairs over towards me and orders, “Sit the fuck down.”

I lift my hands defensively in the air as I take a seat under the glaring light of the break room. He paces a few steps, cracking the joints in his hands as he goes. The guy doesn’t have many tells, but I’ve learned that him popping those bones is one of them.

Finally, after a few agonizing minutes of silence, he composes himself enough to ask, “Do you know what the hell you’ve gotten yourself into?”

“Vance, it’s—”

“Shut up!” he cuts me off. He charges towards my chair as he shouts, “You put us all in jeopardy! You fucking lose that fight, and you destroy everything we’ve done to build our street cred up!”

“We’ve done?” I scoff. “More like, I’ve done. If it weren’t for me winning those two fights, we’d still be picking up street scraps from the Filthy Bastards!”

“Don’t get smart with me! No one authorized you to shake on fights, did they?”

“I’m not going to lose,” I reply. The words are as strong as ever. I’m not. I’m not going to die because of Cobra. I know that in my heart.

He doesn’t answer back straight away. Instead, he mulls over his thoughts before replying, “You could.”

“I’m not, Vance. I’ve got too much at stake here. And you saw what I was capable of last time. That’s when I was pissed off over this girl.”

“What’s different? You score her pussy again, and now you need to get her from that dipshit asshole boyfriend of hers?”

“No. It’s not that.”

“Then what?” he snarls. “You tell me why the fuck you need to risk our club over that FB slut!”

It bursts out of me before I can stop it, “She’s pregnant, Vance! She’s pregnant, and it’s mine! For whatever fucking reason he has, Killer and Cobra are pretending like it’s not mine, but it is. The dates line up and everything.”

“What? That’s not—”

“We didn’t use anything…” I admit. “We were fucking drunk and stupid, and now that girl’s carrying my kid… and I… and I want her too.”

Vance stumbles back towards the group of chairs, finding himself sitting across from me. The space between us might as well be miles. I can barely hear him as he replies, “Shit. Are you sure?”

“I saw it. On the screen.”

He takes a deep, heavy breath before confessing, “I was a father. I guess I am a father. I don’t know what happened to the kid. I lost touch a few years back.”

“What?” I’m shocked. I’ve been Vance’s protege for years now, and I’ve never heard even a single rumor about a kid.

“Yeah. A girl—Caitlin. Her mom was this townie chick from L.A. She wanted to be an actress, so I thought she’d take care of it or at least give it up for adoption. That’s what she told me. So, I left thinking there was nothing there for me to stay for. Come to find out about three years later that she had the kid and kept it. I had someone I knew, a PI, follow her for a while, and then he lost track of her and the girl. All I’ve got are a few photos he managed to swipe from her elementary school.”

Vance fishes out his wallet—an old, wrinkled leather billfold—and pulls out a folded piece of photo paper. He stands and walks towards me, placing it on my lap. A smiling girl about seven or eight years old with a bow in her hair smiles back at me. With her almond eyes and thin, stretched smile, there’s no doubt that Vance’s her father. After a second, he takes it back and very carefully places it in the spot he hid it in.

“I’m leaving everything to the girl—when I’m gone. I can’t be her dad now. It’s too late for me to make up for all this lost time. And hell if she deserves a motherfucker like me.”

“That’s not true—” I start to say.

“Ahh. Leave it, Bear. It’s too late. I’m too old, too angry, too into this life. I’d risk hers if I brought her into it now. But you, you have another chance.”

“What?” I ask in disbelief. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got a chance to make things right with this girl Sunny and that baby. Bring her into the fold—keep her safe. But that means you’ve gotta change too, Bear.”

“What the hell does that mean?” My voice has risen.

“It means exactly what I said. You’re angry. You’ve been angry since the day I met you in that boxing gym. You can fight the entire world, but you won’t be able to fight your way to being a good dad or partner for that girl of yours.” He peers at me, boring bullet holes through me. I can hear a pin drop as I wait for more, but he leaves it at that.

The truth is that I agree with him. I’ve had this anger in me from way back—when I was a kid and alone and neglected with no sense of home or family. I’ve been angry at just about every damn person in this world—all but Sunny. Even when she rejected me, lied to me, kept me from being with her or the baby, I was never angry at her. I wanted to kill the situation, strangle it until it was dead on the ground and nothing was in the way of us being together. For her and the baby, I need to let that hate and pain go. For her and the baby, I know I can.

“I will,” I finally reply. “I’m going to be that baby’s dad.”

“Then fight. I’ll back you up on this one. Go fight and get the girl. Bring her back to us, and she’ll be welcome.”

He holds out his hand to me, just as Killer did earlier. But there’s no hesitation in taking his. I know that Vance and the Wilderkind have been the closest thing to family I’ve ever had. Until now.

Chapter Thirteen

Sunny

“You dumb little bitch!” Cobra tosses me into his condo—our condo. I am barely able to catch my feet before falling hard against the couch, just missing landing directly on my swollen belly. “Do you know what the hell you just did?”

“What I did?” I ask. “I didn’t do a damn thing, Cobra! He showed up. I didn’t tell him or give him the address to my doctor’s! I have no idea how he found out about me!”

“You’re a filthy fucking liar, you know that!” He shuts the door behind him, pacing back and forth for a few seconds before spitting out, “You wanted to be caught. You wanted this to all go down. I should have known. I should have fucking known that you were some dumb slut who couldn’t keep her legs closed even when she’s a bloated whale.”

“Screw you.” I stand up taller. I’m not about to hear this. “I’ve done everything you asked. I’ve stayed out of your way, played along with this lie, protected your little secret. I even turned my head when…”

Before I can finish my sentence, I hear the creak of a metal bed frame. Instantly, I know who’s here. I turn back to Cobra. “Her. She’s the one you should be pissed at.”

“What the hell are you on about?” He laughs. “What does Kitka have to do with this?”

“Bear told me! She was the one that gave him the address. If she hadn’t, he would have never found me.”

Cobra pauses before screeching, “Kitka! Get the fuck in here.” There’s another creak in the bedframe as she slides herself off. I can hear her footsteps on the tiled floor and the sounds of her opening a drawer to get dressed. I wonder if Cobra left her mid-screwing or something. Did she really think nothing was going to happen and that he would just come back and finish her off? That is if he could even get the job done.

That thought gave me pause. Why was she here? If her endgame was not Cobra, but Killer, then why was she still hovering around him? From my count, she has met up with him at least twice a week since we came out as a couple. She hasn’t even hidden it from anyone. The boys, of course, think Cobra’s just one lucky son-of-a-bitch who has mastered getting it on the side, but Killer made it clear to Kitka to let Cobra go. What was she playing at?

She walks out of the room, his flannel shirt partially buttoned around her chest and waist. Of course, no pants. What did I expect here? I see a glimmer of a smile as she catches my eye. It’s a smug, knowing one. If she thinks I’m about to protect her…

“Did you tell that Wilderkind boy where to find Sunny at?” Cobra accosts her.

Her jaw tenses slightly, but then her face goes back to that icy glare that’s default for her. “No. I have no idea what you’re talking about. What Wilderkind boy?”

“What the hell, Kitty Kat!” I yell, still holding on to the couch. “Bear told me! He told me you gave him the address to the clinic!”

She practically grins as she repeats, “I have no idea what you’re talking about… Cobra?”

“What do you have to say for your sorry self now, Sunny?” Cobra storms. “You think this is some fucking game to play with people? I sensed the moment you walked through the door that you were going to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“She’s the one.” I point my finger square at Kitka’s cruel face. “The one that did this to you. If you want to blame someone, blame her.”

“Stop LYING!” he roars as he takes one giant step towards me. I should cower. I know I should cower, but I can’t force myself to be scared of him. Something about seeing Bear get the crap kicked out of him today and then have his entire life challenged makes me feel as if I could do the same—be fearless in the face of anything. 

Cobra’s mere inches away. His body towers over me as his hips begin to press into my stomach. I have to lean slightly over the side of the couch to avoid his head touching mine.

“You need to get one fucking thing straight, Sunny. I don’t care why Killer is protecting you, but I will make sure you follow my commands from now on. You’re not going anywhere. You hear me? You’re under my watch from now on.”

The thought of being locked away in Cobra’s lair of a home against my will sends shivers down my back. Every night that I lay low here is like torture. I’ve spent most nights in bed listening to the other wall, waiting for him to have one wrong night or drink too many drinks and pull something on me. Now I’m only becoming more and more vulnerable. Who knows what Cobra is capable of behind closed doors, without the protection of Bear or Killer to hold him back.

“I’m not —I won’t.” My words stumble, tripping over themselves in fear and anger. “I’m not going to do this anymore… I’m going to go back to my place. You can’t stop me.”

“What did you say?” he asks under his breath, his head cocking to the side.

“You. Can’t. Stop. Me.” I enunciate every single syllable of those words. I want Cobra to make no mistake that I meant it. I’m not playing here. I am done with him and this charade. “This deal between us—it’s off. I’ll keep your secret, but there’s no way in fucking hell that I’m going to pretend that you—”

A hand rips across my face. White-hot and searing. I hear a tiny ringing in my ear. I hold tight to the spot where he struck me, the pressure of my hand cool against it. My mind goes blank, and my breathing stops. I check myself for blood, but he didn’t do any damage more than that slap. I turn back to him, ready for number two. This time, my hands reach around my stomach. If he’s low enough to hit a woman, a defenseless woman who stands up to him, I can’t imagine what he would do to the life inside of me.

“Stop it!” Kitka appears in between us, pushing herself against Cobra. The hem of the flannel shirt she’s wearing flies in my face, but I can see her with her arms outstretched. He doesn’t have time to stop himself before she drops to the floor. He backs away as quickly as he had hit her, cursing at himself for his mistake.

“Kitka? Are you okay?” I kneel beside her as she holds her swelling cheek. She took a hit way worse than mine. No doubt that would have knocked a girl like me out. But she manages to make it through with a bloody lip. “Come on…” I offer her my shoulder.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Cobra asks, his voice shaking. No doubt he’s realizing what a huge ass mistake he’s made. “I’m not through with you—or you, Kitty!”

Neither of us says a word. We pass him by, huddled together in one another’s arms. I didn’t think Kitka and I would ever connect like this, but necessity and danger have brought us together in some strange ways. I oddly feel good to have her long, lean arms draped around me, and me holding her tight as we head towards my bedroom. I use my foot to kick close the bedroom door and turn the small lock. It’s not much. It’s not going to keep us safe if he wants to come for more, but there’s comfort in hearing that little click.

Kitka falls onto the bed, holding her head with one hand. I sit next to her. My voice is hoarse as I try to squeak out, “Thanks for that. You didn’t have—”

“Do you ever shut up?” She sighs. Under her hand, a few tears stream down her skin, towards her hair and ears.

“You didn’t have to,” I finish, “and I’m so sorry he did that to you. Has he…?” It isn’t uncommon for girls like us to get roughed up here and there. Killer had a rule against it, but some of the chicks, at least the ones that didn’t stay for long, aren’t brave enough to rat out a guy when he smacked her around, or worse. It’s only when things like this happen, when there are witnesses, that boys like Cobra get reported.

“Does it matter?” she asks me, still averting her eyes. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Yeah, but Cobra’s not going to leave, is he?”

“There’s an event tonight—some race down at the stockyards. He’s not gonna miss that. I know it. We can make a run for it then.”

“But where the hell are we going to go?”

“Killer’s. We can lay low there. I’ve got a key,” she whispers.

“You’ve got a key? How did you—”

“Seriously. You ask too many questions. That is what’s wrong with you. I’m giving you a lifeline—trying to save that kid’s life.”

“I know. I know.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. You can’t blame me for not trusting you. You did tell Bear where I was.”

“After someone spotted you. I figured the damage was already done.”

“Yeah, but it started all this shit. Bear wouldn’t have—”

“Really?” She scoffs. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t want him there. I could see it in your eyes. This whole last six or seven or whatever months—it’s been all about Bear. I was doing you a goddamn favor.”

“You were getting me killed.”

“You wanted it!” she exclaims as quietly as she can. “You want him! So here’s your chance.”

“Not if Cobra kills him. He challenged him to a knife fight, Kitka. If Bear wins, I get to walk off with him, but then I betray the club—my family. And if Bear loses, who the fuck knows what’s going to happen to me. Cobra won’t play along anymore. I’ll be banished with no protection.”

“Then you best hope he doesn’t lose.”

“Cobra’s a loose cannon. He could—”

“I’ve seen Bear fight, Sunny. I’ve seen him fight for you. He may lose, but he won’t go down without a good fight. And if he survives, he won’t stop coming for you.”

“So, then what? That’s even worse. I’ll be banished, club property, and have Bear on the hunt again.”

“You go with him,” she replies quickly. “No matter the outcome, you go to him.”

“That’s… that’s not going to happen.”

“Stop it!” She holds her face in pain. “This is your out—your chance to get everything you want. Stop thinking about the club or being someone’s property. We’re no man’s property! We may wear the brand and ride with these boys, but when they treat us like this, they get all the hell we can unleash on them. If you think Bear is going to be your man and keep you safe from this shit, you don’t miss out on that. You don’t back down.”

My heart races as I listen to her. She’s right. Bear is worth it. He’s worth running away with and never looking back. The fight is in three days, and there’s time for so much to happen. I look towards Kitka, her face full of pain and regret, and all I can think to ask is, “What about you? What happens to you?”

“Me? I’m like a goddamn cockroach. I’ll survive this shit like I always do. There’s a reason I’ve got Killer’s key—he gave it to me. Cobra knows too. It makes his blood boil that after all these fucking years, Killer’s looking my way. Probably because you’re knocked up and untouchable, but I don’t care. I’m going to get what’s mine and be the fucking queen around here.”

“Are you sure you want that?” I ask.

“It’s everything I’ve wanted and more.”

“What about Cobra?” I say as I look towards the locked door. Outside, we can hear him throwing shit, probably a lamp or some other furniture not nailed down to the floor. His rage should be terrifying me, but with Kitka in the room, I feel safe. We’re together, and we’ve got a plan cooking.

“He’ll get what’s coming to him.” She smiles, her face wincing from the spot where he hit her. “It’s going to come sooner than he thinks. And I’m going to be in the first row for it.”

I lay down next to her as we hash out the details of our escape.

Chapter Fourteen

Bear

I’ve been waiting three days for this fight. So that means that for three days, I haven’t slept, haven’t eaten, haven’t thought of anything else. My mind has been one hundred percent focused on the fight—and on Sunny. I could hear her screaming at me to call it off with every practice swipe I took and tasted her lips on mine whenever I wiped off a bit of sweat that dripped from my forehead. She followed me around the ring the boys set up in the warehouse and stayed with me as I slept next to the blade I planned on using during the battle against Cobra.

I’ve killed myself over these last three days, training as hard as I possibly can. I made myself the old Bear, the Bear that earned his name. It was a short transformation, but my boys could feel it. They look at me differently now. And they sure as shit don’t treat me like a second-class citizen. I have my power back, and no one on God’s green Earth is going to take it back from me.

Frankly, I am surprised how much my club is behind me on this. Jack had spread the news about Sunny’s pregnancy around like the plague. It was all any of the guys were talking about for days. I wasn’t sure how they’d take it, but they seemed to want to stand by me and follow Vance’s supportive lead on this. Some of the boys offered to get in the ring with me and be my sparring partner. Others brought me food to tie me over and protein bars to keep me strong. Some of the older guys brought beer and cigarettes—none which I took. I wasn’t about to let my vices get in the way of my mind or my body being in top shape.

They were the reason why these three days went by quickly. The ticking of the clock seemed much lighter in my ears with them watching me, giving me pointers, shaking my hand every time they passed me on my runs around the block. The Wilderkind are my family, my brothers for life. And I know that when I get out there, out on that cheap ass platform they made into a fighting ring, down by the overpass where the Wilderkind and Filthy Bastards’ territory meets, they will have my back every second of the way. And if I lose, they will be the ones burying me in the yard with all my other brothers who’ve fallen in the name of the club.

“You feeling good, brother?” Jack asks me, throwing me a towel from across the room. I must look like a fucking sweaty mess after that three-mile run, but I remember my coach from my boxing days telling me that getting miles in before a big match was the only way you could get the real nerves out. He was a lying sack of shit. Nothing but me sweating off the few bites of food I could stomach has happened to me. If anything, I feel worse—like my insides are about to explode from the pressure I’ve put on myself.

“Yeah,” I lie. “How much more time I got until I have to ride down there?”

“Probably about twenty minutes, maybe more.”

“Anyone at the club spot her yet? Sunny, I mean. I’m not going down there unless she’s there. I don’t trust that fucking snake to keep his word about this.”

Since meeting up with Sunny at her doctor’s, I’ve been having my boys keep an eye out for her, making sure Cobra doesn’t pull anything on her. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to off her minutes before the fight just to spite me. He was a sick fuck like that—never had any boundaries. And if that kid weren’t his, if he knew that Sunny was mine all along, he wouldn’t have anything to hold him back from taking matters into his own hands.

“No. No sightings of her. I checked in with Paulo and Rider. They’re checking the girls in now. There are some that are sitting up in that overpass. It’s where most of the Filthy Bastards girls go to watch the matches. She’s probably up there.”

“Yeah. She best be. The last time we saw a hair of her was when Ace got a glimpse of her through a bedroom window at Cobra’s place. And even then, who the hell knows if it was her.”

That alone scared the shit out of me. My girl and my baby were being held hostage by some sadistic motherfucker who couldn’t give a rat’s ass whether they lived or died. I could have white knighted it and gone and rescued her before this match even began, but I know the rules in these parts. Breaking into club territory, killing an innocent (even though there was nothing truly innocent about Cobra), and stealing club property would have resulted in World War III. As much as it kills me not to have done it, I don’t want more blood on my hands. I instead channeled all that energy into my workouts and spars until my hands ached and my muscles groaned and pulsed.

“Keep checking. I’m not leaving until she’s there, and I can talk to her.”

“Talk to her?” Jake asks. “You really think that Killer and Cobra are going to let you do that?”

“I don’t give a shit what they will let me do. This fight isn’t going to happen unless I can talk to her and make sure they didn’t do something to her over the last few days. If they have a problem with it, tell them it’s like flashing the cash prize. I’m not walking in that ring until I know it’s real and there.”

“They’ll do it.” Vance suddenly appears. He looks a little worse for wear with his baggy cargo pants and his messed up gray hair flying in every direction. Even his beard looks disheveled. He reaches out his hand to me, enveloping me in one of our club handshakes. “You feeling okay?” he asks when he pulls back.

“Yeah,” I try to say confidently. “I’m feeling fine. It’s the Filthy Bastards that have to worry about what’s about to go down.”

I watch as he chews the corner of his lip, shaking his head in cool agreement, before saying, “The girl’s gonna be there. And then we’ve got a plan to get the two of you out in case shit starts. We’re working with a few clubs on this, people Killer and Cobra have made mad over the last few weeks. If they go back on their deal, they’ll get what’s coming to them.”

“And Sunny? What about her? Can you convince the guys to let me see her before the fight?”

His already rough voice strains slightly. “If that’s what you need. You’ll get it.” He walks out the door and moments later, out front of the headquarters, I hear his bike race off, probably towards the meeting spot, and the room returns to this still, mind numbing silence from before. Only Jake’s rhythmic paces can be heard.

I go back to sparring in the ring. I’m going through routine after routine. Everything I’ve ever learned courses through me. Patterns and figures, combinations and plays… each one I nail in rhythm with my feet. My knife jabs and darts through the air as I picture that beady-eyed fucker standing before me with that cocky grin on his shit face. And in the imaginary crowd, just behind his boxy shoulder, is Sunny. She’s glowing and starry-eyed. Her smile lights up the damn sky with that hair that cascades down her shoulders. She smiles as I nail imaginary Cobra in the imaginary arm and then slice through his imaginary bare chest. He tumbles over, and I dart towards the side, missing his imaginary knockout fall. In my ears, I hear her calling my name, crying out for me… “Bear… Bear… Bear…”

“BEAR?” Jake calls to me from outside the ring. “It’s Vance. She’s there. He wants you to get over there. You ready?”

“She okay?” I ask, my breath still catching up in my throat.

He pauses as he waits for Vance to respond. “He says she’s there. That’s all he knows. They’ll let you talk to her if you get there on time.”

Fucking hell. I jump off the makeshift ring and out towards the parking lot. Jake takes over locking up the place and grabbing my gear. But all I really need is my knife and the Wilderkind T-shirt on my back. The drive is only fifteen minutes, but I’m stopped at every damn stop light and seem to have every copper tailing my ass from HQ to the turn off. They barely phase me today as I set my sights on the bridge and the line of bikes parked along the hedges. No doubt the cops were paid off already and told there was going to be a rumble. They won’t bat an eye if there’s money to be had from it.

The closer I get, the louder the sound of the crowd gets. The excitement is bubbling over like a pot on the stove. I know that just about every eye is on me as I pull into the nearest spot to the ring. They gawk at me as I get off the saddle and stride towards Vance. He waits for me with his arms clasped tightly around his chest. He gives my fighting clothes the once over, and I can’t tell if he’s amused or relieved I’ve come to play like the professional I am.

“You’re late.”

“I’m not,” I correct him. “I’m here before the match is supposed to start.”

“By about three minutes.”

“That’s all I need. Where is she?”

“That’s the problem, Bear.”

He gestures behind my shoulder, and I spin on my toes to see Cobra and Killer inches from my face. Cobra is in his full riding gear—dark, tight jeans, leather jacket, bandana in Filthy Bastard’s colors. He laughs as he smacks Killer on the back. “Ha! You think we’re gonna let you see her? She’s with her own.”

“I want to see and talk to her,” I demand. “If you fucking assholes can’t let me make sure she’s okay and you didn’t pull some sick shit on her the last few days, then this deal is off. I’m out of here, and I’m taking her with me.”

Cobra steps up to me, pressing his burly chest into mine. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”

“Watch me.” I push through him, causing him to stumble backward into Killer. I charge up towards the hill where I remember Jake mentioning they were. That’s where I first saw her almost a year ago now—her blonde hair shining like a beacon among all the other girls in their black and white dresses. But scanning the group, I don’t see her. There’s no one like her there.

I turn back to the men, my face red with fury. “What the fuck did you do to her?” I shout.

“We did nothing to her,” Killer calmly explains. “She’s watching from one of the cars, so we know you’re not going to try anything funny.”

“Show me,” I insist. “Show me where she is. Let me talk to her.”

“Sure—if you win,” Killer answers. “You can take her. That’s the deal.”

“He’s not taking broken goods, Killer.” Vance steps in. I’ve been waiting for him to grow some balls and defend his fighter. “We don’t get to check on her, then there’s no fight. I’ll call it off right now and let the men decide who to blame.”

Cobra stands there with his freakish grin while Killer mulls it over. He whispers something over to his right-hand-man and then replies, “Five minutes. That’s it. Our guys will be outside the car.”

“Ours will too,” Vance retorts before turning to our VP and the head enforcer. They call out to a few of our boys who look to be the soberest and willing. Cobra walks back to his crowd while Killer leads the way over to a line of parked cars nearest the ring. I spot the van with the three bikers guarding it. It’s all too obvious they’re on alert. They stiffen in their boots when they see Killer, Vance, and I approach.

“Open the doors. He’s got five minutes in there with her. Then get him out of there.”

“Make it quick,” Vance whispers in my ear. “Don’t pull anything stupid. Save it for the ring.”

I hold my breath as the back opens. The van’s cargo light is turned on, but I can barely make out Sunny from the outside. Her head hangs low, and her hands sit folded in her lap. She’s dressed in a heather green and black dress—Filthy Bastard’s colors, and I wonder if she did that on purpose or if she was forced into that. She looks impossibly bigger than when I saw her last. Her growing belly overwhelms her small frame.

“Bear?” she whispers as she turns towards the opening. She doesn’t stand but waits for me to join her inside. Once I’ve scooted myself onto the bucket seats, the doors close and we’re locked in.

“What are you doing here?” she asks in complete shock. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”

“You really don’t think I can fucking beat that pussy?”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just that…”

“We don’t need to talk about the fight,” I offer. “We can talk about other things.”

“Like what?”

“Like what we’re going to do when we get the hell out of here.”

She smiles slightly, her lip lifting at the corners. “Start over?”

“Damn, I hope so. My club wants that baby. We’ll take care of it.”

“And me?” she asks under her breath.

“And you what? You think I don’t want you to?”

“It’s just that...  I…” She stumbles to get the words out before confessing, “I didn’t know if you would want me after everything we’ve been through—after I told you I didn’t want you twice.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want me?” I reply.

Her eyes glitter in the small amount of light as her face beams and reddens at the same time. “You’re all I can think about. Since we… that night at the motel… I should’ve stayed with you.”

“I should’ve forced you to stay,” I answer. “You were mine right then and there. I should’ve realized that, Sunny. No other girl could make me feel like you did. No other girl could take over my mind like you have.”

“Oh, God. Bear!” She collapses into my arms. I hold her tightly to my chest as she cries. “I needed to hear you say that. These last few days…”

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing. I mean, he hit me. Kitka too, but I’m okay. We’re okay. I just spent this time thinking about you—about what he was going to do to you. I can’t lose you again. I won’t.” My blood boils hearing her say this. I knew that fucker would sink that low. I knew it the moment I saw him with her. I bottle the rage and focus on my girl. She needs me more than my anger needs to punch through this van’s walls.

“You won’t. I’m not going down today, Sunny. You, our baby, our life outside this shit… it’s worth it. No matter what happens, you need to know that you’re worth this. And there’s only God himself that could stop me from winning you back.”

She wipes her tears with her forefingers, her mascara making trails on her cheeks. “Promise me,” she instructs me.

“Promise you what?”

“Promise that you’ll win that fucking fight and come back and get me.”

“I promise you that I’ll win. I swear to you that I’ll win. For you, for the baby, for us.”

She places her small, trembling hands on my cheeks as if memorizing me. Her voice whispers, “Bear,” before leaning in and kissing me. The rest of my five minutes pass and they end up having to pull me away from her.

Chapter Fifteen

Sunny

“You can’t do this! Cobra! Killer! Come on!” I scream until my vocal cords are raw and my throat is achingly dry. But no matter how much I protest, how much I yell and holler at them, it makes absolutely no difference. The van doors shut slowly, and I’m left with nothing but Bear’s taste on my lips and the smell of him in my memories. I place my hand on the seat where he sat—still warm. It’s near impossible to imagine that he was real and that the boys would let him spend time like this with me, but he was there, staring at me, making promises there’s no way he could be sure he could keep.

“For you, for the baby, for us.” His stern, steady voice repeats in my head. There wasn’t any sign of nervousness or regret—none of the stuff that I would expect before a fight. But Bear is a pro. He makes men like Cobra bleed for a living. There is a reason why he has a reputation, so maybe I should trust him and let his skills do the talking. Of course, that’s easier said than done when you’re trapped in a locked, overheated van with no chance in hell of breaking out of here.

Not that I haven’t tried. After a few days of being Cobra’s prisoner, I had hoped he would let me go watch the fight with Kitka and the rest of the girls as planned. I had done my best to be a good, obedient little girl for him. I kept my mouth shut, speaking only to Kitka when he allowed. I didn’t even ask for food. It had been three days since I’d eaten a halfway decent meal. The only food I’d managed to get into my system were some candy bars and a couple of bottles of water I’d managed to squirrel away in my room when I wasn’t locked away. It sure as hell was testing my reserve.

But the van was a complete surprise. I had gotten ready that night with Kitka at my side. She helped me put on my heels and zipped me up into this A-line dress she had found in Larissa’s closet from one of the few times when she wasn’t freaking out about her weight. It fit perfectly, even though I knew I’d stick out like a sore thumb with my belly jutting a mile out in front of me for all the club world to gawk at.

Still, I walked tall that afternoon. Earlier that night, I had overheard Cobra talking about his game plan to a visitor. He was drunk as a skunk and cussing up a storm, but he mentioned how he hadn’t trained—hadn’t cared about if he won. He just wanted to make Bear bleed out for catching him in the parking lot in front of Killer. He didn’t sound motivated at all and certainly didn’t seem to care about me in this equation. With him being so nonchalant about it, there was so much more for Bear to fight for. After that fight with our guy, where he left him in the hospital for months, it was clear Bear would have an edge.

But after Kitka had gotten me made up and left to join the others, I waited as patiently as I could in the living room for permission to leave. It was Killer who greeted me. He smiled as he looked at me. It was that kind of tired, apologetic version that should send shivers up anyone’s spine.

“You’re looking great, Sunny,” his nasal voice intoned. I remembered the rumor about him wanting me and wondered if it had changed—given the circumstances and him now bedding up with Kitka. He certainly didn’t show much outward want towards me, but there was no denying he was kind compared to the terror that waited in the hallway.

“Get into the van,” Cobra growled in between long drinks out of a brown, unmarked bottle. “You hear me? Get in! I ain’t waiting on you no longer.”

I looked over towards Killer who seemed totally unfazed by this. He shrugged his shoulders as he placed a hand on my back and led me out to the waiting white van—the van the girls joked was the kidnapping van. In reality, the club used it for transporting dead cycles to and from races. Sometimes, when necessary, it was a gun runner carrying ammo and backup weapons when the club traveled to conventions and events. The girls rode inside when they didn’t have a rider claim them. My heart sank at that moment remembering being jostled around with no heat, no windows, and little light.

But I survived without a complaint, and frankly, it was worth it for just a handful of minutes alone with Bear. But now he’s gone, and all I can do is lean my ear against the van’s door and listen for any signs that the fight has begun. I can hear the men guarding the van—their muffled voices, the sounds of gravel and shoes squishing on the ground, and some indistinguishable shouts. I place myself even closer to the cold wall of the van until I hear a loud pound against my cheek.

I have seconds to jump out of the way before the door flies back open. I fall to the floor as I cry out in surprise. Kitka stands out in the yellowish-red overhead lighting. “What the hell are you doing down there? Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

“What? What are you talking about?” Behind her, a few girls I don’t recognize lean against the door. “Why are they here?”

“Come on, sweetie, we’ve gotta go,” one of the older ones gestures to me. She leans in the van and offers me her arm. My roundness and weight make it difficult to prop myself back up, so much so that I practically roll out the back and onto the ground. The same woman catches me in her arms. “Due soon, huh? No doubt it’s our Bear’s!”

“Our Bear’s? Are you with…”

“They’re helping get you the hell out of here,” Kitka jumps in with a crazed half-smile. “They’re gonna drive you to a Wilderkind safe house that Vance, the president, has picked out. They and he will be the only ones who know where you are. I don’t even know. Once you’ve had the kid, and the dust has died down from you running, you’ll go back to the Wilderkind.”

“What? But the fight? Bear? He told me he was going to win fair and square. I’m not going to put him in more risk because I’m running away!” I cry out as I realize how desperate this situation is. Over the line of cars and cycles, I can see the fight beginning. The men are on their feet, too distracted by the ref introducing Cobra and Bear to notice what is happening back here. The Filthy Bastards guards are nowhere to be seen, probably off drinking or putting in last minute bets when Killer and Cobra are too distracted to care.

“Why you wasting time, girl?” one of the other women whispers. “Let’s get the hell out of here!” She grabs me by the arm and tries to lead me away from the fight, but I can’t let her do this. I can’t leave Bear when he needs me the most.

“No… no… no!” I shout. “Kitka! I’m not going anywhere. Not until I know what happens with the fight. There has to be some other way—some way to get me out of here without them seeing me when the fight is over! Please! I’m not going to leave Bear alone.”

Kitka places her hand over the girl’s wrist and pulls her back from me. She pulls me into her arms and places her face inches from mine. I feel her long fingers trace my cheeks as she looks me dead in the eye and sighs heavily. “No one is going to make you go, Sunny. But you understand the risk you’re taking on? You’re not gonna get these girls killed. As soon as the fight is over, you’re gunning it to the car.”

“No! That’s not part of the plan, Kitty Kat. We discussed this. Vance gave us our orders too. We get her the hell out of here now, or we aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

Kitka doesn’t break her eye contact with me as her face transforms into that bitch I know she can be. Her entire face turns cold and unreadable. She lets go of me and turns back towards the older woman who impatiently taps her toes on the ground.

“Listen here, Zelda,” Kitka whispers. “I’m the one in charge here. Vance said so. And if I say that she can watch the fucking fight, she’s gonna watch the fucking fight! Now go pull your car up towards that hill where the Filthy Bastards girls are. Park it behind the underpass so none of them can see you. We’ll sit up there, and when the fight is done, she’ll run right back over to you before anyone can see she’s missing.”

“This is on you,” the woman sneers. “If something happens to us, you Filthy Bastard scum are gonna have more to pay for.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Zelda.” Kitka smiles wickedly as she looks towards me again. “Now, are you ready to go watch? Don’t say a word to the other girls. Just follow my lead, and play it cool. You don’t want to raise any haunches.” She takes my hand and leads me through the maze of bikes and cars and up towards the hill. I stumble slightly in my overly tight shoes and the awkward dress, but I manage to make it up and over just so we can take a spot to the side of the girls.

I can make out Bear from here. His brown tuft of hair is already sweaty and frizzed up as the two men dart across the ring. I watch their hands carefully. Unlike the boxing matches where you are more focused on them blocking, this was all about the charge. One wrong move and one of them could slit an artery, chop off a finger, or worse—make a kill shot. I haven’t seen one of those fights yet, but it’s come close. I shudder thinking of a Filthy Bastards member who had their neck slit from a backhanded move.

“What is this, amateur hour!?” Larissa screams nearby. She must have noticed us arriving because she then calls out, “What the hell are you doing over there? Get on over here and share the blanket. It can’t be comfortable standing in those shoes like that.”

“No. She’s fine,” Kitka says without giving her a look. She squeezes my shoulder as a reminder to keep my mouth shut.

It takes all my control not to answer as Larissa adds, “Your boy is looking tired. You keeping him up all night?”

My boy isn’t the one who is looking tired. He’s looking rather triumphant as he dives towards Cobra’s thighs and hips. The crowd goes silent as they wait to see him pull back. To everyone’s surprise, he’s missed. Bear leaps back onto his feet, his chest heaving and panting. He wipes his head with the hand holding the knife, and I see, for the first time since I’ve known him, that he’s struggling, truly struggling.

“There you go, Cobra!” one of the girls shouts as she stands up. “Don’t let that pansy get you! Get him! Get him!”

I turn back towards to the ring to see Cobra jump in the air, his large frame flying fast towards Bear. Bear tries to duck and roll but gets tangled under the mess of his body. Both of the knives fly fast towards the other person. From here, it’s a mess of arms and legs, torsos and tops of heads. The club men shout in confusion and chaos. But for me, everything goes completely silent as I wait in the milliseconds for something—anything. 

And then, the entire world changes.

There’s a pop. I can hear it, even over the yelling and screaming, I can hear my body pop. I have no idea if Kitka heard it as well, but she looks towards me with bulging, terrified eyes as she speaks without thinking, “Oh my God, Sunny! Did your—”

We both look down towards the ground at the space between my legs. A small trickle of water pours out of me and then, like the dam breaking, the rest follows with a splash. The next thing I know, before I have a moment to calm myself down, something hits my back, plucking at the nerves. My entire stomach and hips feel as if they are being pulled apart and thrown together all at the same time. I double over with my arms wrapped around me.

“Bear!” I shout, unable to control myself. “Someone get him!” But no one moves. The girls stare me down like I’m kryptonite—one wrong move on their part and they’ll be delivering the baby themselves. It’s not until I scream, “BEAR! GET BEAR!” that Kitka goes into overdrive. She races off back towards the women from the Wilderkind who I can see just out of the corner of my eye. The Filthy Bastards girls spring into action too, but they send Larissa racing towards the ring where Killer is watching the fight that’s gone bloody.

I have no idea whose blood is on that ring or which body is lying on the ground. My eyes are fixated on the two men boxed together on the ground. The ref’s legs block their faces as all the club gathers around to see the carnage. But with Larissa screaming like a banshee on fire, it only takes moments for every eye around the ring to turn towards me on the hill. Of course, it’s Killer I see running. Every part of me wants to slither away, but I’m unable to move not only because of the pain but because of the two figures slowly gathering to their feet.

To my surprise, Killer doesn’t look phased at seeing me out of the van. It’s almost as if he had expected me to be right where I was. Without a pause, he shouts, “Are you okay? Is this it?”

“Yeah,” I answer through gritted teeth. “I-I think the baby’s coming. My water broke.” He grabs my arm and pulls me so that I am standing up straight. In this position, I can see Bear standing motionless in the ring. Cobra’s behind him, panting so hard his shoulders bob next to that giant, snake-covered head of his. I whisper towards Killer, knowing it will do no good, but I know I have to try. “Bear… please, Killer.”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s got a fight to finish.”

He pulls me off towards the road, back through the line of motorcycles. As I struggle through the pain, letting myself cry out, I hear it—the sound of Bear calling to me, shouting my name. “Sunny! Wait! Sunny!”

I turn around to see it—Cobra, taking advantage of Bear’s distraction, comes out of nowhere. His knife is raised in the air, with his mouth split into a smile as the large, tattooed arm strikes Bear straight in the shoulder, near his neck. Everything goes into slow motion as I spin myself around, clutching at my stomach and side. Killer yells out for me, but I’m already rushing towards the ring. With each footstep, the pain gets worse, but I have to see him. I have to see Bear!

“Bear! No! Please… no!” I cry, tears streaming down my face.

The men in the crowd part one-by-one as I claw my way up. I use their shoulders to push myself forward until I am directly up against the makeshift ring. My arm stretches out towards Bear, who lies on his stomach in a bloody mess. When he hears my voice, his head slowly turns towards me. His eyes look heavy and tired, and his lips mumble something that I can’t hear. I know I have no time. Cobra is screaming to have me removed, and the pain is so bad that I feel as if my stomach and back will explode at any minute.

But I don’t stop reaching until I feel his fingertips against mine. I grab hold of his limp, soft hand. And he looks at me. His green eyes spark like a fire not yet ready to burn out. I watch in disbelief as he smiles that same cocky grin from the first time I saw him. His head slowly revolves back towards Cobra’s feet, his hand pulling away from mine.

Killer’s hands grab at my shoulders, and someone hoists me up and off my feet. I scream, kick, and bite at the man holding me down, but it’s not enough. I’m halfway through the crowd when I see him. My Bear, the Bear that promised me he wouldn’t back down, somehow crawl over and get back onto his feet while Cobra watches me being pulled away.

And while the boys shout at Cobra to turn around, he’s too busy screaming at me about his victory to see Bear, with both knives raised, dive them square into the middle of his back.

Chapter Sixteen

Bear

I used to love the sound of disbelief—of me proving to all the stupid fucking haters that I could do something they didn’t think I could. I used to love listening to their mouths hang open wide, and their teeth chatter as they looked at me with fear. I used to love feeling the rush of air being sucked out of a room when I showed them what I was really capable of.

But I don’t love this silence or the way I can hear a cricket chirp in the background. I don’t love how I can hear Sunny screaming out in pain from hundreds of yards away as she is pulled backward by someone I can’t see. I don’t love how Cobra’s body sits at my feet, bleeding out while his club shoots daggers at me.

As far as I was concerned, this wasn’t about winning; this was about survival. After I had taken that hit to my gut, I thought I was a goner. A white light blinded my eyes, and everything went hazy and clear all at the same time. The future I thought I could never have flashed before my eyes. There was Sunny rocking a baby—my baby, with a head of golden brown curls and Sunny’s bright blue eyes. She sang to the bub as she nestled it to her chest. And I stood behind her, my hands wrapped around the chair, not sure if I was supposed to be alive or dead in the scenario. All I could do was watch as it morphed and faded.

That was when I heard her screams. Somehow—I don’t know if it was something I actually heard or something that came to me magically—I heard Killer being told that Sunny was having the baby. I was already on my stomach, nearly dead, when she came to me with her hands outstretched. And that was when I knew that this couldn’t be it. I would not be the dead dad behind the rocker. I had to be the living person providing for that baby, and making sure Sunny was loved and protected, too. I had to be the guy who held tight with my arms encircling both of them. Nothing was going to end tonight, at least not for me.

Cobra deserves this. This lousy bastard has been surviving like a cockroach that just won’t go away. From all the sadistic shit he probably pulled on Sunny to the rumors going around about what he did as Killer’s enforcer, the man had a death wish. And while I don’t take any joy or pleasure in watching him take his last breaths or holding his murder weapons in my hands, a tiny bit of me breathes a sigh of relief knowing he won’t be in the way of my happiness anymore.

That sigh brings me to my knees. In all the excitement over making my kill shot, I completely forgot that I am a dead man walking as well. Cobra’s jab to my side is still bleeding into my soaked, red stained tank. With every deep breath I take in, I can feel the hole split open just a tiny bit more. I try to hold it in, to catch my breath in my throat, so I don’t have to work as hard, but it’s useless. My eyes scan the crowd, desperately searching for Sunny, but she’s gone; whisked away somewhere that’s not here. I try to call out for her, but my voice is stuck and airy.

“Get up!” Vance calls out, his guys racing toward me. Jack’s arms reach under mine, pulling me to my feet. A shooting, searing pain races through me, but I refuse to let it put me under again. I am not going to let this get to me. I bite down as hard as I can so that my teeth grind deep into one another.

“Come on, Bear,” Vance snaps, “We have to go—now!”

The silence is gone, replaced by violent and bloody screams. The Filthy Bastards have realized what has happened. They are seeing their second-in-command laid up at my feet, his blood pooling around him. And there I am, not quite standing, but still alive after being thought dead just minutes ago. Their president is nowhere to be found. I am guessing he’s gone with Sunny; escorting her to some car or a hospital. With no one in charge and the booze still flowing, I have no doubt what is on their minds.

Jack hurries me out and over the makeshift ring and through the gravel underpass. We take the long way through the line of Wilderkind lining up to defend me. I should have guessed my boys would be on my side.

Vance screams to them, “Get Bear outta here! Go! Now! Don’t let them get to him! Let’s go, boys! Hold your ground!”

Like soldiers, they line up shoulder to shoulder to block the gang from seeing where I am heading. But I have no idea either. It’s only when they throw me in one of the guy’s pickups, and head off the side street that follows the highway, that it dawns on me—I’m not going to the hospital.

“Vance! What the fuck are you doing? I have to be there, don’t you get it? I have to be with Sunny.” I can barely talk, let alone growl, but that’s what it comes out as. I try to grab his arm in some attempt to redirect the steering wheel.

“No way! Are you fucking crazy, man?” His eyes bulge in his wrinkled face as he explains, “Killer’s got her, and no doubt he’s looking out for you after you killed their second! What the fuck do you think is gonna happen if you walk into the hospital with a wound that big?”

“I’m f-f-fine,” I try to say as I push myself up into the seat. Every bump the truck passes over is agony.

“Like hell you are,” he says with an almost good-natured grin. “You’re about ten minutes away from dying, I can tell you that.” He looks ahead at the road, and adds, “I know a guy—a doctor. He’ll fix you up. Then it’s to the safe house till I fix the mess you left back there.”

I reach over again, this time managing to grab hold of his flannel shirt. I tug as hard as I can until he almost tumbles over me. I bring my voice down to a low rumble as I urge him, “Listen to me, man. You told me to fight for her and that baby, and I ain’t going to leave her now. I don’t care what happens to me. You get me to that fucking hospital, or I swear to God I will kill us both.”

I flash him one of the knives, my knife, the one I used in the fight. I have been holding it this entire time, unaware, until now, that Cobra’s blood is still dripping off it and onto my pant leg. I know what I am doing and what I am risking. Threatening the one guy that’s had my back— the guy who took me in and gave me a place in his club—was akin to mutiny. But he has to know. He has to see. I am not going to stop until I am with Sunny and that baby. I refuse to miss this.

He holds the hand that’s not on the steering wheel up in defense. His jaw slides from side to side as he seems to consider his words carefully.

“Put the knife down you dumb bastard,” he snarls. “If you really want to bleed out on the hospital floor, then that’s where I’ll bring ya. But keep your stupid fucking mouth shut for as long as you can. And nothing about the fight, you hear me?”

“Do you really think I’m that fucking stupid?” I spit at him.

I know the rules. There’s a reason why we don’t do hospitals—a damn good reason—and I’m not going anywhere near one now. We’ve got a vet and a nurse on duty and people to patch us up when we skid out on our bikes or when we got a guy who is strung out on a bad batch of blow or something. They’re happy to keep their mouths shut in exchange for cash. A hospital doesn’t work that way. There’s police, security guards, do-goody doctors in pristine white lab coats who won’t let you leave or get an extra dose of painkillers without knowing your full story.

Vance turns the truck around, swinging it wildly towards the highway exit. We both guess what hospital she’s gone to. L.A. General is the closest, and where most of the girls go for general things. No doubt Killer’s got connections with them given it’s in his territory. As we pull into the ER entrance, I order Vance, “Give me your shirt. I need to cover up the…” My mouth races but nothing’s coming up but the fresh taste of blood—a good reminder to keep my mouth closed unless necessary. Vance throws off his black and white flannel shirt and hands it to me. Carefully, I smooth it out over my stained top and slip out the side door.

Before I can close the door, Vance yells, “First floor to the right’s maternity. Good luck in there, kid. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

I know that I’m hobbling in. I’m grasping the walls with my hand clenched around my side as I avoid everyone’s gaze. I manage to sneak past the security station, where they’re checking IDs and handing out visitor passes, by hiding behind a large man and his family. They don’t notice as I duck down next to them as we make our way through the hospital’s main entrance and towards the elevator banks. I spot the maternity wing’s secured doors swinging open for a patient, and I know I’m not going to get any better chance than this. I take a deep breath, hold my wound, and run as fast I can. Each step feels as if it’s ripping me apart; pulling me at the seams. I am inches away from the large metal doors—that are about to smack me in the gut—but I squeeze through in time, landing on my hands and knees.

When I look up, I am staring straight at a pair of awfully familiar boots.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Killer whispers, yanking me to my feet by the arm. I let out a yelp of pain. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

But a small voice behind him gasps. “Bear?”

I look over his shoulder to see Sunny lying on a long, white hospital bed. A pale blue gown clings to her sweaty body. Her blonde hair is stuck to her face due to crying earlier. Her hand is wrapped around her belly while a nurse attempts to hold her down. I barrel my way through Killer, not caring who sees.

“Bear? Oh my God… I thought that you were… how are you…”

“Shhh,” I whisper to Sunny as I place a dirty, grimy hand on her warm forehead. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now. Didn’t I tell you that I would be here for you?” 

“Sir,” the nurse tells me, “I need you to step away from the patient.”

“He’s with me!” Sunny cries. “He’s the father!”

The nurse pushes her thick, black, round glasses up the bridge of her nose and tightens the bun she’s put her hair in. She glares at me critically, looking me over from top to bottom, sizing me up and apparently sensing that something isn’t quite right. I try to twist away from her so she can’t see the blood that’s stained the entire side of me, but she knows. In her job, the old pro has probably seen lots of patients, with partners like me.

“You can’t be here,” she says with an air of half scorn, half bemusement in her voice. “You need to go down to the emergency room immediately. We have a room for you, dear. The doctor will be in shortly, and we can get this show on the road.”

“No! I’m not letting her go anywhere without me!” I shout through my gritted teeth. I use the bed to help me stand upright.

“Not like that, you’re not,” the nurse screeches.

“Please, nurse. Please!” Sunny begs through her tears. Another contraction rolls through her as we all turn our attention back to her. She squeals, “I can’t do it without him. Please!”

“Nurse Mabel?” A man in green scrubs suddenly appears behind me. He stands next to Killer, a weary smile on his weathered face. “He can stay. Get him a wheelchair and bring them to delivery room 3. I will take over from here.”

“But, Doctor, we have …”

“Nurse,” he repeats his order, “fetch the wheelchair before this man passes out. Stat.”

The nurse scowls but scurries away, muttering to herself under her breath as she goes.

A few moments later, she comes back with a large wheelchair that I immediately fall into. It isn’t until I hit the leather chair that I realize just how close I was to passing out back there. The nurse and an orderly push Sunny and me to the doorway of a darkened room decorated in pale pinks and blues. Soft music plays in the background, and the orderly takes Sunny inside while the nurse leaves me outside. A group of nurses hooks Sunny up to the blinking, buzzing machines.

The orderly comes for me next, but Killer stops him.

“I’ll take it from here,” he says before turning my chair towards him. I hold my breath as he kneels before me. “What you did in the ring is forgiven on one condition—you take care of her and that kid.”

“What?” I ask in disbelief. An eye for an eye is club creed around here. If I really did put Cobra ten feet under, there would be consequences to pay even if it happened during a fair fight. He forgiving that is no small deal.

He whispers as the nurses pass us. Out the corner of my eye, I see Sunny withering in her bed as the doctor lifts a white sheet over her hips.

Killer explains, “I know what Cobra did to her, and it’s my fault. I’ve got rules about that shit. If I’d known earlier, not been blind to it, I would’ve killed him myself.”

Killer sighs heavily. “I should have protected her better,” he says, his voice full of regret. “Maybe I should have claimed her for myself. But it’s too late for that now. She’s yours. You take her, and you keep that kid safe, you hear me? If I hear you do a thing to harm her or put her in danger again, I swear to God I’ll end you.”

“Are you ready?” The doctor stands in the doorway to the room. A nurse behind him hands him a pair of sterile gloves. I nod my head and Killer pushes me in towards Sunny’s bedside. He disappears before I can thank him.

“Bear,” Sunny whimpers, “I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be anymore,” I reassure her. “I’m here. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I swear it.”

She lifts her hand out to me and asks, “Please, don’t let me go.”

“Never.”

Chapter Seventeen

Sunny

“Aww baby Bear wants his mommy!” Star coos as she hands me Charlie. He squirms in her arms, reaching his chubby fingers out towards me. They press against my eyes and face as I nestle him against my skin. It’s amazing how wonderful his tiny hugs are.

“Thanks for watching him, Star. I really appreciate the time off.” Being a mom is basically twenty-four-seven non-stop, even as Charlie is getting more and more independent. If I’m not watching him attempt to eat solid food, I’m monitoring how he rolls over or where he is crawling to. The little guy is just like his father—stronger than he thinks and constantly getting into trouble.

Today was my day off. In addition to being Charlie’s mom, I’ve become house mom to the Wilderkind girls. We didn’t have one back in the Filthy Bastards. There really wasn’t a girl who had been around long enough or who had been claimed like me to take that position. But I loved this job. I got to know what was going on in the club world without having to be in harm’s way, and I get a small paycheck from keeping the girls in line, getting them to their shifts, and making sure the boys were being fed and taken care of. It is the perfect fit for me.

Bear, on the other hand, would rather me stay at home and be a barefoot mom in the kitchen. But after a month of me trying that role, we both realized how silly it was to try to tie me down. After years with the Filthy Bastards, I have developed a taste for adventure and a need for a little danger in my life. And while Charlie’s sleepless nights and his love of rolling off furniture kept me on my toes, it sometimes wasn’t enough. I wanted more.

That’s how I landed this job. Vance was all for it—since it keeps me away from the fights and club gatherings. I don’t have to be that constant reminder of the delicate truce between the Filthy Bastards and the Wilderkind. The FB boys aren’t looking for the reason why Cobra’s death is going unavenged and why Bear gets to walk away with me by his side.

Before I turn to go, Star takes me by the wrist and pulls me to the corner of the room. She pins me in as she lowers her voice and looks down at her feet, “Sunny… I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” She nervously twists her fingers in her hand as she avoids my glare. “I have this friend… her name is Toni. She’s a girl I knew in high school. She had a real rough start of it, and she lost her apartment a few weeks ago. Do you think that we could…?”

“Star,” I scold her, “we can’t take in any more strays, especially not some girl we don’t know anything about. Vance wouldn’t approve of her.”

“She’s good. I promise! She used to bartend at this dive in San Jose. She was dating a guy with the Green Devils before he knocked her around and got both of them kicked out. I brought her here. She’s in the living room. Can you at least talk to her and see if you could convince Vance to keep her on?”

I sigh heavily as I make the decision whether or not to take up Star’s friend’s case. After my time with Cobra, any girl that’s gone through that pulls on my heart strings and makes me think twice. I was that girl with no place to go, no one to love, no family to call my own. If it weren’t for Killer taking me in, I wouldn’t have found the Filthy Bastards. If it weren’t for Kitka needling me into that bet to nail Bear, I wouldn’t have had Charlie. There is good to come from life in a club, and there can be diamonds made out of rocks.

“Yeah,” I relent with a heavy sigh, “I’ll meet her.”

Star leads Charlie and me back towards the living room where a young woman lounges on the black leather sofa. She types mindlessly on her phone, not even bothering to look up as we make our way inside.

“Hey! Aimee?” Star coughs to get her attention. When Aimee looks up from her screen, I see myself six, seven, eight years ago. Her face is cold and passing, but her eyes light up like firecrackers. She adjusts her leather moto jacket and smiles with her glossy red lips.

“Sorry.” She blushes and tucks the phone under her crossed leg.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding in before reaching out my free hand. “I’m Sunny. I’m the house mom for the Wilderkind. Star was telling me about your situation.”

“She was, was she?” Her glossy eyes roll as she looks back at her friend. “What did she tell you?”

I’m unfazed by this. I can deal with attitude like the best of them. I wrangle a ten-month-old and a group of bitchy girls all day. Nothing could get to me. “Yeah, well, she told me you were with the Green Devils before you got roughed up.”

“He hit me a few times. No biggie.” She passes it off, but I can tell there’s hurt there in the way she hugs her bronzed arms around herself, almost as if she is holding in a shudder.

“I’m really sorry to hear that. The Wilderkind don’t let our boys do that. But there are a few rules.”

She puts her hands up in the air to stop me. “I don’t do rules, lady.”

“I’m not ‘lady.’ My name is Sunny, and I’m in charge here. You wanna hear them or do you wanna go back to wherever you came from?”

Aimee purses her lips together as she spits back, “To me, it looks like you are just someone who managed to get herself knocked up.”

“Aimee...” Star scoffs. “Shut up and listen to her.”

I continue on, “The first rule is that you can’t be branded by another club. You get claimed like that? Are the Devils looking for you?”

She pauses before answering, “No. They’re not. They wouldn’t know where to look if they did.”

“Good.” I nod. My mind drifts back to the tattoo covering my own branding scar. Charlie’s blue colored footprint covers the mark where the Filthy Bastards put their mark on me years ago.

“The second rule is that you can’t have relationships with boys outside the club. You seeing anyone?”

“That’s none of your damn business.”

“It is my fucking business, Aimee. When you cross club lines, you don’t just put yourself in danger, you put everyone here in the line of fire. I’m not going to have you get my girls in trouble. If you’re gonna join up with the Wilderkind girls, you best keep those legs shut and stay true to our boys.”

“What else?” she asks.

“You obey my and the club head’s commands. You work the shifts we give you. You live in the community. No complaints. Star here can tell you that if you do that, we treat you right. You even keep your tips when you work the bar. I hear you already got that skill.”

“Yeah.” Aimee nods a bit more eagerly. “I can do that.”

“Then I think I can talk to our president, Vance, about you. Maybe put in a good word. In the meantime, you can sleep in the basement bedroom. Just stay out of the way and keep that smart-ass mouth of yours closed.”

Charlie rolls in my arm, clearly bored by the conversation. I excuse myself before walking back out the door. I don’t even see Bear coming as I smack into his chest.

“Whoa! Sunny! Shit! I was just coming in to check on you.” He walks me back to the room where the two girls are still sitting.

Bear clears his throat, and both girls instantly shut up. I remember the first time I saw Bear. It feels like years ago, not only two. He had that power to make the whole world stop in its place. No one can deny how powerful his presence is, especially now that he was Vance’s second.

“I’m going to need you to take Charlie for a little while longer,” Bear announces to Star. “You cool with that?

“What the hell, Bear?” I demand. I can’t think of any reason he’d have for not doing his duty right now. “For God’s sake, Star’s had him all day already. And I got my nails and hair done, like you told me,” I whisper to him. I was surprised when I got his note early this morning. He was out doing a shift, but he left an envelope on the pillow next to me, along with some spending cash.

Bear shakes his head, a big grin stretching across his face. “Nope, sorry,” he insists. “We’re going out tonight.” He reaches behind him to a black backpack he uses while he is riding. I help him unzip it, and he pulls out a long, white plastic garment bag that swishes against the floor. He hands me the hanger as he orders, “Put this on, Sunny.”

I hand him Charlie, and the baby giggles and coos excitedly in his daddy’s big, burly arms. I hurry away to see what he has brought me. In the ten months since Charlie was born, Bear and I have spent many nights staying in—getting to know one another again, finding our way back to loving each other, then making love like it’s our first night together on the floor of that motel room. But he knows that the one thing I’ve been longing for is a night out with him, only him.

Inside the bag is a long, hunter green dress with black lace lines. It’s the kind of dress that clings to every curve, and as I shimmy my way into it, I thank God I’ve managed to get my figure back rather quickly. My larger tits just barely fit in the small cups. He’s even included shoes at the bottom of the bag; a pair of gold, sparkly wedge heels. I hold them in my hand. No way in hell I’m riding in these.

The living room goes silent as I step out of the room. “Do I—”

“You look fucking fantastic.” Bear breathes. He cocks his head to the side as he adds, “But what about the shoes? They don’t fit?”

“No, they fit. It’s just that I can’t ride with them on.”

“We’re not riding.” He smiles, reaching his hand out to me. I’ve only got moments to thank Star and Aimee for watching Charlie and to blow a kiss to my baby before he whisks me back out of the small home and to the garage. A black luxury car sits in the parking lot.

“How did you get Vance’s Mercedes?” I ask, completely dumbstruck.

He shrugs his shoulders and walks over to the passenger side to grab the door for me. I try not to blush, but my cheeks are on fire as he helps me inside. I slip on the shoes and hold on tight as we rush off towards the highway. The city of Los Angeles opens from the twinkling lights to the winding roads. I’m only half aware of where we are. It’s not until I see the side road, the bridge, and the empty gravel street that I realize he’s taking me back to the spot where we met. My mouth goes dry as I try to calm my racing mind.

“What are we doing here?” I ask as I look towards the spot where the headlights shine. There’s a large wooden table there and two chairs, with a blanket and a wicker basket sitting on top. The setting is circled by about two dozen candles stuck deep into the ground. They make a halo of light that dances in the soft breeze.

“Come on,” Bear whispers, avoiding the question. He walks around to the side of the car and offers me his large, warm hand. We walk together towards the circle, me trying to take this all in. I glance over my shoulder towards the spot where I sat when I watched him fight that first night. I can still hear Kitka’s voice goading me on—telling me I could never sleep with a guy like him. What a mistake she made…

“Sunny?” he asks, and I go numb. Bear’s large frame sinks down to one knee, and his hand searches for his pocket. I wait for the box, but instead, he pulls out the charm, the bear’s paw. It’s the same one he gave me the night of the dare. He holds it up to me as he says, “I always thought this was lucky. Maybe I was right. This brought me you, and I want you to have it, so you will always know how much I love you.”

He pauses as he looks me in the eye. His hands take mine, turning them so that the palm faces up. In one hand, he places the charm and in the other, a small, silver ring.

“Sunny, will you—”

I don’t let him finish asking; I leap into his arms, the ring and the charm clasped in my hands.

He already knows my answer.

THE END

Read on for your first FREE Bonus Book – LEASH

LEASH

PROLOGUE

“Wow…. That was amazing.” April closed her eyes slowly, as Brent stretched out beside her. Both naked beneath the covers, she took a deep breath, counting down the minutes until she could make up some excuse to get out of his bed. The mattress dipped, as he snuggled closer. “You were amazing.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, clearing her throat and glancing up at him when she sensed a pause. He always wanted to cuddle after sex. April, meanwhile, thought of nothing but escape, her body numb with mediocrity. “Yeah, that was fun.”

He bit his lower lip, studying her face. The guy had been dying to ask her out—she could see it in his eyes—but she had been firm about their relationship. Brent was for fun. There was too much riding on her grades this semester—the final one of her university career—to screw it up by taking on a boyfriend. Her future depended on her graduating with an honors degree in business, and there was nobody here worth sacrificing that for—definitely not Brent. Brent was for late-night booty calls and study breaks. He lived two floors below her in their student residence; occasionally, they had half-decent sex. For the most part, he was a distraction, something to take her mind off exams and grades and work.

The sex tonight, which had started with her showing up at his front door with two bottles of beer, was middle-of-the-road for her. Not good. Not bad. Just… blah. She’d even almost climaxed. It didn’t matter. He’d served his purpose, for now, and April planned to finish herself off in her own bed in exactly ten minutes: five minutes to loll around in bed, three to argue about her leaving, and two to get back to her apartment upstairs.

A part of her felt bad. Brent was a good guy. Sweet. Pleasant. Sometimes he made her laugh so hard her sides ached. When all this was over, she knew he’d be a better friend than a boyfriend. She’d never admit it out loud, but he was convenience—an attractive guy who lived in her building and hopped into bed with her whenever she wanted. It worked. This worked. No need to make it complicated.

“Want to move this to the shower?” he purred, sliding his lips up her neck and nibbling her earlobe. It should have excited her to have a guy kissing her neck—but with Brent, it didn’t. All she could think about was getting out—now.

Because the longer she stayed with him, the more she thought about their average sex life—which reminded her that the best sex of her life had been in high school of all places. It was a shame she hadn’t realized at the time—because she definitely would have enjoyed it more. She might have even stuck around afterward instead of sneaking off from Van Palmer’s guest house on his family’s property.

She remembered it, clear as day, even after almost four years had crawled by. Van had hosted the prom after-party. It made sense, given his dad’s sprawling estate on the north end of Cascade Falls. Even back then, everyone knew his dad had such a huge house and massive property because he was a shady guy, running a motorcycle club and whatever else he could under the law to fund his lavish lifestyle.

But back then, no one had complained; they wanted to party at the Palmer place. Just about every girl in her class had wanted the honor of screwing bad boy Van Palmer too; yet, she was the one to snag him that night. It had started innocently—as these things always did—with some too-close dancing on the porch under twinkling lights then moving to the grounds for a private tour. They’d barely made it to the guest house before they were tearing each other’s clothes off. From there, the rest was history. She’d been almost a virgin at the time, and they spent hours together.

April had never considered herself naïve. Back then, she knew Van’s reputation going in. While she had a few drunken fumblings with classmates under her belt, Van had helped himself to half the girls in her class and those at their rival school one town over. So, before he could ditch her, she’d gathered her clothes, her mind foggy and body tingling from her first-ever earth-shattering orgasm, and disappeared into the night.

That weekend, she left for college. Van hadn’t tried to contact her, and while it stung, April had held her head up high, fully expecting that college boys would be different. Better. Too mature to be womanizers.

How wrong she was. She’d seen plenty of Vans in her four years, and she avoided them like the plague. Van’s dismissal of her after their night together had been fresh in her mind every time she spoke to some bronzed rich boy—and there were plenty of those in her business classes—who clearly just wanted to fuck her then hit the bars with his friends. Never again.

And that was why she kept Brent in her life. Just because she had no time for romance didn’t mean she needed to be a sexless blob. He was always kind to her—though their sex life left much to be desired.

So, rather than snippily shooting down his request to join him in the shower, April merely smiled and kissed his cheek. She apologized, switching up her words so that it wouldn’t sound like the same speech she gave last time. Then, she grabbed her things and disappeared. She’d promised to text him in the morning, as she shut his front door, because April—unlike womanizing creeps like Van—wasn’t cruel. She wouldn’t date Brent, but she wasn’t heartless either.

She’d banished heartlessness from her life years ago, which included Van’s type. There was no room in her life to be used, abused, and tossed aside. So, for now, Brent would have to do.

Brent and her vibrator, that is. 

CHAPTER ONE

Call me the second you get this. ASAP. Please. – Mom

April tossed her phone into the passenger’s seat of her car then pinched the bridge of her nose. The last thing she needed after a stressful day of boutique retail was to deal with one of her mom’s classic freak-outs over nothing. In fact, she could think of nothing worse to end the day with than listening to her mom rant about the gossip harpies of Cascade Falls, or about how men weren’t gentlemen anymore, or… well, whatever other infinite problems the woman could find to bitch and moan about.

Exhaling deeply, she slipped out of her heels and into her comfy driving flats. Then, she tossed her work shoes in the backseat. It wasn’t fair to ignore her mom; the woman worked a lot, and she had no one to go home to at the end of a hard day. Neither did April, mind you, but it had been a difficult couple of years since her dad died. She’d really made the effort to talk more with her mom while she was in college, but now that she was out, her mom seemed to think she did nothing with her life and demanded her attention at all hours of the day.

Just because she worked part-time didn’t mean she wasn’t busy. She would call back—of course. She always did. If the text message didn’t sound frazzled enough, the eight missed calls waiting for her on her phone were a surefire sign that the proverbial shit had hit the proverbial fan.

She’d decided that she’d call once she was home. Work had been chaotic today, and just sitting in the parking lot in front of the specialty makeup store where she was a part-time assistant manager was fueling the lingering rage from a harrowing day of sick calls from associates and disgruntled whining from customers. She needed to get home, get out of her tight clothes, and open a bottle of wine before she tackled whatever was bothering her mom.

And April did exactly that. She whizzed through the late-night traffic, dodging slow drivers and daredevil cyclists, straight back to her modest one-bedroom apartment in the heart of downtown. Three times the size of her childhood town, Cascade Falls, Bowmansville was a veritable metropolis by comparison. Full of ad execs and starving students alike, she’d lived there since she graduated from the university there, taking the first job she could find in retail that had promises of advancement.

Well, here she was, three years later, twenty-five and a part-time assistant manager. Fat load of good her fancy business degree was doing her.

Once home, April shed her work clothes and dove into a pair of comfy yoga pants. While she’d initially only wanted a glass of wine, she opted to uncork the whole bottle and take that with her instead. After all, her crummy work hours meant she had a whole two days off before she was needed back at the store. She could stand to get a little tipsy while watching her late-night thrillers on TV. After she dealt with her mom though.

Grumbling, she plopped down on the sofa and dialed her mom’s number, the wine bottle cradled to her chest. Springtime had finally rolled in, and she’d left her windows open all day to make the most of it. However, now that the sun was down, she was freezing. More grumbling ensued, as she tried to cover herself with her fuzzy green blanket, her phone pressed to her ear by her shoulder.

“Darling!” Her mom’s thunderous voice answered on the fourth ring, and April winced. “How are you? I was getting worried! Do you know how late it is?”

“I had to close the store,” April argued, shuffling around to get more comfortable, her wine sloshing in the bottle. “You know how it is. I just got home.”

Her mom ought to know exactly how it was; the woman had run a high-end fashion boutique—now in three locations around Cascade Falls and the surrounding townships—ever since April was a girl. If anyone knew the struggles of a retail worker’s timetable, it was her mom.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter, darling,” her mom trilled, as April reached for the remote on the dusty coffee table. “I have wonderful news!”

“Really?” She set the remote back down, surprised.

“No need to sound so stunned, April.”

“I’m not,” she insisted before taking a small swig of her wine. “Tell me everything.”

There was a brief pause, as if the woman was drawing a breath, before she announced, “I’m engaged!”

It took a few seconds for the news to sink in, and when she was finally ready to speak again, April found her mouth dry, her throat a little tight. “E-Engaged?”

“Yes!” April wasn’t even aware her mom was seeing anyone, let alone doing anything serious. This was the first she’d heard of it in… well, ever. “I wanted to keep it quiet because I wasn’t sure if we were going to go anywhere, and then all of a sudden he’s flying me to Cuba—” What?! “—and booking me spa days! You know how desperately I need the time off, what with the business and all.”

“Right.” April sat up and set her wine aside, deciding this conversation needed absolute focus. “So… Who is he, exactly?”

“James Palmer,” her mother squealed, and in that moment, April’s heart plummeted right down to the pit of her stomach. Her body went numb, and flashbacks to her night with his son Van Palmer raced through her mind. “Oh, honey, you remember him… I think you went to school with his son—”

“James Palmer, as in the guy who runs a motorcycle gang?”

“Club,” her mom stressed, and April could almost see her rolling her eyes. “He owns a motorcycle club.”

To April, it was all the same. Semantics didn’t really matter when her mom was marrying the town’s resident rich scumbag, whose son April had had an unforgettable night with after prom. Her face flushed with embarrassment, and she tried to find an appropriate response to give to the news. She was supposed to be happy. Her mom was always happiest when she was with a man, but this… was difficult to stomach.

“Mom…”

“I know this a lot to process,” her mom said gently, and suddenly her stomach had started to cramp. Was she going to be sick? Was that nausea she was feeling? “It was unfair of me to just… spring it on you over the phone. Why don’t you take some time off from that little job of yours to come down and meet him? He really wants to get to know you before the wedding.”

As desperately as she tried to fight it, in the end, April agreed to take a month off to go back to Cascade Falls. After all, her mom planned on selling her trendy three-bedroom apartment to move in with James Palmer—ugh—and she needed help with the renovations. Plus, without really saying it, she insisted April meet her soon-to-be stepdad. There wasn’t much room to wriggle out of it, as hard as she tried.

In one week, she’d be back in Cascade Falls, awaiting an uncomfortable reunion with the womanizer, Van Palmer—of all people—who would, by the end of the summer, be her stepbrother.

At this point, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but she was damn glad she’d opted for the whole bottle of wine over a single glass.

She was going to need it.

CHAPTER TWO

“Oh, darling, are you sure you’re eating enough?”

“Mom.” April held back a groan and swatted at the woman’s wandering hand, no doubt reaching out to pinch her leg—a habit that had driven her crazy for years. “Just watch the road.”

Her mom gave a short, curt laugh then brought her hand back to the steering wheel. “This is Cascade Falls, darling. You remember that nobody here ever actually hits the speed limit.”

She bit the insides of her cheeks and resisted the urge to cross her arms and sink into the seat. She’d done it countless times as a teenager, whenever she and her mom were embroiled in a feud of some kind while driving. It felt petty to do it now, especially when her mom had been so thrilled to have her back home again. She’d arrived last night, taking the train in from Bowmansville, and was greeted with an ecstatic woman at the station bearing flowers.

Despite her obvious reservations about James, she’d never seen her mom glow like this before. She’d always been a reserved kind of woman, but since April had been back, her mom was smiling more and laughing harder, not caring that her laugh lines crinkled around her eyes—the same bright blue eyes as April had, though somehow, her mom’s seemed more lifelike. They were alike in a number of other ways, and many had remarked that Renee O’Hara was precisely who April O’Hara would grow up to look like. Their wispy blonde hair, her mom’s whiter with age, had always been thin and easy to manage, much to the chagrin of their friends. April maintained her figure through her twenties—thus far anyway—though she and her mom both had generous hips and a smallish torso. They were tall, but that was due to a pair of long legs on each of them.

April had inherited her father’s lips, fuller than her mom’s, along with his chin and dry wit. She missed him, especially being back in Cascade Falls and driving by all their old familiar spots. The town hadn’t changed since she left for college—though the trees were bigger and the gardens fuller. Nestled at the base of a sweeping valley, Cascade Falls played host to farmers, small businesses, and tourists in equal measures. Its stunning landscape had been featured on many a postcard; occasionally, some Hollywood director decided the forested borders and pristine blue lake would be the perfect set for his next rom-com.

The Palmer estate hadn’t changed much either. April studied the grounds once they’d passed through the gate, her mom’s new car—still stinking of new car smell—rumbling up the smooth curved driveway to the front of the manor. A well-maintained roundabout sat in front of the house, with a fountain and a garden in the middle, and April vaguely remembered Van walking her along the edge of that fountain at that fateful after-party, laughing whenever she wobbled.

Grand sycamores, pines, and willows blocked the property from nosy neighbors, and she knew for a fact that the backyard dipped onto a forested ravine, going on for miles and miles onto undeveloped land. It was hard to believe that in just a few short—or long, depending on how she looked at it—months her mom would call the sprawling estate her home.

“Does… Van still live in Cascade Falls?” she asked, as her mom brought the car to a stop by the front steps. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted someone hurrying toward the vehicle. Her mom shot her a wide smile, nodding.

“Oh, yes, and he’s done quite well for himself, too. I believe James asked him to be here today, so we can all get reacquainted.”

April pursed her lips. We obviously referred to her, James, and Van. “Great.”

Thankfully, her mom missed her sullenness, as the man who’d approached the car opened the door and helped the woman out.

“Pleasure to see you again, Miss O’Hara,” the man said, and once April was out, she watched, stunned, as the fellow hopped in and drove the car away. Valet parking? At a home? Seriously? This might prove to be a little more trying than she’d expected. A cool spring breeze tickled her calves, as she waited for her mom by the wide-set front steps, her floral sundress fluttering around her legs. It was cooler in Cascade Falls than Bowmansville, and she almost wished she’d worn pants instead.

The dress was just so flattering, clinging to her in all the right places and hiding her problem areas. She’d wanted to look good if it meant meeting a certain Palmer boy again after all these years—if only to remind him of what he’d missed out on by not calling her.

It was petty, sure, but it was hard not to act like a teenager when she was back in the place where she’d last been one.

“Renee!”

“Darling!”

Vomit. April forced a smile as soon as she was in the immense foyer, a crystal chandelier hanging from the cathedral ceiling over gaudy checkered tiles. If her mom planned to live here, she’d need to do some serious redecorating. James, meanwhile, looked like he’d had a little redecorating of his own—in the Botox department anyway. He descended the stairs with his arms outstretched, still the man she vaguely remembered from her high school era. Tall and lean, his hair had that salt-and-pepper look that so many in the older crowd were sporting these days, and it definitely worked. She could see why her mom might have fallen for him initially; he was, in a way, attractive—though his skin was pulled a little tight. Plus, April wasn’t a fan of his charcoal gray suit.

Her forced smile grew bigger as soon as James turned his eye to her, honing in like a seedy predator who’d just spied his next meal, and she gulped as he swooped in. Much to her relief, he held out his hand once he was near enough, forgoing the hug he’d given her mom.

“April,” he said, his voice taking on a deep rumble, “I’m so pleased you could take the time off to visit. I really feel that this will be a wonderful opportunity to reacquaint ourselves.”

He was eloquent, she’d have to give him that—something he must have done when he started dating her mom, who also spoke quite primly. If memory served her correct, James had been much gruffer when she was a teen, particularly with Van.

“Thank you for inviting me to your home,” she managed to get out, as he squeezed her hand just a little too hard. She held firm though, not wanting him to see her flinch. “It’s as beautiful as I remember.”

His thick black eyebrows shot up, and he finally released her hand. “You’ve been here before? I’m afraid I don’t recall.”

Just as she opened her mouth to remind him, someone else beat her to it.

“April was here for the prom after-party, Dad. Don’t you remember? When Denny and John tried to swing from the chandelier?”

Her breath caught in her throat at the mere sight of Van Palmer stalking toward her from across the foyer. Men were certainly like fine wine: they got better with age, and Van was no exception. While he’d been a rather handsome teenager, he’d morphed into a drop-dead-sexy adult. His eyes, one of her favorite features back in the day, radiated smugness as he approached, the familiar emerald hue making her knees weak. A strong jaw, cheekbones that could cut glass, tousled almond waves of hair—he belonged on the cover of Vogue, not… whatever he was doing these days.

His smart button-up and crisp jeans didn’t help any; they defined his toned body nicely. She found herself tilting her head back to maintain eye contact, knowing he’d tower over her as soon as he stood in front of her. After all, he practically dwarfed her mom when he stooped down to kiss her cheek, which brought a flush to April’s face. Clearing her throat, she looked away.

“Ah, you were one of those teens, were you?” James chuckled, patting my arm. “I hope you didn’t break anything while you were here.”

“No, I was very careful,” she remarked, too thrown by Van’s sudden appearance to come up with anything charming or witty. After he’d greeted her mom, Van set his sights on her, and the nearer he came, the harder her heart pounded. With no escape, April forced yet another smile and held out her hand, stopping him an arm’s length from her body.

Unlike his father’s smooth grip, Van’s hands were worn, worked over, perhaps even a little calloused. Strange, given the lavish lifestyle James’s business had afforded him. Back in high school, he was the kind of guy who smoked in the staff parking lot and got drunk at theater productions—not exactly the type to get his hands dirty. But then again, that was the Palmer way if their reputation had any truth to it.

“Good to see you again, Van,” she said, proud that she kept her voice even and firm. They both pumped their arms up and down slowly, hands clasped for a little too long. He smirked, a hint of a dimple appearing on his cheek.

“You too, April.” He moved in closer, her arm no longer a buffer. “Funny thing, our parents getting together.”

“Yeah. Crazy.” April tried to subtly retract her hand, only to find his grip tighten. She swallowed thickly before musing, “Quite the handshake you have there.”

“I almost don’t want to let go,” he admitted, eyebrows quirking up. “As I recall, you were something of a runner back in the day. Don’t want you to bolt again.”

Flushing furiously, she yanked her hand away and stepped around him, not before catching him chuckle under his breath.

“Why don’t you give us a tour, James?” her mom suggested after April shot her an irritated look. The woman took April by the arm and walked her into the house. “Maybe get a drink as well.”

“Make it a double,” April grumbled, shooting a glare over her shoulder at a smirking Van. This was going to be a long day.

***

April pushed open the door of the resort, gasping for the cool spring air. It filled her lungs, calming her, soothing away her frustrations. The sun was on the verge of setting, but she had been ready to call it a day since noon. Unfortunately, her day hadn’t ended at noon; no, it had dragged on well into the evening, landing her at the lakeside resort where James had chosen to host their “family” dinner. Why they needed to have more than one meal together was beyond her, but she’d hoped Van would politely decline the invite. Maybe he’d have to work or… oh, ride his motorcycle around an elementary school or something.

Instead, Van stuck by the group for the whole day. If she could help it, April did her best not to make eye contact. She purposefully chose to sit across from him in all circumstances, refusing to give him the opportunity to lean over and whisper something in her ear. He’d seemed endlessly amused with her since she arrived at his house that morning, and now, with a too-rich dinner churning in her stomach, she was ready to get the hell out of there.

And it wasn’t just Van’s presence that encouraged her to run. For some reason, her mom thought it was totally acceptable to spend the afternoon getting tipsy on champagne and then get blitzed on red wine over dinner. James commented that she was amusing in her current state, but April could barely stand it. The entire restaurant had watched and listened to her mom’s drunken antics for a good two hours now, and after grabbing her purse, April made a lame excuse to finally bail on the night once and for all.

“April!”

She heard him call her name halfway across the parking lot, and she turned on the spot, making a beeline for the cars lined up along the fence. On the other side sat the gorgeous Cascade Falls Lake, tinted orange by the setting sun. Behind her, Van’s footsteps fell heavily, as he jogged to catch up. She wasn’t sure where she’d planned to go. Without a car, she couldn’t exactly escape him.

“Make sure my mom gets home okay,” she said flatly once he was in front of her, once again avoiding his eyes. “I can’t… deal with her right now.”

“Dad’ll probably just bring her back to our place,” he told her. Silence settled between them, and April turned her attention toward the lake, lips pursed.

“I’ve never seen her that far gone before.” She admitted it softly, more to herself than to him, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug.

“I think she’s celebrating having you home,” he said, and his hands slid into his pocket when she glanced back at him. “I mean, you’re all she’s talked about for the last week. I’m surprised she didn’t go harder.”

“She’s not a college student,” April said with a sniff. “She doesn’t need to get drunk to show me how thrilled she is to see me.”

“Don’t be too hard on her—”

“And don’t tell me how to feel about my mom,” she snapped, stepping away and stalking toward the road. A gravel sidewalk would lead her back downtown to her mom’s apartment—though her heels were going to make walking a pain.

“You don’t have to go,” he called after her, following without being too close. She looked over her shoulder with a frown. “I thought we were having a good time… catching up. Rehashing the good ol’ days.”

“We had no good old days,” she remarked flatly, turning back and scowling. “We had one night—”

“That you snuck away from—”

“And then we never talked again,” April finished, her cheeks tinting as red as the sunset. “Don’t act like we have some big thing between us. I know what kind of man you are.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Do you?”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, then she turned on her heels and continued her march toward the road.

“I was going to offer you a ride home,” Van insisted. “I brought my bike.”

“I’d rather walk,” she fired back. When he gave no reply, she looked back once more, only to find him standing in the middle of the parking lot, watching her leave with a smug grin on his lips. Just like before, he’d found a way to make her feel like she’d lost the battle without saying a word. Huffing, April gripped her purse strap and carried on, her head held high.

It only took about five minutes before she regretted not calling a cab, her feet aching and covered in blisters.

But at least she wasn’t on the back of Van Palmer’s bike. At least she had some standards.

CHAPTER THREE

“Door’s open,” April called absently over her shoulder, wondering why her mom bothered to knock. She’d spent the morning getting the apartment ready for their day of painting, and now that it was pushing two in the afternoon, she was surprised her mom had only just returned. Well, surprised—yet not. If she’d learned anything about her mom in the few days since she’d returned to Cascade Falls, it was that love turned her into a social butterfly. So, really, she could have easily wound up chatting with the employees working at the paint store, all the while forgetting that she’d left April to the heavy lifting alone.

Now that she was moving into James’s palatial estate, its size towering over just about every other home in town, her mom wanted to repaint the apartment for potential buyers. She’d gone a little over-the-top with new decorations and knickknacks to make an already charming downtown apartment look even better, and April knew, new paint job or not, the place would sell within days of being on the market.

Had she not been feeling guilty for abandoning her rather drunk mom at the resort with Van and James, April wouldn’t have volunteered to move all the furniture in the apartment to the middle of the rooms and drape them. She would have encouraged her mom to hire professionals for the day—all this physical labor was murder on her back.

“April?”

She dropped the roller she’d been struggling to attach to its pole, as Van’s voice sounded throughout the apartment. Setting her painting gear aside, she hurried out of the huge living room with its beautiful bay window overlooking Main Street and staggered to a halt when she saw him standing by the front door.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying not to sound too frantic. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since they’d parted ways at the lakeside resort, and honestly, she’d been a little embarrassed at how they’d ended things. Drudging up the past had been his game, not hers, and yet she fell right into it and ended up bickering with him like a teenager.

Her eyes wandered down his muscular arms to the cans of paint he was holding, and she felt her stomach knot.

“Dad and I ran into your mom while we were out this morning,” he told her, taking a few steps into the foyer. “Somehow I was offered up as a volunteer to paint her living room while they go grab afternoon drinks.”

Her hands fell to her hips, eyebrows shooting up. “Oh really?”

His story sounded painfully familiar to her own. Lips pursed, she studied him quickly, taking in his grungy old leather boots, dark jeans, and non-descript black t-shirt. He was like a storm cloud ready to pummel her day. Still, all those muscles had to be good for something, and she wasn’t about to turn away good help.

“I’ve got a few hours before my bar shift starts,” he told her, peering into the living room through the nearby doorway. “I was going to offer to move the furniture, but you seem to have taken care of that already.”

“You can help paint,” she said stiffly, as she took two of the cans from him. He then ducked into the hallway again and brought in three more cans, and she suddenly felt bad that he had to lug all of that up to her mom’s apartment in an elevator-less building.

No. Don’t feel bad for him. He is a womanizing jerk with a rich daddy…who works at a bar and drives a motorcycle. Van doesn’t need my sympathy.

They got to work shortly after, and April did her best to keep the conversation strictly focused around painting. Eggshell blue. Brush size pros and cons. Rollers. Paint trays. Whatever she could do to not bring up their parting spat at the resort, she did it. Though as they worked, a part of her wished she wasn’t wearing a massive baggy t-shirt over her rolled-up leggings. Occasionally, she caught him eyeing her, and she wished she’d looked like less of a boho arts student. After all, even in jeans and a t-shirt, Van radiated raw manly appeal—April would have liked to at least have been on the same playing field.

They were almost finished with the bulk of the living room when he asked her about college. April stiffened, worried he’d bring up the night before college, but he never did.

“I just did some online stuff after high school,” he admitted, as he fixed some of the tape they’d used to protect the crown molding. “School wasn’t really for me, but I sometimes wish I’d done the whole college thing.”

Yeah, he probably does if he works at a bar. She bit back the comment. I work in retail, for goodness sake, so who am I to be on a high horse?

Hesitantly, she gave him the bare bones of her experience, leaving out the array of mediocre sex partners and the few very traumatizing breakdowns she’d had about grades and job prospects. He listened intently, never interrupting, never teasing, and by the time she was finished, there was a noticeable shift in the air between them.

Comfort. Ease. The repetitive motion of dragging a paint brush up and down, the breeze wafting in from the propped open windows, the radio humming softly in the background… It all created a rather relaxed state of mind as they worked. She hadn’t even noticed the time pass, but they’d been working together for almost two hours without a single fight or snide comment. Progress.

“So,” Van started, as she touched up a corner that was looking a little sloppy, “any cute college boys tickle your fancy?”

She laughed, stepping back to study her work. “Tickle my fancy? Is that a thing people say still?”

“Ah, avoidance,” Van mused serenely, nodding. “The first line of defense—”

“College boys are none of your business anyway,” she insisted, as she pointed her brush at him. Unfortunately, the force behind the point sent some paint flying, splattering across his t-shirt and jeans. April stepped back, horrified.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Before she could get her full apology out, Van dipped his brush in the nearby paint can and flicked some eggshell blue paint at her.

“Tit for tat, April O’Hara,” he said rather seriously, as she looked down at herself, her jaw hanging open. April gripped her brush tightly, a rush of adrenaline pumping through her.

“You got way more on me than I did on you!” And with that, she reached out and dragged her paintbrush across his stomach, which, even beneath his shirt, she could tell was toned and firm. Van looked down at the mark she made, lips set in a thin line, and April smirked when their eyes met. “Now we’re even.”

“Proportionally, I think I have more paint on me than you,” he told her, and April shrieked and danced out of the way when he tried to get her with his brush.

And before either of them realized, their demure day of painting had turned into a full-blown paint fight. Thank goodness she’d covered all the important things with sheets earlier in the day, because neither of them held back as they flung paint at each other, laughing. Van caught her while she was trying to creep out of the kitchen at one point, an arm encircling her waist and his paintbrush running from her collarbone to her hip. She giggled and squirmed out of his grasp, managing to get his neck with her brush in turn.

The whole thing came to a crashing halt when someone cleared their voice in the foyer. James Palmer brought April back to reality in about 2.5 seconds, and the pure childish glee she’d been feeling quickly evaporated. Panting, she moved away from Van and tucked some of her fallen hair behind her ears, the rest of it up in a sloppy bun.

“Your mother and I ran into some friends at lunch,” he said, and Van exhaled deeply. “She sent me to check on your progress…” The older man’s eyes wandered the hall before landing squarely on April, who was covered in paint. “Swimmingly, I see.”

April struggled to find the right words, but it was Van to speak up first.

“Shit!” He pressed his hand to her lower back, capturing her attention. “I have to work in a half hour, and it’ll take me twice as long to get cleaned up. Sorry.”

“It’s… fine,” she said stiffly, stilling when he leaned in for a hug—or a kiss? Whatever it was, it made her breath catch in her throat.

Van did neither, however, and instead bopped her on the nose with his paintbrush. Scowling, April watched him go, leaving her to deal with his dad all on her own. She held up a hand as soon as the door shut, excusing herself to get cleaned up. However, she wasn’t in the bathroom for more than a minute before James appeared in the doorway, leaning on the frame and watching her in the mirror.

“You and my son seem to be on better terms today,” he noted, as she rinsed her hands in the sink. April nodded, a little surprised herself. “I would be careful with him.”

April looked up sharply, frowning, then told him, “I’m not unaware of his reputation. He’s had it since high school.”

“Oh, I don’t mean his reputation.” James stepped into the bathroom, not stopping until he was directly behind her, so close that she could almost feel him. April stiffened, stunned. “I mean I don’t want the two of you getting too close. The way he looks at you… The way you look at him. It stops today. Is that understood?”

“But we—”

“If it does not,” he continued, and her blood ran cold as he reached up and brushed her loose hair behind her shoulders, “there will be consequences. Severe consequences… for both you and your mom. Particularly if you tell someone of this little… chat. Am I clear?”

All she could do was nod, her mouth dry, and the smile he gave her in the mirror made her nauseous.

“Good.” Then, as an added bonus, he patted her behind before stepping away. April blinked at her reflection, stunned. “I’ll be sure to tell your mother you’ve made… some progress on the apartment. I believe she expects it to be mostly finished when she returns this evening.”

With that, he left, shutting the door firmly behind him. Once she was alone, April let out a shaky breath and sunk to the floor, her mind racing with all that had happened in just a few short hours.

CHAPTER FOUR

April hadn’t been to an early morning farmers’ market since she was in high school. Although, back then, she hadn’t gone on her own; her mom had always dragged her there, as if seeing everyone supporting the local economy would be some big learning experience. The market opened at eight a.m., and back then, April had been either angrily grumbling about being up so early or half-asleep during most of the perusing of stalls anyway.

This time, she went on her own. She’d been cramped up in her mom’s apartment for the last few days, a constant headache festering just behind her eyes from all the paint fumes. James had really given her the creeps, and with his unnerving warning floating around her mind, she’d opted not to do a whole lot of visiting. Instead, she worked on the apartment, caught up on some movies she’d meant to watch, and did a lot of reading.

But with her mom needing to spend the whole day at her boutiques, April had volunteered to do the grocery shopping—and where better to do that than at a fresh market? The farmers usually set up their stands at the south end of Main Street, taking over a parking lot to showcase their goods. When April got there that morning, the tents and tables had spilled out into the church lot across the street too, and it seemed these morning markets had become much more popular since her teen years. Reusable shopping bags tucked under her arm, she took a deep breath before slipping into the crowds.

Occasionally, someone she knew would stop her, usually friends of her mom, and they’d have the same boring chit-chat she had with most real-world functioning adults: ‘What are you doing these days?’ The loaded question always made her skin crawl, but April would give the fake smile she’d mastered over the years, nod along to whatever they were saying, and then slip out when convenient.

“Hey, stranger.”

Unfortunately, the one person she couldn’t evade quite as easily was the one person she was supposed to avoid—or else.

Even with her floppy hat and thick black sunglasses, Van had somehow picked her out of the crowd. While she wanted to skirt off and hide behind the zucchini stand, a part of her was curious as to why Van would be at a farmers’ market at nine in the morning anyway. He stuck out like a sore thumb. Most of the crowd, herself included, were dressed in spring pastels, but Van stuck to his jeans and tee, covered with a fitted leather jacket. She raised an eyebrow as he approached, a bag of lemons in one hand and one of limes in the other.

“Hi,” she offered, pulling her sunglasses off and setting them on top of her hat. He stopped within a foot of her, close enough that she caught of a whiff of his rich cologne, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up straight.

“Haven’t heard from you in a few days,” he said, his voice low as he held her gaze. She stared back, unwilling to be the first to look away. “Thought you’d run off.”

Again. She heard the implication—but chose to ignore it.

“I’m going to be honest…” She licked her lips, trying very hard not to let her gaze flicker down to his. Soft. She remembered them being soft. “This is the last place I would have ever expected to find you.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

She held up her bags, already full with fresh produce. “I’m doing the weekly shopping. Shockingly, my world doesn’t revolve around you, Van.”

He smirked, peering into the closest bag. As he commented on the size of the heads of lettuce she’d chosen, April felt her smile steadily falling. In the back of her mind, James’s words reared their ugly heads, roaring loudly, even louder still when she looked up at Van. The man set to marry her mom had issued a chilling warning, yes, but it was the same sort of warning she should have given herself. Her guard had fallen while they were painting, but that didn’t change the fact that Van was still the same bad boy he’d always been.

He worked at a bar! He probably had women falling all over themselves to get his attention on a nightly basis, and she had to assume that was the main reason he chose that line of work.

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat and looked away, forcing James’s threats out of her mind and instead focusing on everything she needed to get for the day. Apples. Oranges. Bananas. A few loaves of bread if they had any—her mom was going through them like crazy these days.

“April?”

“Sorry, what?” she stammered, suddenly realizing he’d actually been talking while she was deep in thought. He arched an eyebrow, nodding pointedly at her bags.

“I said those looked kind of heavy,” Van told her, as he shifted all of his bags to one hand. “I was wondering if you wanted me to carry one.”

“I think I can carry some vegetables around—but thanks.”

He smirked and reached for the bag anyway, tugging it out of her hand and sliding the straps over his broad shoulder. She bit the insides of her cheeks, keeping a snarl at bay—all the while acknowledging that the bag had been a little too heavy for her. How she was going to carry everything back to the apartment was beyond her, but she definitely should have considered taking the car.

Ahh, the curse of a small town. You feel guilty for driving anywhere because everything is within walking distance, and yet when it comes down to actually walking… you’d rather shove pins in your eyes than schlep everything around town.

“So, what’s next?” Van asked, his eyes wandering between the nearby stalls, squinting in the sunlight. April crossed her arms, suddenly noticing that a few people were watching them. Another curse of small town living: the gossip mill.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he continued, shooting her a grin, “what else do you need to buy?”

“Why?”

“Because we’re shopping together now.”

April’s frown deepened. “Again… Why?”

Van exhaled deeply, as he readjusted the bag strap on his shoulder. She noted the way his jaw clenched, the muscle bulging along his jawline—something she’d always found sexy on a man. Swallowing hard, April averted her gaze, hoping to distract herself, but found everywhere she looked on Van was a distraction.

“Because we’re going to be… some weird… blended family soon,” he managed, the words seeming to come slowly to him, as if he hadn’t thought he needed to justify his reasons for spending time with her. “We should get on semi-decent terms.”

April almost asked why again, but then thought better of it. He was right after all. If her mom and his dad were set to tie the knot, they’d be spending all of their holidays together in the near future. Weekends away. Thanksgiving. New Years. She could still be friendly with him without actually getting too close. It was possible to keep James and her conscience happy. Just because the possibility of a tentative friendship was on the horizon didn’t mean she’d let her guard down.

“I need apples,” she said after a brief pause, Van’s gaze fixed on her, as she thought things over. “Green ones.”

“I saw some a few rows over.”

April let him lead the way, using his hulking figure to block out the sun a little. True to his word, Van led her straight to a woman’s stand with bushels of apples, and April was able to pick the handful she wanted. From there, they moved through the morning market, keeping their conversation safe, just like before. She talked about the merits of certain vegetables, though she was dying to chat with him about the market’s value from a business graduate’s perspective—the pros, the cons, the impact on the local economy. She’d been so buried in pointless retail drama since graduating that she hadn’t had time to exercise her brain, and this would have been the perfect opportunity.

But Van seemed busy either staring at her ass or the asses of other pretty women, and April quickly deduced that he wasn’t the type of guy to engage in a rousing business discussion anytime soon.

That wasn’t to say, however, that he lacked other appealing qualities. After taking her first bag, he refused to let her carry anything else that weighed over a couple of pounds, and by the time they were coming to the end of her list, he was overladen with her bags. Not once did he complain. Not once did she see a flicker of strain. He merely led her around the market, bringing her to whatever she needed without missing a beat.

“How do you know this place so well?” she asked finally, her curiosity getting the better of her. After all, no matter how natural he seemed there, a farmers’ market still struck her as the last place on Earth she’d ever find Van Palmer. He shrugged, his thick brown hair fluttering in the gentle breeze.

“I do most of the produce shopping for the bar,” he told her, and she nibbled her lower lip as she studied him, impressed. “We do an all-day lunch and app special Thursdays to Sundays, and I prefer to use local ingredients. It brings the customers in when you buy their product.”

“Huh.” She was sure it didn’t take much to bring the customers into a bar in a town like Cascade Falls. The town bustled with activity during the day, especially during the summer months, but there wasn’t much to do here at night. The movie theater had two screens and showed the “newest” releases for months on end, so the resort, restaurant, and bar industry had always flourished.

“You doing anything today?” Van asked, and without thinking, April shook her head. Aside from groceries and reorganizing an already organized apartment, her day was wide open. However, she quickly realized she’d given him an open, and she drew a breath to tell him a lie instead. The words fell flat when she saw him smiling, genuinely so. “Maybe after this we could—”

“April?” She turned away at the familiar voice, and her lips spread into a warm smile at the sight of Johnny Grissom. He hurried toward her, a plump golden retriever in tow, and set his bags down to hug her. “Oh my god! I didn’t know you were back in town!”

She hugged back, surprised at the outburst of affection. They’d been decent friends in high school, and, for a time, Johnny had been one of April’s school girl crushes. He was a year older, dashingly handsome, and had a reputation as the golden boy of his class back in the day. He hadn’t changed much with his strawberry-blond hair and dark blues eyes. Bulked up, yes, though he was starting to carry the beginnings of a small beer belly.

“Hi,” she said, laughing as they broke apart, his dog snuffling around her feet intrusively. “I… I didn’t really tell anyone. I’m just here to help my mom out.”

“Yeah, I heard she was getting married,” Johnny told her, nodding. His gaze then flicked over her shoulder, and his smile grew. “To this guy’s dad! How you doing, man? Family outing?”

He reached around her to shake Van’s hand, his free hand resting on April’s waist. She’d only just noticed it there, the pressure so light that she barely felt it—but Van was glaring daggers at it. Holding back a smile, April watched the two men shake hands, total opposites in appearances, each holding the other’s hand just a little too hard. Neither, it seemed, wanted to be the first to let go.

“What are you doing these days?” April asked, and she caught the flare of Van’s jaw again as the two men broke apart.

“Fighting fires,” Johnny replied with a nod. “You know… It’s a huge rush. What about you?”

“Oh, you know… This and that.”

They chatted for a few minutes, rehashing some of their lost time, and not once did Johnny remove his hand from her. By the time they said their farewells, his dog practically dragging him toward a meat stand and April promising she’d take up Johnny’s offer to go for drinks sometime, Van looked like he was about to hit the guy.

“Nice guy,” she said, hoping to add just a little extra salt to the wound before grabbing her bags again. Van followed her in silence, both of them headed for the exit of the market. By the time they’d reached Main Street, leaving the parking lot full of sellers and buyers behind, it seemed his mood have improved a little.

“Why don’t I carry these home?” he suggested, and while she knew she’d regret it, she shook her head.

“I can manage,” she insisted, dragging the bags away from him. He put up a bit of a fight at first, then he finally let her take everything. April hid a wince; all her groceries probably weighed as much as she did. When she caught him watching her, she cleared her throat and said, “I wanted to combine groceries with a workout, so… here we are.”

“I want to take you to lunch,” Van told her, as she struggled to find a way to comfortably carry everything. She let the statement sink in, and then she shook her head again—half-wondering if she’d regret that too.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He didn’t ask her why she thought that. Instead, he reached into his wallet, produced a small card, and handed it to her. Against her better judgement, she took it and stuffed it in her pocket.

“Ladies drink free at the bar tomorrow before eleven,” he explained, and she felt a blush creeping across her cheeks. “I work from eight to one… You should drop by. Free drink.” He paused, perhaps sensing her hesitation, and then added, “Totally harmless.”

April almost laughed, and as she struggled on her walk home, the business card burning a hole in her pocket, she decided that while she always appreciated a free drink, nothing was ever harmless with a guy like Van.

CHAPTER FIVE

It shouldn’t be so intimidating. After all, it was little a slip of paper, a tiny rectangle with some writing on it, yet April hadn’t been able to stop fiddling with it since she slipped it in her pocket. Van hadn’t gotten in touch with her since their market escapade the previous morning, but she knew there was a question hanging between them: Would she take up his offer for a free drink?

Apparently he worked at Cedar Lodge, a bar near the prestigious resort her mom had gotten completely piss drunk in the first night she was reunited with the Palmer family. From what she remembered, it was a fairly upscale place, with cigar lounges and a martini bar on the patio. There was a pretty good chance that if she went, April would run into more old friends, the ones she hadn’t made much of an effort to contact since arriving in Cascade Falls a little over a week ago. Maybe it would be a nice surprise.

Plus, she was getting a little sick and tired of sitting around in her mom’s apartment every night, her butt glued to the couch as the TV blared for hours on end. It was like she was in high school all over again, not a grown woman who had a degree and the potential for a career.

As she spent the day considering Van’s offer, her mind wandered to Johnny. After all, Johnny would have been the safer choice of the two, and she knew there were no underlying… feelings revolving around him. Sure, she’d had a crush on him when she was sixteen, but those days were long over. If they were to meet up for drinks, it would be because April genuinely wanted to hear about what had been happening in his life. His touchy-feely crap from the market would be stopped gently but firmly—and that would be that.

If she went to the bar Van worked at… Well, there was no guarantee things would go so smoothly. As much as she tried to busy herself with apartment renovations and movies and books, April couldn’t stop her mind from drifting to Van. Hell, every time she left the kitchen she recalled the way his muscular arm wrapped around her waist, dragging her to him in the midst of their paint fight. The memory gave her chills, her skin erupting in excited little goose bumps.

But Van brought complications. He brought their history, no matter how fleeting and amazing that had been, and he also brought his dad’s unnerving warning. She and her mother had gone to look at a few wedding dresses the day after James issued his threat, and as much as April had wanted to spill the beans on her mom’s fiancé, she kept her mouth shut. Fear had a way of silencing people. However, she went to bed every night with knots in her stomach thinking that a guy like James would be her stepfather.

There was so much to think about, to dwell on, and by late afternoon on Saturday, April started to feel claustrophobic in her mom’s guest room. Hell, she felt claustrophobic in her own brain. Groaning, she tucked the business card away, using it as a bookmark for her latest read, and flopped back on her bed—which was so hard she woke up with back pain every morning—with a loud groan.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

She bolted upright as her mom’s voice floated in, spotting her loitering in the doorway across the room. April had filled her mom in on the details of her market adventures, cautiously excluding the fact that she and Van had a slight sexual history that was tainting all their current interactions.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, shrugging and tucking her hair behind her ear. “I don’t even know if I really feel like it… I’d have to get dressed and put makeup on and…”

They were all lame excuses—that much was obvious. Her mom gave her a sympathetic smile, followed by a nod.

“Honey, you do whatever you want to do.” She checked her watch briefly and then looked back to April. “You know, I’m meeting the girls for dinner tonight, and… I think you should go.”

“Really?”

“No one’s forcing you to spend the night there,” her mom continued, as April’s frown slowly faded, “and you won’t have to pay for anything. I think it’ll be fun. You’ll see some old friends. You and Van can bond a little.”

She pressed her lips together. If only her mom knew bonding with Van was exactly what April was trying not to do.

“Plus, I think you’re starting to get a little cooped up in here,” her mom added, and this time it was April nodding. The woman still knew how to read her, even after living apart for almost seven years. “A change of scenery would be nice.”

With a little gentle prodding from her mom, April eventually made up her mind…she’d stay for one free drink. It might do her some good to see Van working somewhere, putting in a hard night’s effort—because the image she had of him in her mind was less than flattering, and maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t entirely fair.

He could still be a womanizing creep that she ought to steer clear from and have a good work ethic. That would bump him up a few points in her book.

Once her mom had left for her dinner date with her friends, a social butterfly in the golden years of her life, April rooted through her suitcase for something to wear. Even though this was a long-term visit, she’d yet to unpack, feeling that her home was back in her apartment, not here. It felt strange hanging up her things, putting them away in drawers.

At first, she went with a dark pair of fitted jeans and a tank top, which she covered with a dressy jacket. However, an image of Cedar Lodge popped into her head, as she studied herself in the mirror, and she quickly switched into a little black dress instead. It clung to her curves, modest yet sexy, and it had little cap sleeves and a hemline that stopped at her knees. Paired with a set of bright heels, and she’d be a catch.

Midway through her makeup routine, she hesitated, not wanting Van to think she actually put a lot of effort into her look for the night. Rather than doing the smoky eye she’d originally envisioned, April went with some liner and mascara, then a nude lip. Her hair she left as is, though she used a bit of product to add some waves. Cascade Falls was making her thin blonde locks straight as a board these days, and she had to wonder if it was something in the water.

Satisfied, she grabbed a clutch, put on her heels, and then realized it wasn’t even seven yet. Van didn’t start work until eight. And she wasn’t about to show up as soon as his shift started. A little embarrassed, April headed for the kitchen and made herself a sandwich, hoping that would settle her knotted stomach before she left for the night for one free drink and nothing more.

***

Cedar Lodge was nothing like she remembered. Even though she’d only been there a few times in her teens, usually with her parents, always during the day, things had changed. Instead of the upscale establishment she’d expected, April walked into a bar where most of the men were in plaid and jeans, and the women were equally casual. In her little black dress and heels, she was woefully overdone for a place like this, and just standing in the doorway, she could already feel the stares.

This was a mistake.

Panicked and a little self-conscious, April turned on her heel and made a beeline for the front doors. There were old license plates on the walls, stuffed animal heads, and neon signs. The place had gone to a decorator’s personal hell, but it was the busiest she’d ever seen it—all the more reason to get out. Just before she made it to the doors, however, a hand caught her by the elbow, stopping her dead in her tracks. She whirled around, ready to give the presumptuous bastard a piece of her mind.

Only to have her breath catch in her throat when she collided, chest to chest, with Van. Well, more like face to chest, given that he was a full head taller than her. April caught a whiff of his cologne, the scent tickling her nose and making her blush. It was the kind of smell that she’d always associate with him—even years from now when they were on polite familial terms. Anytime she smelled that damn cologne, she’d think of Van.

He looked smart tonight. Well-dressed. Nothing like the bar-back slob she’d expected. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied the waitresses, in their white cotton tees and jean skirts. Most were in flats. Van had a pressed dark button-up on, and when she dared to peak down, she noticed dress pants and some polishable shoes.

“What the hell?”

“Sorry,” he chuckled, arms crossed as she staggered back. April pressed her lips together tightly, realizing she’d actually vocalized her confusion at how well he was dressed. “I thought you were trying to slip out before saying hi. Figured I’d catch you this time.”

She inhaled deeply, ready to tell him to put a damn cork in her little escape routine from that fateful night, but then she thought better of it. Instead, she gestured down to her dress. “I thought I might have overdone it,” she said. “I remember Cedar Lodge being a little more… You know…?”

“Uptight?” The music grew louder all of a sudden, and April was forced to step closer to him just to hear what he was saying. “Yeah, it was, but then with new ownership came a new vibe. The town’s bullshit elite can go to the resort if they want their fucking cigar bars and underpaid servers.”

Did he know his dad was one of those “bullshit elite” thanks to all the rumored shady dealings he’d had over the years? Maybe. It was hard to tell with Van. He’d yet to share an opinion with her about his dad, aside from the fact that it was crazy that their parents were getting married.

And what about his dad’s warnings to her? Was Van privy to that little gem of an incident?

Again… Probably not. If so, she doubted he’d try to make an effort to see her outside of forced family get-togethers.

She looked around, taking in the younger crowd of patrons. “I bet it makes more money now. College kids drink.”

“Hardly a lot of college kids here,” he argued, and she raised an eyebrow at him. Van leaned down, his hand on her lower back, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood. She should have pushed him away. Removed his hand. Glared. April, however, did none of those things. Instead, she merely stood still, trying her hardest not to concentrate on the warmth radiating from his palm, nothing but a thin slip of black dress separating them. “Most of them drink at, you know, actual college bars.”

April nodded. Most of the people looked like the kinds she’d met in college, which made her feel oddly… old. Apparently twenty-five was the new fifty.

“Why don’t I give you the tour?” Van suggested, taking her hand and pulling her into the crowd. She stumbled after him, gripping his hand back for the briefest of moments before pulling it away, thinking it was pretty presumptuous of him to just grab her like that. Van glanced back when they broke apart, but said nothing, nor did he reach for her hand again.

Like any tour, Van showed her the highlights of the new Cedar Lodge. There was a stage in one corner, upon which a DJ played with his equipment. There were three bars, effectively splitting the crowd and cutting the wait time—according to Van. One bar was on the main level, one upstairs in the lounge area, and one outside on the patio. The weather was a little chilly tonight, which meant most people made use of the two inside.

“And this is where I will be for the rest of the evening,” Van told her, dipping his head down to speak in her ear. They were far from the speakers as they approached the main floor bar, and he’d led her to the quiet corner where the staff seemed to enter from. There was no need to be so close to one another; she could hear him just fine at a distance.

But April found she almost preferred it this way, so she said nothing. Instead, she snagged an empty barstool and placed her hands flat on the counter, waiting until he appeared behind the bar. All he needed was a towel thrown over his shoulder and the look would be complete. Behind him, two other bartenders catered to the rest of the patrons—though now that Van was there, a few of the bar-goers wandered down to her end demanding beer. Van pointedly ignored them.

“What will the lady be drinking this evening?” he asked, and April wondered how many other girls he’d used those words on in the last week. He must have been able to just reel them in, dressing handsomely with that killer smile. Squaring her shoulders, April cocked her head to the side as if thinking on it. She decided that she could indulge in his game—just this once.

“Surprise me,” she said finally, and he tapped the bar top with a grin and a nod, then disappeared to the wall of full alcohol bottles behind him. She half-expected he’d return a few seconds later with a shot of gin. As she recalled, that was his drink of choice back in the day.

Her stomach twisted at the fact that she even remembered Van Palmer’s drink preferences from high school. Does that make me pathetic? She thought.

However, rather than returning within seconds, it took him about two minutes to make her drink. What he set in front of her was unexpected, and April took some time to admire it. Somehow he’d created a beautiful shade of violet, but as April turned the huge glass—far bigger than anyone else was getting—she noted that in certain lights, there were blue elements to it. Magic in a glass. Lips pursed, she glanced between Van and the drink, and he watched her expectantly.

“You better not drug me, Van Palmer,” she joked, as she pinched the black straw. He smirked.

“Wouldn’t need a drink to do that, April O’Hara.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s horrifying. Thanks.”

Still grinning, Van filled an empty glass with clear liquid from one of the nozzles behind the bar then raised it to toast her. “Cheers.”

She raised her drink in return then took a tentative sip.

If heaven was a drink, it would taste like what was in her glass. One sip wasn’t enough, and before she knew it, April had gulped down half the glass. She set it down, face puckered. The drink was perfectly sweet, but now that she was done drinking for the time being, its alcoholic aftertaste was beyond strong. A dangerous combination, certainly.

“What was that?” she asked, coughing a little as she pointed at his drink. He set the glass aside and wiped his mouth, her eyes lingering on the way his thumb swiped across his lower lip. It seemed to move in slow motion.

“Water,” Van told her. “I don’t drink on the job.”

She shrugged. Was that supposed to impress me? Most of the working world didn’t drink on the job.

“How’s the drink?”

April shrugged again, but wondered if he could see just how badly she wanted to guzzle it down. “It’s okay.”

“I’ll do better on the next one.”

“I only want one.”

“But you get them free for the next hour and a half,” he insisted, winking when their eyes met. She blushed, hastily looking back at her concoction of wonderfulness. Suddenly, out of nowhere, his fingertips grazed her hand, and April sat up sharply as if a jolt of electricity had shot straight from her fingers to her spine, then down to her toes. Van leaned in, and she couldn’t look away this time. “I’ll be here all night. You want me; I’m at your beck and call.”

Fuck. Unable to come up with anything even remotely appropriate in response, April merely grabbed her drink and stuck the straw in her mouth—and drank.

“Okay, okay,” Van groaned, finally turning to address the horde of people demanding drinks on the other side of the bar. She was tucked away just around the edge of the bar’s counter, and no one had bothered to cluster around her, even though clearly that was where Van’s attention was held. “Which one of you noisy fuckers wants a drink?”

She bit back a smile as they all clamored for alcohol—though her laughter fell flat when Van immediately went for the hot chick with the big boobs at the back of the crowd. Biting the insides of her cheeks, she turned away and continued to nurse her drink, pretending wholeheartedly to take in the architectural detailing of the walls around her.

Because if she didn’t, she had a feeling she’d be inadvertently staring daggers into the busty brunette flirting outrageously with Van—and there was no way she’d give him the satisfaction of seeing her jealous.

There was no reason to even be jealous. Huffing, she stabbed at the ice chunks at the bottom of her nearly finished drink a few minutes later, but before she could even set the glass down, Van was there with a new beautifully colored drink and a wink, to which she said nothing. The drink was delicious—and it’d be rude to refuse one he’d put in the effort to make for her, especially when he had other paying patrons he could serve. His boss would probably rip him a new asshole if he was caught favoring her.

The thought brought her smile back.

And that smile was still there, four drinks later—well after the cut-off point for the ladies-drink-free shtick they had going. They’d been chatting for the better part of an hour, and each time she finished her drink, Van asked if she wanted another—and of course she did. The drink was magical.

Van was magical. April told him so at one point.

“You’ve got magic fingers,” she said, a slight slur in her voice, as she leaned over the bar, drink between her hands. Van leaned in, though only slightly, and behind him the other two bartenders had to deal with the onslaught of patrons as midnight neared. “Magic drink making fingers… and, if I remember right, m-magic fingers for other things, too.”

“Oh, naughty girl, April,” Van said and laughed, as she leaned back on the barstool. A look of panic flashed in her eyes when she nearly tumbled backwards, her center of gravity a little off suddenly, but she regained her composure quickly enough. Van grinned at her, arms crossed and eyebrows up. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re… drunk,” she fired back, pointing at him, her eyes narrowed. “I’m fine.”

“Bet you couldn’t walk a straight line if someone paid you to right now.”

I could so! She thought. Ready to show him, she was almost off her barstool, eager to prove him wrong, when a fight broke out over by the pool tables. April turned, her vision a little blurry, and watched the scuffle spill out onto the dance floor. Within seconds, bouncers in black uniforms swept in to break things up, and Van was suddenly behind her, sitting her back down on the stool.

“Stay here,” he breathed in her ear, and she shivered. However, just as she reached back to touch him, desperate to cop a feel of that toned midsection, he was gone, straight into the thick of things on the dance floor. Bartenders don’t break up fights. Frowning, she slid off the stool and wobbled after him, her drink forgotten. She thought, Didn’t he know? Bartenders tend bar. Behind the bar. For me. All night. No one else.

The crowd had thickened around the scene, and as the bouncers pulled one of the guys away, maybe to take a walk outside, Van was in a heated discussion with the other half of the fight. Even in her inebriated state, April could tell their exchange wasn’t a friendly one.

“You know what? Congratulations,” she heard Van snarl, as she squeezed through the crowd. “You just got yourself banned from the bar.”

“Fuck you,” the guy spat. “Says who?”

“Says the owner,” Van barked. “Get out of my bar. If I catch you here again, you won’t be walking out of here, I promise you that.”

April gasped when the other guy took a swing at Van, her eyes widening. The few remaining bouncers swooped in immediately, but not before Van ducked and socked the guy right in the nose. He went down like a lead balloon, and a few people in the crowd cheered.

Suddenly, she needed to sit down. Her head spun as the crowd dispersed, the music’s volume climbing again, and it was only then that her rational mind realized she’d had one too many of Van’s surprise cocktails. Placing a hand on her forehead, she searched for an exit, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

“April?” Van’s voiced trickled into her ear, but she turned away.

Van. Gorgeous Van. Making me drinks. Talking to pretty girls with big boobs. Fuck Van. Playboy Van.

Someone grabbed her by the arm, and when she felt a muscular arm wrap around her waist, she looked up, confused. Blinking rapidly, Van’s face slowly came in to focus.

“I told you to stay by the bar,” he insisted, and even to her drunk brain, she could tell that he sounded irritated. “You never know how many people these stupid bar brawls suck in… You could have been collateral.”

“You punched a guy in the face,” April announced, her knees giving out, her body limp and relaxed, as the alcohol coursed through her system. Van sighed in her ear, his breath warm and soothing.

“Yeah… I did.”

She tilted her head back to study his handsome face—then added, “Yeah. You did.”

“Let’s get you some fresh air.”

With an arm still wrapped around her, Van led her through the crowd and out onto the nearly vacant patio overlooking the lake. She inhaled deeply, the brisk night air rattling her brain around just enough to clear some of the drunken fog. Leaning on the thick wooden railing, April watched the stars twinkle on the water’s surface.

“So,” she started, the tipsy slur gone from her voice at last, “you own the bar, huh?”

“Didn’t I mention that?” Van leaned on the railing, hands knitted together over the water. She glanced at him, an eyebrow up. “Ah. Guess not.”

“No, you didn’t.” He’d spent a lot of his time making suggestive comments about their night together, but not once did he mention he owned Cedar Lodge. She couldn’t place the source of the feeling, but guilt had started to fester in her stomach—maybe because she hadn’t given him a fair chance when they met up again. She’d just assumed he’d be a low-life playboy, and yet each time they met up, he managed to prove her wrong.

Her head ached. Placing a hand against her forehead, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. It had been a while since she’d been drunk on anything but a few glasses of wine with some friends—usually at home—and her body was not pleased.

“I didn’t want to take over Dad’s position in the club,” Van continued, and she opened her eyes quickly. “His interests weren’t mine. So I saved up, bought the bar last year before the bank foreclosed on it.”

“And by club you mean his… motorcycle gang?”

“Not really a gang, April,” he chuckled, and she caught him roll his eyes a little. “It’s a club for people who share a common interest.”

“Right.” Being biker thugs, apparently, and carrying out shady backdoor deals under the radar. Oh, and threatening future stepdaughters. Let’s add that to the list too.

“Why don’t I take you home?” he suggested, as the silence dragged on, and she pursed her lips. For some reason, she was annoyed. Whether it was the booze or Van or recalling James’s threats, her temper spiked in that moment.

“I can get home by myself,” she insisted. “I drove here, and I can—”

“Yeah, I’m not losing my liquor license because I let a drunk girl drive home,” Van told her, pushing off the railing, “no matter how hot she looks in that dress.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she took a few moments staring out pointedly at the lake to collect herself. When she was ready, she fell in line behind him, still a little wobbly in her heels.

The inside of the bar really got to her: the smells, the sounds, the stench of sweaty bodies combined with the humidity of the dancing horde made her head spin again. However, determined to stay on her own two feet, she focused on Van’s broad back and nothing else, following him straight through the crowds until they reached the doors.

“I’ll be right back,” Van told one of the bouncers. “Just taking my friend home.”

April’s eyes swept over the bouncer, and she realized he was another former high school acquaintance. A year ahead of her, like Johnny, but his name was nowhere near the tip of her tongue, so she kept her head down and said nothing.

“I think you broke that guy’s nose, bossman,” the bouncer laughed, though there was a hint of concern there too. “You think he’ll sue?”

“Fuck him,” Van grumbled, taking April by the arm and leading her down the stairs. “I’ve got a whole bar full of witnesses who saw him swing first.”

***

Although she’d vowed never to get on the back of Van’s motorcycle, April had to admit that it beat walking home. Their heads clunked together, her helmet heavy and big and awkward with her arms wrapped around Van’s thick midsection. At first she’d just kept her hands on his shoulders, but when she found she was more stable if she just hugged him, she went with it.

Besides, at that point, she was still drunk enough to blame the inappropriate body contact with her future stepbrother on the alcohol that he poured for her. So, really, any weirdness in the days to follow was totally Van’s fault.

He glanced over his shoulder, his leather jacket cool on her bare arms as she hugged him, and April almost apologized—but then realized he wouldn’t hear her anyway. So, she smiled through the clear visor, the bike rumbling between her thighs, encouraging sensations that she shouldn’t feel, and Van nodded before turning back to watch the road.

It should have taken them fifteen minutes—maximum—to get back to her mom’s apartment. However, rather than taking a direct route through the town, Van went north, leading her along winding roads surrounded by trees. There were no other cars on the road at this point—just her and Van and his bike, roaring along the cracked cement, nothing but trees and starlight to keep them company.

Despite the way her stomach turned and her head ached, April was actually enjoying herself. She’d never been on a motorcycle before, and there was something of a… thrill to riding it. Maybe it was the way Van handled it, so confident, so sure of himself—so sexy in his leather jacket. She hugged him tighter, laughing as he leaned the bike around a sharp corner. She could have ridden with him for hours, forgetting that he had a job to get back to. A part of her wanted him to take her along the deep woods on back roads; maybe they could stop for a breather sometime.

But all goods things had to come to an end sometime, and April realized that might have been for the best. Van slowed the bike once they were back on Main Street, her mom’s apartment building appearing out of nowhere. As soon as he was pulled up to the curb, Van cut the engine and helped her climb off.

“How was that?” he asked, his helmet’s visor up. April dragged her helmet over her head, her hair a disaster in the aftermath, and grinned.

“Fun,” she admitted with a nod. “A lot of fun.”

“I knew you’d like it,” he teased, as he took the helmet back, setting in on the seat behind him. His bike was just as much an impressive specimen as Van. Although she knew nothing about motorcycles, it was big and shiny and ridiculously clean, and she knew that had to stand for something. A gust of wind barreled down the street, and her skin prickled with little bumps as her teeth chattered. Van studied her for a moment then cursed under his breath. “I should have given you my jacket.”

“It’s fine,” she said, waving off his concern. “I’ll be upstairs and warm in a minute.” April paused, licking her lips, and then asked, “Do you want to join me?”

It was the alcohol talking—yeah, let’s blame it on that. She swallowed thickly, and when their eyes met, his were practically smoldering. It stole the breath right out of her lungs.

Unfortunately, that was where the smoldering stopped. Van shook his head and looked away. “I’ll see you around, April.”

He then pushed his visor down, started up his bike, and roared off into the night, leaving her alone on the sidewalk.

Confused. Embarrassed. Angry.

And a little bit broken.

CHAPTER SIX

Ugh. If April had had the good sense to remember that she’d promised to help her mom with some snooty garden party at James’s house the following morning, she wouldn’t have gone to the bar. In fact, there were a number of hindsight reasons that sprang to mind when her mom dragged her out of bed that morning to get ready as to why she shouldn’t have gone to the bar—namely Van.

And I’d invited him upstairs! Double ugh. As she’d thrown on a white sundress and combed her hair into a sloppy ponytail, April could only hope that Van knew it had been the alcohol talking when she was overly forward with him. There was the small chance, of course, that he might think it was the truth. Wasn’t there a saying that drunk words were sober thoughts?

Regardless, she could think of a thousand places she’d rather be the next morning, her head pounding and stomach sensitive to food, and none of them involved James and Van’s family home. Besides, her mom had spent last night with some of her closest lady friends—why did they need to see each other again? The business women of Cascade Falls, most well-off and independently wealthy like her mom, liked to put on airs every once and a while with something as snobby as a garden party—just to remind everyone that they were, in fact, the crème de la crème of the town.

And somehow April had been dragged into helping with the set-up.

“Shouldn’t James have servants to do this?” she asked without thinking as she unloaded a few boxes of cupcakes. Why they’d picked up pastries was beyond her. It wasn’t like any of these women were going to have more than a single half-slice of carrot cake, or something equally “healthy.” In fact, she wholly expected her mom’s fridge to be overflowing with cake and cookies and cupcakes by tonight—so, she supposed it was a good thing they’d splurged at the bakery.

“Servant is a crass word,” her mom chastised, as the pair unpacked bags in the kitchen. She’d seen James fleetingly that morning, but her mom insisted he’d probably spend the day in his study. Too many hens clucking around his house, apparently, which April thought was beyond rude of him. “He has a chef and a housekeeper, but I told them they wouldn’t be needed today.”

April pursed her lips, her eyes darting to the doorway of the ultra-posh kitchen at the slightest noise. No sign of Van yet, and she hoped he’d sleep through the whole ordeal. After setting up the tables and chairs outside, April and her mom began placing the pastries on a table for the ladies to sample from, only to be interrupted by a few early guests.

Her mom flitted off to entertain, something she had always done very well, and April was left to do the grunt work in the kitchen. If she hadn’t felt so hungover, she would have enjoyed the quiet, monotonous work. Instead, all she could think about was crawling back into bed and sleeping the day away, hopefully to awake tomorrow feeling less embarrassed about the last time she saw Van.

“Well, look at you.”

She closed her eyes tightly, hoping she was hearing things. Unfortunately, as Van sidled up to the center island, looking refreshed and sinfully handsome in a plain tee and workout shorts, April wanted the ground to open and swallow her whole. Of course he was fine after last night. Of course. She licked her lips and stared pointedly at her tower of perfectly stacked cupcakes. The pink frosting was the only food that tempted her thus far, and her mouth watered, as she wondered what it must taste like.

“How are you feeling?” Van asked, leaning on the countertop and snagging a cookie from the Tupperware container in front of him. She looked up sharply when he crunched down on one.

“Fine.” She went for the tray of cupcakes, hoisting it up carefully and stalking around the kitchen to the patio doors. Her kitten heels clacked loudly with each step, and she struggled to get the screen door open, as Van’s eyes bore into the back of her head. After some awkward maneuvering, she managed to get it open with her foot then disappeared outside to set the cupcakes out. A few more of her mom’s cohorts had arrived—though none of them acknowledged April. Maybe they think I’m hired help.

“Listen,” Van started as soon as she was back in the kitchen, and she fixed him with a narrowed look as she went for a plate to set the cookies on, “about last night—”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she said abruptly. “Thanks for the drinks and the ride home. I’m fine.”

“You know,” he told her, as she started transferring cookies from the Tupperware to the plate, “all I wanted to do last night was kiss you.”

Her hands slipped, and she ended up breaking one of the cookies in half, the crumbs littering the island countertop. April stared straight ahead, her cheeks flushed by the confession, and without thinking, she handed half of the broken cookie to Van, which he took.

“But you were drunk,” he continued, as April bit into her half of the cookie, her mind suddenly very far away, “and I’d feel like a real asshole for kissing a drunk girl, even more so for going up to her place when she invited me—”

“We can pretend that part didn’t happen.” She set the cookie aside and continued filling up the plate. “It was… I was drunk. I didn’t mean it.”

“Of course.”

“At all.”

“Understood.”

She cast him a sidelong glance and caught him studying her, cookie in hand. Of course he’d wanted to kiss her. He probably wanted to kiss anyone with a pair of boobs. She wasn’t special. Head held high, she gestured to the rest of the treats.

“You can make yourself useful and bring those outside, you know,” she told him, preferring to set him to work than continue with the conversation. She didn’t have it in her today to handle anything of that magnitude. Nodding, Van started grabbing trays and plates of sweets, bringing them all outside to the garden party without her having to direct him. When he was done, there was nothing left for her to move, so she popped open a tin of the leftover pink cupcake frosting and scooped some out on her finger, a reward for working with a throbbing hangover and a distractingly sexy man.

“How’s it taste?”

She closed her eyes and sighed, knowing the sugar was bound to make her headache worse.

“Delicious.”

April went for seconds, thirds, fourths, not caring that she was double-dipping with her finger, and before she knew it, Van was beside her. He caught her hand on her fifth scoop, then brought it to his lips. Their eyes met, and she noticed the heat again, her breath catching in her throat. Maintaining eye contact, Van wrapped his lips around her finger and sucked the frosting off. She swallowed hard, her eyes drifting to his lips, and a tremor passed through her hand.

“Delicious,” he agreed, his voice a sultry low rumble. Even after he released her hand, she could still feel the way he held her. Their bodies had shifted toward one another too, as if pulled by their own gravitational force. Without looking away, April dipped her finger back in the tin, ready to give him another taste.

Her plan stalled when, over Van’s shoulder, she spied James watching them with a discernable scowl. Clearing her throat, she stepped away and licked the icing off herself, cheeks flaming.

“Thanks for your help with… all this,” she managed, as she made a swift and hasty exit out the patio doors. As she went, Van called her name, sounding mildly confused, but she ignored him and stepped out into the sunshine.

Her head was about to explode as she squinted in the light. Her sunglasses were inside, in her purse, but she couldn’t trust herself to go back through the house. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket and poured herself a glass, hoping that the alcohol would off-set the hangover, and wandered into the crowd of snobby women. When she glanced over her shoulder, she spotted Van watching her from the patio doors, and she hastily turned back to the group conversation at hand.

A few moments later, she dared to take another look. This time, he was gone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

How she ended up on a date with Van Palmer at a glow-in-the-dark mini-putt course was beyond her, but she had no one to blame but herself. After all, it was her who was calling their outing a date. Not to him, of course, and not out loud, but every second she had a moment to herself, her mind screamed that she was on a date—and that she ought to run for the hills and never look back.

It had all began innocently enough. Somehow Van had acquired her number—probably from her mom—and texted her to ask what she was up to that evening. They hadn’t spoken since their Sunday garden party finger sucking incident, and several days later, April had finally gotten over the hovering cloud of embarrassment that refused to dissipate. Then, out of nowhere, he texted her. At the time, she’d been wrapped up in a new book, and when asked what she was doing that night, she gave an honest reply: playing mini-golf—alone.

It had been a favorite pastime of hers when she was a kid, and considering she was still spending most of her time renovating or puttering around her bedroom, she’d wanted to do something to bring up her spirits. Most of her old high school friends worked during the week anyway, and she needed to find something to keep herself entertained that wasn’t a book or a TV show.

Van had asked her when she planned to go, and just like that, it was a date. He’d picked her up on his bike and everything, showing up on the curb outside the apartment building just as she was headed for her car. Unable to resist the call of that beautiful motorcycle, April had hesitantly climbed on, scouring the street for any signs of James spying on them again.

And that was that. Suddenly, she’d gone from loner with plans to do something by herself to awkward other half of a date that was never meant to be. There’d been numerous times to back out. Hell, she could have just turned and gone upstairs as soon as she saw him waiting for her, but she didn’t. April had moved forward, all the while telling herself that she was doing this for her mom’s sake, she ought to be on at least speaking terms with Van once their parents were married, and spending some platonic time together was probably the way to foster that relationship.

Mini-golf was probably the least sexy thing they could have done together anyway, so even if it was a date—guh—there wasn’t exactly a lot of room for much to happen. There’d been a few families at the course when they arrived, and April spent a lot of her time admiring the glow-in-the-dark decorations while pretending not to notice the way Van’s teeth shone under the black-light.

He’d made a joke when they first started about helping her with her swing, but when she landed a hole-in-one on her first try, that shameless tactic went out the window too. April had no need for a guy to stand behind her and position her body just right. She was damn good at mini-golf, and she intended to win on her own.

If only she could quiet her mind and actually focus on the moment, not whether or not tonight was a date, she would have been in the lead by now. As it stood, Van was beating her by three strokes.

“And that was, what, two strokes?” he teased, marking his score down on his sheet with his comically tiny pencil once they completed the hole with two ramps and a fake sandpit. “I think I’m kicking your ass, April.”

“Hey, the course isn’t over yet,” she snapped, picking up her ball from the hole and moving on to the next challenge: a glow-in-the-dark pirate ship, the hole inside the impressive structure. “How did you get so good at mini-golf anyway? You don’t exactly strike me as the kind of guy to enjoy something like this.”

“Oh, I hate golf in every sense of the word. It’s pretentious as fuck,” he said, as he set his ball down, and April frowned, “but I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to see you. You seemed pretty dead-set on mini-putt.”

She crossed her arms, gripping the ball and putter tightly. “You didn’t have to come with me. I’m sure you can go if you’re having a bad time—”

“Did I say I was having a bad time?” Van squared his shoulders and tapped his ball toward the pirate ship. “I’m having a great time. I’m also winning…”

April rolled her eyes when he winked at her. They played a few more holes, with April closing the gap in their scores by two strokes. She waited in front of a dark, ominous, slightly glowing tunnel, watching as Van hit his ball with just enough force to send it sailing on through. However, as it was about to hit the tunnel, she casually stuck her foot out, causing the ball to bounce off her toes and take off in a whole new direction. Van pointed at her with his too-small golf club, his eyes wide.

“Cheater!”

“I just happened to move my foot,” she insisted, shrugging innocently. “I can’t help it that your ball was there at the same time…”

April let out a shriek-giggle when he took a run at her, and she thought she could lose him in the tunnel. Unfortunately, Van was actually running while she was merely jogging half-assed, and he caught her in no time. His hand wrapped around her arm, Van tugged her back and pushed her against the wall, which was painted with glow-in-the-dark paint to simulate an ocean view. The ceiling of the tunnel was littered in glowing stars, and if someone tried really hard, they could almost call the setting romantic.

But to April this wasn’t romance. With his body so close to hers, their faces inches from one another, the laughter disappeared pretty damn fast, replaced by a hushed need that surprised her. She leaned her head back, watching him, her gaze shifting from his eyes to his lips. His head ducked down a little, and her heart fluttered. Her stomach knotted, squeezing in a way that was almost pleasant, pleasurable even. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she wondered, just briefly, what it would be like to kiss him again. As she recalled, he’d been quite good at it—never too much tongue, always forceful without gnashing teeth together.

She nibbled her lower lip, debating. And while she debated, Van took action. He pinched her chin between his thumb and finger, easing her toward him as his free hand curved around her lower back. He whispered her name—growled it more like, his voice low and husky.

It’d be easy to kiss him, to just close her eyes and savor the moment. They were alone. He smelled divine. His hard body pressed to hers, domineering without dominating her—and it would have been so easy.

But she couldn’t.

Just as he dipped his head down, his lips a mere breath from hers, April turned her head to the side and cleared her throat. He exhaled, his breath hot and full of disappointment, then stepped back. Unable to look at him, April pushed herself off the wall and fixed her hair, then her t-shirt and shorts.

“You can have a do-over on that last shot,” she muttered—though it was difficult to get the words out. “I hit the ball on purpose.”

“Yeah… Okay.”

He followed her out of the tunnel, and this time April stayed off the green felt carpet, letting him get the shot he deserved. Her face burned with her blush, and it stayed that way until they finished all eighteen holes in the vast mini-golf warehouse. After they returned their clubs, April excused herself, making up a lie that she was meeting someone for drinks, and refused his offer to drop her off wherever she needed to be.

She walked back to her mom’s apartment instead, taking an obscure route along the lakeshore so that Van wouldn’t spot her on his drive home. Arms wrapped around herself, she glared into the distance on the brink of tears.

She knew, in her heart of hearts, that she shouldn’t kiss him. She knew that she’d done the right thing in rebuking his offer. After all, he’d probably be able to find someone at his bar to make up for whatever blue balls she left him with—that much was certain. Her response was appropriate.

So why did she feel so terrible?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Another Friday morning market, just April and half the town’s population mulling around fruit and vegetable stands, enjoying the warm morning sunshine. She’d kept her distance from Van ever since their impromptu mini-golf date last week, knowing that she could no longer trust herself around him. She chalked it up to her willingness to fall for any smooth crap a good-looking guy spouted, but deep down, she knew that it was more than that. Something had stirred inside of her after their near-kiss, a feeling that had been dormant since she was a teenager, and it set her on edge.

Nothing could happen with Van for a plethora of reasons. The biggest and most obvious was his dad: James’s threats were words she thought over late at night while she stared at her ceiling in the dark, trying to fall asleep. He was a sketchy guy who had somehow acquired a high enough status in Cascade Falls to get engaged to her mom—and she knew he hadn’t climbed that social ladder by doing all the right things. April had no interest in pissing him off, no matter how Van made her feel.

And that was the second reason: she actually had feelings. Real feelings. For some playboy who owned a bar and pretended to like mini-golf—probably just to get in her pants. Feelings were dangerous, and they could lead her down an equally dangerous road if she wasn’t careful. April was here to support her mom and to help her prep for her wedding in the fall. There was no time for heartbreak, and she was sure that if she pursued any sort of emotional attachment with Van, that was what awaited her.

So, she distanced herself. She ignored his texts. She visited his house less often, declining her mom’s invitation to tag along for dinner or drinks or card games. Instead, she busied herself as she had since she’d first arrived with apartment decorating and cleaning, book reading, and TV watching. She’d even met up with Johnny for drinks, but there was no spark in the conversation, and the evening fizzled out around seven.

Anything she could do to forget about the look in Van’s eyes as he pressed up against her, she did it. Whatever worked to help make the feel of his lips on her skin fade—she did.

Despite seeing Van at the last farmers’ market she went to, April threw on a floor-length strapless maxi dress, the fabric loose and flowy, grabbed her reusable shopping bags, and took a stroll down to the stands. Even with Van there, the market had been a good distraction from the routine of her life lately, and she was desperate to pick up some fresh strawberries again; the ones she’d bought last time were practically orgasmic.

She kept her head down, focused on perusing the stalls without making direct eye contact with anyone. However, no matter how hard she tried and pretended to look and be busy, lost in her own world to ward off potential conversation from acquaintances, she couldn’t fool Van. Halfway through her shopping trip, she spotted him coming toward her through the crowd, a scowl on his face. She froze on the spot, panicking, before turning and ducking back into the throngs of people in the parking lot marketplace.

It didn’t help that he was practically a giant and towered over half the people there. Plus, her sandals were not conducive for a hasty retreat. Somehow she managed to get back to the sidewalk along Main Street without him catching her, and instead of heading north back up to her mom’s apartment, she turned right and went south, hoping to lose him by doing the unexpected.

Annoyed that her shopping distraction had been ruined once again by Van’s surprise appearance, April stalked along the sidewalk, her hands in fists, and carried on without a clear idea as to where she was going. The longer she walked, the more the sky clouded, a once perfectly sunny morning slowly turning gray on her. The winds picked up, whipping her dress around, and she was pleased that she only had a few things her bags; carrying heavy items in a punishing wind was no fun.

When she heard the distant rumble of thunder, coming from somewhere far along the valley beyond the lake, April debated turning back and heading for home. The air had thickened with pre-storm humidity, and she hated the idea of seeking shelter under a tree or in a bus stop to wait out the worst of it.

However, just as she was about to cross the street to walk back to her mom’s place, the sidewalk cutting off some twenty feet from her in favor of a gravelly roadside shoulder, she heard the familiar roar of a motorcycle.

Of course.

She certainly didn’t need to look back to check who was following her, and instead of crossing the street like she intended, April carried on forward. The wind rustled the trees on either side of the road, the great sycamores and pines towering well-above her head, and she wondered if she might lose him if she slipped between their thick trunks.

“April!” His voice carried over the sound of his engine, as he slowed beside her, and she faced forward, as if fascinated by the horizon. “What are you doing?”

“Walking,” she shouted back, her eyes narrowing. “Am I not allowed to walk anywhere?”

“This is stupid.”

Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she picked up the pace to a near jog, hoping he might get the hint. It was then that the skies finally decided they’d had enough of holding all that rainwater, and she felt the first few fat drops hit her face as Van puttered along behind her. This was stupid—she knew that. It was petty and juvenile, but she hadn’t expected him to go to such great lengths to follow her.

If only she’d turned left instead of right; she could be back in her mom’s apartment by now, safe and dry, separated from Van by the security code at the door that everyone needed to punch in.

But then again, he’d gotten in once before, though she hoped it was because a neighbor had felt sorry for him and let him inside.

“Just go away,” she cried over the motorcycle’s rumbling, rolling her eyes when she looked back and saw his legs out and feet on the ground to steady himself, half-walking the bike after her so that he could keep up. He’d taken his helmet off, she noticed, and he stared at her with an unimpressed look.

Well, she was pretty unimpressed with herself too—he didn’t need to say anything.

Gravel poked at her feet as she walked, her sandals flicking some of the loose stones in and sandwiching them between the sole of her shoe and her foot. Gritting her teeth, she tried her best to ignore them, to ignore him, and when that failed, April turned and stalked off into the woods. Although walking through underbrush and exposed roots wasn’t much better, at least he couldn’t follow her on the bike.

The rain was falling at a steady pace now, soaking her right through to the skin and beyond. Her hair lay flat against her head, and her only saving grace was that she hadn’t put on any eye makeup that morning—at least she didn’t have raccoon eyes. There were small mercies in the universe after all.

She was probably a good ten feet into the trees, totally unsure of where she was going, when she heard Van cut the engine. She’d hoped he would just drive away, but instead she heard him crashing through the woods behind her, groaning and grunting as the forest slowed him. She smirked then changed course and headed back toward the downtown. The trees would taper off once she hit the small residential neighborhood at the end of Main Street, and then it would be a quick jaunt back to her mom’s apartment.

Hopefully, he was wearing biker boots—those probably weren’t meant for the outdoors. But then again, neither were sandals, not in this capacity.

“April, stop.” He was a lot closer than she’d thought, and she let out a surprise cry when he grabbed her wrist and tugged her back. She yanked her hand away, glaring. Van glowered right back at her, not backing down for even a second. “What are you doing? This is ridiculous!”

“What’s ridiculous is that you followed me out here,” she fired back, her skin prickling as a chilly gust of air crashed through the forest, bringing with it a fresh pelting of heavy raindrops. Her teeth threatened to chatter, as her body cooled, but she held strong. “What are you… stalking me?”

Van snorted and looked away, shaking his head. “For fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, my thoughts precisely,” she said with a sniff before turning and stalking away.

“What the hell did I even do to you?” Van called after her, and she slowed, hearing the frustration in his voice. He really had no idea. “Are you upset about mini-golf? Look, I’m sorry that I… that we… almost… You know, whatever. I didn’t know it’d turn into some big thing where you’d ignore me afterward.”

April stopped with a huff, took a breath, and then faced him again. “I’m ignoring you with good reason.”

His eyebrows flew up. “What?”

“This,” she said, pointing between them, as she stomped back through the bushes, “can’t happen. We can’t be a thing.”

“Why?” His hands were in fists when she stopped in front of him, and she noticed the way his jaw clenched. Apparently not many refused the great Van Palmer.

“Because,” she started, taking in a deep breath to prepare for her rant, “in a few months, we’re going to be related, first of all—”

“Not by blood,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and looking toward the canopy. Rain continued to pummel them both, slipping through the fresh spring leaves.

“Plus, I know what kind of man you are,” April carried on, annoyed at the slight tremble her voice took on, “because I knew what kind of guy you were when we were in high school, and… that’s why I just left then. You used girls. You did whatever you wanted with them and then wiped your hands clean before moving onto the next one.” She held up a finger, silencing him before he could protest. “Don’t bother. I knew then, and I know now. I have no interest in fluffing your ego or adding a notch to your bedpost. For the sake of our parents, we can be friends. I’d rather be on good terms, but right now, I just… can’t be around you without…”

April trailed off and licked her lips, her speech losing a bit of its steam as she came to the realization that her feelings were stronger than she thought. Shaking her head, she sighed and turned away.

“Fuck you.” She stopped dead in her tracks, as he all but growled at her, and she whirled around, her jaw dropping. “Those are bullshit excuses and you know it. Just because I was some cocky little asshole all of, what, almost ten years ago doesn’t mean I’m still that guy. I’m sure you aren’t the same woman you were when you were eighteen either, so don’t pull that shit on me.”

“Van—”

“And it’s not like we’re going to suddenly be blood related just because our parents tie the knot,” he argued, closing the distance between them in a few long steps. April backed up to avoid coming into contact with him, only to find herself smacking into a thick tree trunk. “You’re full of shit right now if you expect me to believe any of that. Full of it. You’re just scared of getting hurt, and, hey, I get that. Love is a scary thing.”

“No one ever said anything about love,” she spat, as thunder rumbled above them, following a bright flash of light.

“Your eyes say plenty,” he sneered, bending down so that they were at the same level. She dropped her bags, enraged.

“Fuck you—”

He swallowed her anger with a kiss, lips slating over hers. April inhaled shakily, her hands flying up to his chest—first to push him away, then to drag him closer. There was no tentativeness in the way he kissed, only a burning desire to take precisely what he wanted: her. Her face colored with excitement, with arousal, and she no longer felt the cold rain as he pressed himself against her. Cupping his face, she parted her lips when he nipped at her lower one, sharp enough to make her moan.

God did she ever want him. All of him. Right there in the woods, pressed against a damp spruce.

Van hoisted her up, the soaked fabric of her dress clinging to her legs as they wrapped around his waist, and she groaned his name as he left a trail of blazing kisses down her neck. Her hand threaded through his thick dark hair, tightening around it and pulling, and he bit down on her shoulder in response. Her cunt clenched, pleasure seeping out of her core, her underwear damp but not from the rain.

“No,” she whispered, pushing at his chest when he finally cupped her where she desperately wanted him to, his palm rubbing her clit through the wet material. When he didn’t stop right away, she pushed him again, and this time he stepped back, both of them panting.

It had to stop. She hated herself for it, but she knew that she’d thank herself sometime down the road for putting an end to things.

“April,” Van breathed, running a hand through his hair. He took a step toward her again, but she shook her head, arms wrapped around herself in a solo hug. Her lower lip trembled.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she told him, hoping she sounded sure of herself. “We… can’t.”

“But…” Their eyes met, and she begged, pleaded, for him to let it go. Van exhaled noisily, swallowing hard enough to make his Adam’s apple bob noticeably, and then stepped back. “Okay.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Let me at least give you a ride home.”

“That’d be fine,” she told him, grabbing her grocery bags and gesturing for him to lead the way. He gave her one last hard look before turning around, and as April followed him, she pressed her lips together tight to keep him from hearing her cries, knowing that the rain would hide most of her sadness—for her anyway.

CHAPTER NINE

She couldn’t take it anymore. The forced conversations. The fake smiles. The inane banter at the dinner table. The way her mom looked at James Palmer, like he was the best thing since sliced bread. It was just… too much. Too much change. Too much, too fast.

Too many veiled threats dictating her romantic decisions. Only a few long days had passed since she and Van shared a quick, yet heated, kiss in the woods, and even now she could still feel it. She felt his lips on her neck. She felt the cold rain painting her face. She felt the distinct sting of her words and his, and the loneliness in her heart when they parted ways. It was for the best, of course, but that didn’t make it feel any better.

He might have still been a womanizer, but he made her feel beautiful with nothing more than a fleeting glance. He made her want him just by smiling from across the dinner table. He’d hurt her heart already, and she had been the one to do all the dictating. April couldn’t take it.

As if garden parties weren’t enough, James and her mom had recruited her to help with a dinner party that evening, using her to prep salads and make intricate shapes out of cloth napkins for their guests. Half the town’s elite had been invited, and they took up residence in James’s garish dining hall just off the kitchen, at a long table with tasteful place settings and gorgeous floral arrangements—the only non-awful things in the room, designed entirely by her mom.

Van had to play bartender for all the guests, working behind James’s expensive wooden bar at the far end of the room up until dinner was served. Naturally, she and Van were put in charge of delivering all the plates, along with a severely overworked housekeeper, and she’d barely spent a full hour that night seated. Somehow she’d been relegated to servant now that James and her mom were throwing parties together, and while she’d do anything for her mom, she really wished they’d just hire a catering company and be done with it. This was Cascade Falls; there may have been a few wealthy residents, but the services were fairly cheap overall.

It wasn’t so much that she minded working; it was that she minded working with Van. Every accidental brush, touch, and look made her heart ache, and now that the party had shifted to the sitting room to enjoy after-dinner drinks, April couldn’t take it anymore. She needed air.

Ducking out through the patio doors, ignoring the sullen chef cleaning dishes at the sink, she jogged down the porch and onto the perfectly manicured lawn. The air was crisp but warm, the last lingering moments of winter finally faded from the nights, and it was just what she needed to clear her head. Inhaling deeply, she strolled toward the ravine, remembering the tour she’d been given all those years ago by Van. A stream cut through the back of the property, and one needed to clamber over a little bridge to reach the guest house where they’d shared a night together.

It was still there, that little bridge. Unable to help herself, April reached out and touched the wood.

“Bit stuffy in there.”

She jumped back, hastily withdrawing her hand from the damp wood of the bridge, and whirled around to find Van approaching. He’d unbuttoned a few of the top buttons of his white dress shirt, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. She bit the insides of her cheeks, then turned around, staring into the forest as if that suddenly interested her. The trees had grown since she was last this close, but otherwise it looked just the same.

“Dad thinks this kind of stuff is bullshit, you know,” Van told her. He stopped by her side, arms crossed, and April shifted so that their bodies wouldn’t touch—despite how badly she wanted them to. “I think he throws all these parties for your mom.”

“Well, she’s accustomed to a certain lifestyle,” April remarked. Parties. Drinks. Dinners. Her mom had become the epitome of a socialite after her dad died, finally taking the time to spend some of the wealth she’d accumulated through her boutiques. April couldn’t fault her for that. The Golden Years were a time to thrive.

What worried her, however, was that her mom was the one paying for these lavish parties thrown at James and Van’s estate, throwing cash into at like she had millions to spare. She shook her head, quickly brushing the worry aside. It was hard to concentrate on much with Van hovering nearby anyway.

Through the tree line, April could just make out the guest house, and without a word, Van took her hand and tugged her across the bridge. For some reason beyond comprehension, she let him pull her along, glancing back at the brightly lit house behind her only once. No one would even know they were missing.

“I spruced up the place,” he told her, as they neared the small guest house, still hand-in-hand. “Did a bit of remodeling after I bought the bar.”

“Had some cash sitting around?” She meant it as a joke, but when he said nothing in response, April sighed. She knew she shouldn’t go in there with him, but it felt good to hold his hand, and in the moonlight, Van was outrageously handsome. More so now than ever before. Stupid moonlight.

He produced a small key from his pocket, much like he’d done after prom, and opened the front door. She gasped once she’d stepped inside; he had done some serious work. Beautiful beams of wood across the ceiling, new tile flooring, a beautiful fireplace with a few couches aimed toward it. The place had become a stunning retreat—just what she needed on a night like tonight.

“It looks… fantastic,” she mused, stiffening when he pressed up behind her, his hands smoothing around her waist, his face nuzzling her neck. Her eyes threatened to drift closed, but she fought the urge. “Van…”

“Why do you make it so difficult?” he murmured, his arms tightening around her. “I want to listen. I want to stay away because you want me to, but… fuck, April.”

Tentatively, she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, subtly encouraging him to kiss her neck—which he seemed happy to oblige her with. They rocked back and forth in a music-less dance, Van trailing his lips across her skin, her abdomen clenching in anticipation.

“We c-can’t,” she said, but the words tasted hollow. Had he known this was what she thought about every time she looked at him tonight? Had he sensed her want, her desire for him? Perhaps if she’d looked close enough, she’d see the blazing embers of lust in his eyes, too.

Van straightened up suddenly, and before she could protest, he’d spun her around and hoisted her up over his broad shoulder. She squealed, clutching the back of his shirt, as he carried her in the general direction of the bedroom. She could have fought him. Protested loudly. Kicked him in his rock-hard abs.

But she didn’t. As he tossed her down on a new king-sized bed, the covers plush and cozy, April decided she’d rather surrender.

“We’ll get in trouble,” she whispered, as he crawled up her body, pausing here and there to nip and kiss her, dragging her dress up with him. Van chuckled, his breath warm on her neck.

“I like trouble,” he insisted, grazing his teeth over her skin. “Keeps things exciting….”

Rather than respond, April cupped his face and dragged him up, slamming her lips to his in a kiss she’d wanted to give ever since they left the woods. Van responded enthusiastically, biting at her lower lip and sliding his tongue over hers when she gasped. He was rougher than she remembered, yet despite his heavy hand and biting kisses, there was an aura of respect there. This time, when he yanked her dress off and tossed it aside, his eyes wandered her body appreciatively, not hungrily, taking her in like she was a piece of fine art.

But if anyone was fine art, it was Van. His body was sculpted to perfection, making her shy as they shed their clothing—shy and aroused, that is. Somehow she managed to roll them over, and she took her time bestowing kiss after kiss across his taut and toned abdomen, licking the indents and grooves of his muscles, pleased with the way it drove him wild. His hips bucked beneath hers, nothing but their underwear keeping them divided, and she moaned when his cock, hard and difficult to ignore, ground against her swollen clit.

“I just want to take care of you,” he whispered, rolling her onto her back and sliding down her body. April watched, nibbling her lower lip, as he dragged her panties down to her ankles. “Let me take care of you.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, it was almost as if he was asking for permission. Inhaling shakily, she nodded and watched him press kisses up her legs, along her thighs, his hands spreading her by the knees. This was it. The point of no return. They hadn’t really done anything yet, and she could have backed out—

“Oh!” she cried when his tongue swept over her slick folds. She whimpered his name, her fingers buried in his hair, as he licked and sucked and fucked her with his tongue, taking her higher and higher until she climaxed minutes later. He hadn’t done that before. No, this was a first, and he’d definitely improved his skills since they were last together. Hazy from her orgasm, April incoherently begged for him to take her, pulling him up and gripping his solid shaft through his boxers.

He cursed under his breath, pushing her hand aside before ridding himself of the last piece of fabric that stood between them. Yanking her legs up around his waist, Van thrust into her completely, filling her all at once, straight down to the hilt. The pleasure from coming only moments earlier seemed to triple as he took her, prolonging the bliss, his hips slamming against her over and over again.

She captured his lips briefly, tasting her juices on his tongue, and found herself desperate for more. More closeness. Harder thrusts. Van mouth wandered lower as he slammed into her, covering her achingly pert nipple with his mouth, and April fisted her hands in his hair when his tongue swirled around the hard nub—followed shortly by his teeth. She gasped, her eyes narrowing when he looked up at her with a cheeky grin. She would get him back for that, but not tonight. Tonight, she savored the intimacy instead.

Her cries filled the little guest house when she came a second time, her melodic soprano tone punctuated by Van’s harsh groans, as he spilled himself inside of her. Panting, her body flushed with pleasant heat, she stroked her hands through his hair. Van rolled off of her, and the pair laid next to one another in contented silence for some time.

“I meant what I said,” he rumbled finally, and April glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. Her mind had been clear and light for the first time since she’d returned to Cascade Falls, and a part of her didn’t want to lose that.

“What?”

“That I want to take care of you,” Van told her as he shifted onto his side. She reached out and stroked his cheek with the backs of her knuckles. “Outside of the bedroom, I mean.”

April sighed, her old niggling worries worming their way back in to what was a temporarily blissful moment.

“It doesn’t need to be something serious,” Van said, sitting up and taking her hand. “We can keep it casual. Date. See how things go. I don’t expect anything from you.”

“It’s never that easy,” she told him with a slight shake of her head. But why couldn’t it be? Sure, James was a factor, but the old man was a distant memory at this point, totally forgotten in a world where it was just Van and her, alone in a cozy bedroom, sweaty in the aftermath of their much-needed reunion.

“April—”

“But nothing you want is ever easy, I guess,” she said, the words falling from her lips before she could stop them. She meant them. If Van could prove himself to be the charming man he claimed to be, the grown-up business owner who took care of her needs first before he fucked her brains out, then maybe she ought to give him a chance.

She deserved to be happy, too. If Van made her happy, why hold back anymore? Being separate was only making her miserable. Smiling, she rolled on top of him, sealing the deal with a gentle kiss, then giggled when he dragged her off the bed and into the shower, ready to go again before the water warmed.

CHAPTER TEN

“Well, fancy running into you here.”

April glanced up from her phone, surprised to see James in a coffee shop of all places. She and Van were on their fifth date in two weeks, in non-stop contact ever since their night in the guest house, and she couldn’t have been happier—until she spotted James. Since she and Van had agreed that they would give this dating thing a shot, she’d only seen his father on a few occasions, and always fleetingly, but he’d never looked as irritated as he did now.

Shifting on her oversized armchair, she sat up and pointed to the bathroom. “Are you looking for Van? He just went to the—”

“I never need to look for my son,” the man growled softly, leaning down with his hand on the back of her chair. “I know precisely where he is at all times.”

She blinked up at him, both knowing the meaning behind his words, but she refused to acknowledge anything. Instead, she licked her lips and sighed, reaching for her half-finished latté on the small round table between her and Van’s armchair. The coffee shop, located in the heart of Cascade Falls’s downtown core, was usually pretty popular with the high school and college crowd. As it were, most of the tables were full for the evening, and the noise level would have been bothersome if she hadn’t been enjoying Van’s company so much.

Unfortunately, Van wasn’t there now. They’d spent hours together that afternoon, enjoying his night off from the bar by taking a jaunt on his motorcycle along the country roads like she’d wanted to, and then ending up at the coffee shop for a little evening snack. Their dinner reservations at the resort were for later that night, accompanied by drinks and… whatever followed in some dark corner where prying eyes couldn’t see them fucking. A tingle of excitement shot through her just thinking about it, but it was hastily stamped out by the look in James’s eyes as he watched her.

He wanted an answer. He probably wanted to see fear. Van wanted to be with her, and she’d set aside her reservations—for now—so that she could be with him and be happy. And damn it, she’d been happy. Genuinely happy for the first time in years. Pushing him away for as long as she did hadn’t done either of them any good.

“You and he have been doing a lot of things together lately, haven’t you?” James hissed, and she wondered if he might have grabbed her had they been alone. She gave a little half-nod then looked back to the bathrooms again. “Yes, Renee tells me all about your little dates. She barely approves, April, and you know where I stand.”

“You have no right to interfere with my life,” she told him, sounding much stronger than she felt. “You have no right to tamper with your son’s happiness. He deserves—”

“I know what he deserves,” James spat, and a few heads swiveled around to check out the commotion from a nearby table. April swallowed hard, determined not to cower. “It isn’t you, I’m afraid. I warned you, didn’t I? I warned you to stay away from him.”

Fuck you. The words were on the tip of her tongue, and while she didn’t say them aloud, he probably saw the sentiment in her eyes.

“I am a man who follows through,” James remarked, straightening up and smoothing his hand down the front of his shirt. His leather jacket looked a little too polished, like he was a fraud trying to fit in with his boys. “Know that when you see the consequences of following through on some stupid school girl crush, it will be entirely on your shoulders.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her eyes narrowed. He departed with a curt nod, stalking out of the coffee house and slamming the door behind him. A few people around her studied her curiously, but she looked back to her phone like it had been nothing but a normal conversation. Mere seconds later, Van wandered into her peripherals.

“Was that my dad?” he asked, as he settled into his chair, peeking out the coffee shop’s windows. April nibbled her lower lip and debated telling him everything, but then thought better of it. James spouted a lot of hot air anyway.

“Yeah, he was getting a coffee,” she lied with a smile, reaching for her drink. “Just stopped by to say hello…”

And issue some empty threats.

Hopefully.

***

“April… April, wake up!”

She jolted upright in bed, her mom shaking her, and then groggily checked the time. Nearly four in the morning. Groaning, she ran a hand through her hair and tried to shove her mom off, but the woman just wasn’t letting go.

“Are you drunk?” she muttered, blinking heavily in the darkness. “Go back to bed—”

“My boutique is on fire!”

That managed to get her attention. Immediately all thoughts of sleep vanished, as April leapt out of bed and threw on whatever clothes she found first. Apparently her mom had received a call from the local fire department ten minutes prior to let her know that her high-end clothing boutique, the one she’d spent her life cultivating and nurturing, had gone up in flames. Luckily the other buildings around it were spared from the heat, but when April and her mom arrived at the scene, she was told her two other stores in neighboring towns had also been set ablaze.

“It’s not likely a coincidence,” the fire chief told them. April stared at the ashes of her mom’s life numbly, barely registering Johnny when he stopped by to ask if she was okay. “We suspect arson at this point.”

It didn’t take long for Van and James to arrive on the scene, summoned by her mom’s blubbering phone call, but April didn’t clue in to anything until she saw James’s face. Then, it was all crystal clear; James was a man of his word, and this was her fault for doubting him.

“April,” Van said as he hurried toward her, enveloping her in his arms and holding her close. He smelled wonderful for having just woken up, and she figured he’d just gotten off work at the bar or something a few hours prior. However, she couldn’t stand there in his arms, not when her relationship with him was the reason the tragedy had taken place.

It wasn’t his fault. Van wanted to love her, to treat her right; she’d seen that. But it was almost painfully clear now that they had no future together, not with James around. So, she broke free from Van’s hold, knowing precisely what she needed to do. There was no way she could fully fix what had happened. She couldn’t purchase replicas of the vintage clothes that were destroyed, gobbled up by the flames. She couldn’t replace the tasteful black-and-white photos of her mom and dad that were in her mom’s office. She couldn’t do anything now to bring back all that the woman had lost in a matter of minutes.

But April could damn well make sure that nothing like this ever happened to her again. She shot Van an apologetic look before turning away. Their relationship needed to stop for the sake of her mom’s safety—that much was painfully apparent now—but she wasn’t going to break both of their hearts right there on the street in front of firemen and onlookers alike. No, she’d do it in classic April fashion: she’d just run away.

Another day. Not now. Right now, her mom needed her. April hurried across the pavement to where the woman stood next to James, tears streaming down her face, a hand over her mouth. The glare April shot to the man who was supposed to be her future stepfather could have killed him on the spot, and it intensified when she saw amusement flicker across his face.

Still, she said nothing. Did nothing. Nothing but pull her trembling mother into her arms, listening to her cry as the heat of the fire, though mostly vanquished, warmed her back. Over her mom’s shoulder, she met James’s eye one last time, and in that moment, she admitted defeat.

He’d won the war. She couldn’t fight any other battles. If James wanted her to leave Van, to squash her ever-growing feelings, she had no choice but to give him what he wanted.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Whoa there, easy girl,” Van laughed, as April dragged him into her mom’s empty apartment, undoing his belt before they’d even shut the door. “What will the neighbors think?”

“They’ll think… damn, that guy is getting lucky tonight,” she purred, as he finally slammed the door closed. Stepping back, she peeled off her shorts, then yanked her t-shirt over her head. “Are you just going to stand around making jokes, or are you going to fuck me?”

“You don’t need to ask twice,” he growled, pinning her against the wall, his lips descending on hers. This was it.

This was their final night together—only Van didn’t know it yet. Under her bed, she had a bag packed with the essentials, and a note for her mom and Van to read tomorrow morning. For her mom, she wrote that she was needed back at her store—some managerial problem had broken out—and that she would be back as soon as possible. The woman was so frazzled with rebuilding her stores that she probably wouldn’t even notice April had left. 

To Van, she simply apologized. It had been a week since the fires tore her mom’s boutiques apart, and she knew James was probably getting impatient to see her relationship come to a screeching halt. So, April planned to take things into her own hands and simply end it. For the safety of her mom and for April, it was probably better this way, because James was a psychopath.

After things had calmed down, April vowed to find a way to stop the wedding; her mom couldn’t end up with the guy who was responsible for destroying her livelihood. Police had turned up no leads on the case of the burned boutiques, but April didn’t need a man in uniform to tell her who was behind the disaster. She knew. And for that, she had to put her feelings aside and bid Van farewell.

There was no room for excessive foreplay tonight. As much as she loved it when Van kneeled between her thighs and lapped at her slick pussy while she gripped his thick shoulders, that wasn’t what tonight was about. It wasn’t about forming a connection; it was about breaking one. Before she left, she wanted to give him one last night together. They’d already done the whole dinner and drinks thing, and this… this was what came naturally after.

Van groaned when she gripped his steadily hardening cock, pumping her hand up and down its length as they shared a punishing kiss. She encouraged teeth tonight; she wanted him to manhandle her—anything to appease her guilt for what she planned to do after they went to bed.

“Fuck me, Van,” she hissed, pushing his pants down, her nails scraping his skin. Groaning, Van turned her around and pinned her to the wall. April closed her eyes, spreading her legs and arching her ass out, as he dragged her underwear off. She was slick with anticipation. Even with the added weight of her feelings about leaving in the middle of the night, being with Van always made her hopelessly wet.

She cried out when he thrust into her, his hips slamming into her ass, as he filled her completely. Her body protested only slightly, needing a few seconds to accommodate his impressively thick cock—and Van waited, kissing her neck, her hair swept to one side. Patient. Giving. Forceful. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a lover and more.

And she was forced to give him up. The thought made her eyes prickle with tears, but she blinked them away.

As he thrust into her, April experienced a brief period of pure happiness. Connecting with Van on such an intimate level had made her exceedingly happy, and for a split-second, she allowed herself to feel that again.

Always thinking of her, he reached around to play with her clit, massaging it with his palm and flicking it mischievously. She moaned, as she climbed higher and higher to the brink of an orgasm, able to lose herself in the moment for just long enough to come with a heady sigh. Her body relaxed, as pleasure rippled through her limbs, stars dancing around in the forefront of her vision, and Van chuckled in her ear. The sound sent a shiver down her spine, and it helped her forget that she was one step closer to walking out the door.

“You think I’m done with you?” he asked, spanking her hard enough to make her hiss in surprise. “I’m just getting started, baby.”

She giggled softly, glancing at him over her shoulder. “If you can manage, I suppose.”

He spanked her again, harder this time, and she bit her lower lip. Pulling out of her, Van snatched her hand and hauled her through the dark empty apartment to her bedroom. Then, he tossed her on the bed and slammed into her over and over again, fucking her, pulling her hair, making her scream with delight.

Things quieted down an hour or so later, after they’d showered, had a light snack, and climbed into bed. She found she struggled to carry a conversation. So, she pretended to be tired—when really she just worried he’d detect the sadness in her voice. So, she lay there quietly instead, wrapped up in Van’s arms. Eyes closed; she waited, listening until his breathing evened out. He was a heavy sleeper—always had been—and she wanted to use that to her advantage when she broke both of their hearts.

***

It was difficult not to look like an enormous creep loitering outside her mom’s apartment building at two in the morning, but April did her best to be inconspicuous. With her packed bag in one hand and her phone in the other, she resisted the urge to call the cab company again and demand to know what kind of ridiculous detour her driver had taken. Hell, she’d called for a ride about a half hour ago; she should have been well on her way to the train station by now.

Nibbling her lower lip, she glanced up to the bay window that would have been her mom’s living room. Just a few rooms over, Van was passed out happily—and would wake up to her gone, again. She exhaled deeply, trying to put it out of her mind. She was going to be gone, one way or another, and it was better to cut the ties now, no matter how hard it hurt, than do it later when she’d fallen madly in love.

Right?

At least, that was what she told herself. That was what would get her to sleep every night for the next few weeks when her mind threatened to wander to Van Palmer.

Suddenly, a few feet from her, the front door flew open, slamming against the wall as a familiar figure stormed out. Van looked right first, and April’s instinct was to flee down the street; he had the note in his hand and everything. He wasn’t supposed to find that until late in the morning when she was long gone. However, her feet wouldn’t align with her brain, and she stood there in a stunned silence as he rounded on the spot.

He seemed just as surprised to see her there, standing awkwardly in front of the building, but he snapped to attention faster than she did.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded, thrusting the note in her face. His anger made her heart hurt, and she tried to hide the way her lip wobbled. “Are you fucking kidding me with this? You’re running? Again?”

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, eyes desperately searching for her cab. “Van… I…”

“Don’t you think I deserve something more than some half-assed apology? Haven’t I earned that?”

“Yes, of course you have,” she said quietly, her cheeks flaming. Van shook his head and crumpled the letter. She braced herself, imagining him throwing it at her, but he just slipped it into his pocket instead.

“April, what the fuck are you doing?” He ran his hands through his hair, sounding like he was trying to be very patient with her. “How do you think your mom’s going to feel about you bailing? Have you even told her?”

“I’m doing this for her!” April let out a sob and turned away, bringing a shaky hand to her mouth to hide her crying. Behind her, Van sighed heavily, and when he touched her shoulder, she pulled away.

“April, I don’t understand.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and a part of her just wanted to grab her bag and start walking. Surely she’d run into the cab somewhere along the way. However, another part of her, one that was more entrenched in all of her feelings, demanded she give him the truth—the honest truth about why she was abandoning them at the start of something fantastic.

“Your dad…” She took a deep breath and faced him, and his expression softened when he no doubt realized she was crying. “You dad told me when I first got here that you and I weren’t allowed to… you know, get close. He didn’t say why, but he just said that he wouldn’t stand for it, and if we did get close, there would be serious consequences.”

His jaw clenched, and she gave him a few moments to absorb her confession.

“He never said anything like that to me.”

“I don’t know why he felt the need to tell me, but he did.” She wiped her hands across her cheeks and sniffled. “He told me the day we were painting… Maybe he saw something that we didn’t, and he wanted to put a stop to it before it started. I don’t know. And then... my mom’s boutiques burned down, and I got scared—”

“There’s no way he had anything to do with that,” Van insisted—though he didn’t sound like he quite believed the words he was saying. “He loves your mom. He wouldn’t hurt her just to prove a point.”

“Whatever the reason is, I can’t be here with you because of him!” She almost threw her arms up in exasperation, then she grabbed her bag again. “I can’t. It’s too hard to be told that I can’t want you when I do.”

“April, hey… hey, come here,” he urged, crossing the distance between them and gathering her up in his arms. It felt so good to be held by him again, especially when she thought the last time he held her would be it forever. Closing her eyes tight, she snuggled against his chest, wishing the world would just fade away. Van pressed a kiss to her forehead, as he rubbed her back then muttered, “Fuck him.”

She looked up slowly, surprised. “What?”

“Fuck him,” he said, more strongly this time. “He doesn’t get to dictate who I date, or who you date for that matter. You’re mine, and I’m yours. You belong to me, and I don’t think you should go anywhere. Who gives a shit what he thinks?”

“But, the boutiques—”

“I’ll get to the bottom of it,” Van promised, and when their eyes met, she saw the passion lurking beneath. He really meant what he said. “First thing tomorrow, I’ll confront him about all of this. I’m not scared of that old man, and you shouldn’t be either. I’ll keep you safe. Your mom, too. He’s probably just worried what people will think about us if we got together.”

Her lips pursed; that wasn’t the reason why James threatened her, but she desperately wanted to believe it anyway. Who knew what was going on in the guy’s head, but if anybody could straighten this out, it was Van.

“I guess I should have come to you sooner,” she admitted, clinging to him as the world started to fall back into its rightful order. Van nodded then tipped her head back and kissed her.

“Yeah, you should have,” he whispered, his breath hot against her cheeks. “Give me that…” He took her bag then her hand. “You’re coming back to bed with me, and I’ll make things right.”

“Why?” The question slipped out as they approached the front door, and Van gave her the most meaningful look she’d ever seen, his brow furrowed, eyes wracked with concern.

“Because I told you already,” he said, as she punched in the security clearance, “I want to take care of you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

April studied him for a moment, taking in the sincerity in his voice and the adoration in his eyes, then stood on her tip-toes to kiss him. If he planned to take care of her, then who was she to stop him? Maybe James’s threats really were hollow. Maybe she’d read too much into things. Van would set it right. He had to.

She told herself those words over and over again, as they climbed the stairs back to her mom’s apartment, wishing desperately to believe them.

But she couldn’t.

CHAPTER TWELVE

If someone had told April O’Hara a month ago that Van Palmer would be her boyfriend, she would have laughed in their faces. Not cruelly, mind you, because she wasn’t an awful person, but it would have been in disbelief certainly. She’d spent years pushing away that bad boy type, determined not to get her heart broken by some player with a motorcycle. She’d fought so hard, swallowing down her feelings, when she and Van were reunited at the announcement of her mom and his dad’s engagement—but she couldn’t deny herself forever.

Well, she could if James Palmer had anything to say about it. Van’s dad had been determined that she and Van were not to start an illicit affair under his roof. They were instructed not to get to close, with the man issuing chilling warnings about what would happen if they did. April ignored him. She let her guard down and opened her heart to the man who’d given her the best sex of her life in the cusp of college all those years ago.

And then her mom’s boutique shops met a flaming end one night, all three of them burning to the ground. Even now, a few weeks later, no one had any leads on who was behind the fires, but April had her suspicions. As promised, Van confronted his dad the day after April tried to slip away in the early hours of the morning, unable to risk putting her mom through any more pain by continuing her relationship with Van. James denied the accusations vehemently, calling them outrageous, false. He even proclaimed that April was trying to break him and her mom apart with her lies, but she let that go. She let all of it go. Van swore to keep a protective arm around both her and her mom, and with him watching, James had lost all of his power.

It was thrilling.

“We need to buy you a smaller helmet,” Van joked, as they made their way toward the garages. Since they had started dating, he’d moved all of his things into the guest house out back where they’d first consummated their relationship, which made April feel more comfortable going over to visit him. He’d lived with his dad all these years to save money, putting all of his savings into his bike and his bar, but there had been talk of him finding his own place lately.

Maybe, one day, it would be their own place, but that was getting a little ahead of things. For now, April was in the throes of puppy love, enjoying her time with Van, as she wished she had from the beginning.

She hugged her borrowed helmet against her chest, unable to part with the damn thing. It was always clunky and heavy when they rode together, but it had Van’s initials carved into it, and whenever she wore it, she caught a whiff of his cologne.

“I don’t mind this one,” she insisted, leaning into him when he placed a hand on her back. It was a gloomy afternoon, perfect for their plans to ride out and watch the storms roll in from a lookout by the lake. There was a makeshift shelter up there, built piece-by-piece over the years by local teens and lovers looking for a little privacy alike, and April was excited to watch the lightning illuminate the sky. The radio was calling for it to be the storm of the summer, and she wanted to enjoy it wrapped in Van’s thick arms.

“You sure?” Van laughed then gave her a little nudge. She tried to squirm out of the way, but he caught her and dragged her back to him, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “We can get you some stylish one with… I don’t know… some fancy material on the inside.”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a grin. “Wow. That was pathetic.”

“Hey, fashion is your area, not mine.”

“And thank goodness for that,” she said with a laugh, watching the garage door rise slowly after Van pressed the button on his remote controller. Inside sat his pristine bike amongst his dad’s coveted car collection, and April tried not to look at the other vehicles with disdain. It wasn’t fair to be cruel to them just because their owner was a jackass.

How he pulled the wool over her mom’s eyes for so long was beyond her, but April vowed to show her mom the real James Palmer before their wedding at the end of the summer.  She had to. April would never forgive herself if she let her mom marry that creep without exposing him first.

Sighing, she pushed James Palmer out of her mind. There was no room for him in there when she was on a date with Van. Van deserved her whole attention, her complete focus, because he always gave the same to her.

April waited outside the garage, feeling the humidity in the air thicken as the clouds grew dark. Every time it rained, she thought of the first time Van kissed her, and her arms always prickled at the memory.  Moments later, Van and his bike puttered out, the engine giving a familiar roar that always made her heart sing. Helmet on, its weight stressing her neck fleetingly, April climbed on behind Van and wrapped her arms around his burly midsection. If she could have, she would have kissed his cheek, but they were both smart enough to put on protective gear while riding together.

As they veered away from the garage, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Not from the impending storm or the electricity in the air. Not from the way Van rubbed the arm encircling his waist affectionately. Not from the memory of their first kiss. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder and immediately found the source: James on his front porch in his pretentious housecoat and slippers, a coffee mug in hand, watching them go.

April looked away quickly, as they all but flew out of the driveway, but try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling that James had not been beaten just yet.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Are you sure they don’t need you at the bar tonight?”

April’s eyes settled on Van’s back, as he kneeled in front of the hearth, stoking the fire with his iron poker, as swirling embers floated around him. Summertime never called for a fire, unless one was outside with a stick and a marshmallow, camping beneath the stars, but she’d been in the mood for one tonight. The weather was pleasant, but the air was cool, uncharacteristically so for the season, and as she sat wrapped in a thick quilt Van had rustled up from his closet, she couldn’t help but admire the way he’d hopped to it the second she indicated she wanted a fire.

“I think they’ll survive without me for one night,” he chuckled, reaching for another log and adding it into the flames carefully. “I mean, if they can’t, I hired a bunch of idiots.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from commenting that a few of his staff were idiots. Now that she was dating the owner of Cedar Lodge, April was more of a permanent fixture at the remodeled bar. Over the last month, she’d gotten to know some of the staff better. She liked the bartenders best with their snarky attitudes and their intolerance to bullshit. The shooter girls and the bouncers were at the bottom of her list for a variety of reasons, and the waitresses hovered somewhere in the middle depending on the night. Everyone knew who she was now, and she hadn’t paid for a single drink or appetizer yet.

April was also aware, however, that the gossip mill continued to churn now that she and Van made more public appearances together, and she could almost imagine the rumors floating around about them. Set to be brother and sister—by marriage, not by blood—in just a month. Their relationship was probably the talk of the town, stealing the thunder from her mom and James’s impending nuptials.

Good. James didn’t deserve any extra attention; he had both the good and bad kind already anyway.

When he was done building the fire up, Van carefully placed the iron poker back where it belonged then rejoined her on the couch. She sidled up to him happily, content to be snuggled against his chest with his arm thrown across her almost possessively.

“Any potential buyers today?” he asked, his voice a low rumble as he stroked her back. She sighed heavily, memories of the open house at her mom’s apartment dragging her good mood back down to the depths. It hadn’t been a terrible day by any means, but she’d spent most of it catering to people who were clearly just there to snoop around Renee O’Hara’s apartment, not to make any offers.

“I’ll talk to the real estate agent tomorrow,” April muttered, though she already knew the answer to that particular question. “I don’t think she’s pricing it high enough, personally.”

“Don’t forget where you are.” She tilted her head up to study his face in the soft glow of the fire. “Cascade Falls doesn’t really warrant ridiculous prices.”

“Well, she could still go higher. We put a lot of work into that damn apartment.”

“We certainly did…” Van fisted his hand in her hair and gently tugged her head back to expose her neck. She shuddered, as he ran his lips along it, her skin prickling with excitement. “A lot of hard, sweaty work.”

His mouth worked its way across her neck, pausing here and there to nip at her flesh or lick the spot just below her ear that made her shiver. With nothing more than a few simple caresses, he had her weak for him, desperate for more than his exploratory touches with his lips. But he held her in place, his grip firm across her body, his hand still fisted in her hair, and all she could do was wait helplessly in his arms, swallowing down her soft moans, not wanting him to know just how much he affected her.

Eventually, he worked his way up to her face, and by then just about every inch of her body was bristling with anticipation. Van had the unique ability to get her flustered with nothing more than a look, so it shouldn’t have surprised her that he could make her panties damp simply by kissing her neck. Once he was close enough, she managed to grab at the back of his head and drag him down for a heated kiss. Their mouths opened as soon as they touched, tongues swirling around one another, as they deepened the kiss. Now, she let her moans fly, and with each one she made, whether loud or breathy, she felt Van’s cock twitch and harden against her. He loved hearing her—he’d told her before. Listening to her come was something he compared to a symphony, and she’d yet to disappoint him thus far.

Wanting to take a little of the in-charge attitude for herself, April wormed out of his grasp and climbed onto his lap, her legs wrapped around his muscular body. Unable to help herself, she ground her hips against him, his quickly hardening cock brushing her through their clothes, sending shivers through her body.

“You think you can tease me?” he asked, his voice husky and tinged with need. April leaned back and nibbled her lower lip—then gave an innocent shrug.

“Haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

She let out a giggle, as he dragged her back in for another searing kiss, his tongue thrusting into her mouth with such passion that she almost came on the spot. When he kissed her, he seemed to kiss all of her, even if his mouth never left her lips. She went to grind her hips again, enjoying the way he groaned when she did it, but this time Van took hold of her hips and set his own pace, thrusting his hips up against her body, as he ground her hips against him. April wrapped her arms around his thick shoulders, lost in the sensation. Had it not been for their clothes, they would have been happily fucking already.

Taking his hint when his fingers brushed the bottom of her t-shirt, April leaned back and let him yank the fabric over her head. He tossed the shirt aside, then she let his eyes wander her body like she was a spectacular piece of living art. Unable to go more than a few moments without him touching her, she grabbed his large hand and placed it over her breast. He cupped her with the one hand, as the other went to undo the bra clasp behind her. Soon enough the thin material joined her t-shirt somewhere on the floor, hopefully not too near to the fire.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Van hissed, his eyes roving her body again. April leaned back and placed her hands on his knees for balance, thrusting her chest out with a smirk. With previous partners, she’d always been quick to jump to sex, preferring not to linger in the foreplay stage for too long. With Van, however, she wanted him to touch her; his touches alone could work her into a frenzy.

Nibbling her lower lip, she watched, as he trailed his fingers over her abdomen, her muscles clenching whenever his touch turned ticklish. He cupped both of her breasts fully, his thumbs swiping over her erect nipples, drawing another moan from her. Without a word, Van leaned forward and wrapped his mouth around one of the pinkish buds, sucking hard as she gasped. The use of his teeth was a new, but not unwelcome, addition. She threaded her fingers through his hair, as he kneaded her breast before switching his mouth over and licking the sensitive bud so gently that it sent a jolt of pleasure straight from her nipple to her pussy, and she ground her hips against him in response.

Pressing against her more firmly, Van managed to shift them around so that she was on her back, her legs still wrapped around him. She went down happily, her head tilting back as her legs widened to give him more access to her. Through the fabric of her shorts, Van rubbed her aching pussy, massaging it until she started to grind her hips in rhythm with his movements—that was when he stopped and straightened up.

“Now who’s the tease?” April pouted, sticking out her lower lip at him. He smirked and crawled up her body, catching that plump lip between his teeth and tugging. She let out a little squeal, the pain mingling with the twitches of pleasure radiating out from the crux of her thighs.

Lifting her hips, she helped him get her shorts and underwear off, and only then did he drag off his shirt and toss it aside. April leaned back to ogle him, always appreciative of the rippling tautness of his body, the toned muscles something that obviously came naturally to him. Van didn’t need to go the gym to get the body he had; hard work around the bar and staying fit enough to comfortably wrestle his massive motorcycle seemed to be enough. He was an impressive man, but not an intimidating one. While his abdomen and arms were deliciously muscular, the thickness extending to his shoulders, too, his legs were nothing more than average. A little toned, yes. Definitely not out of shape by any means. Attainable. As much as she appreciated his killer body, she appreciated the few flaws, too. It made her jiggly thighs and slight tummy pouch seem less noticeable when he wasn’t a total Adonis.

Although in April’s eyes, Van Palmer was pretty damn close.

With the fire warming the room, she splayed herself open for him, practically grabbing his hand and shoving it where she wanted it when he continued to tease her by drawing shapes across her skin with his fingertip, always getting close to her slick opening, then wandering away again.

“Someone’s impatient,” he said, rubbing his palm over her clit at last, and April let out a soft moan in response. Smirking, Van continued to rub the little bud, as her skin erupted in excited little goose bumps—until finally he wandered farther south. She bit her lower lip, holding back a cry when he plunged two fingers into her. They met little resistance, her pussy so wet with need that she was barely a few pumps away from coming all over his hand. Her skin flushed with both satisfaction and embarrassment that it took so little on his part to send her tumbling over the edge of that familiar pleasurable cliff.

Although she was seeing stars, her limbs limp and a little useless for a few moments, she wasn’t about to forget about him. Sitting up as best she could, April attacked his pants with gusto, popping open the button and slipping her hand beneath the fabric. She found Van hard and ready for her, and he groaned when she smeared the dampness on the tip of his cock all the way down, pumping her hand at the base a few times, pleased with the way he thrived under her attention, too.

April adored watching his face whenever she worshipped his cock, be it by hand or by mouth. Giving blow jobs had always felt a little dirty in the past, like she was required to do it rather than actually wanting to. However, with Van, she loved the way his lips pulled back into a small smile and the way his cheeks twitched as she had her way with him. The blazing lust in his eyes was also a little too good to ignore, and there’d been times where she dropped to her knees and sucked him off without wanting a thing in return, getting her satisfaction instead from the way he adored her touch.

Tonight, however, wasn’t going to be one of those nights; she could see it in his eyes. Occasionally, he was content to let her pleasure him and be done with it, but Van was a giver, a man who shared his pleasure tenfold with whomever he was with. She loved that about him.

Pushing her away finally, his cock practically pulsing, Van gripped her by her hips and flipped her over onto her stomach. April hit the couch with a giggle, arching her hips up to him, her skin flushed with anticipation. Saying nothing, she heard Van push his pants and boxers down. He then gripped her hips and thrust into her, filling her with that huge cock of his, as she groaned noisily into the couch cushion.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed, his fingertips digging into her skin, as he stayed perfectly still for a moment, her body adjusting to the very welcome and much needed intrusion. He started up slowly, barely pulling out of her before pushing back in, and April turned her head to the side, taking short, gasping breaths. The lingering sensations from her orgasm intensified, as he took her, his rhythm growing sharper and faster quickly, as if he just couldn’t hold himself back for long.

She understood the feeling very well. From her position on all fours, her cheek to the couch cushion, there wasn’t much for her to do but enjoy the ride. His hips slammed into hers harshly, balls occasionally slapping her clit, and she whimpered his name when he stopped. They were both panting, her body tingling with a beautiful combination of pain and pleasure. Pain from the way he fucked her, slamming into her over and over again, and pleasure from… well, that one was obvious.

When she glanced up at him, his eyes were closed, his hands resting on her ass, and when he opened his eyes again, he spanked her—hard. She yelped, her eyes narrowing at him. However, she was soon helpless putty in his hands again, as he started thrusting into her, smacking her ass a little lighter this time, but frequent enough to leave the skin warm and tinged red from contact. Then, as if to reward her for enduring the little spanking session, Van reached around and found her clit, massaging it as he ground against her. She almost collapsed right then and there, but his arm under her braced her against his hard body. She continued to let him run the show until she was screaming through her second orgasm, more powerful than the first.

“I’m going to make you come again before the night is over,” he whispered in her ear. Leaning over her as he moved from her clit to her breasts, he pinched a nipple between two fingers as his thrusts grew sharper again. She gave an incoherent response to the promise, slowly sliding down so that she was flat on the couch. Van sprawled on top of her, as he pounded into her. He kept her legs together, his cock buried deep inside, and covered her mouth with his hand. The other kneaded her breast until he spilled himself inside of her with one last harsh thrust. 

Her body hummed with pleasure, heart pounding in her chest, as Van slowly pulled himself out of her. The couch dipped when he settled at the far end, outstretched and grinning like an idiot. As soon as she saw him, she couldn’t help but smile herself. However, before she could cuddle up to him like she wanted to, April excused herself to quickly freshen up in the bathroom. Once she was cleaned up in the most basic sense, she wandered back to the couch in front of the fireplace, moving at a leisurely pace, enjoying the way Van’s eyes followed the sway of her naked hips in the glow of the firelight.

The cuddled together for some time afterward, watching the fire work its way through all the logs Van had added, eventually losing its brightness. By then, April had almost fallen asleep in his arms, totally relaxed as he played with her hair or rubbed her back.

“Shower?” he said suddenly, which made her glance up and raise her eyebrows. Just the mere thought of it had gotten him hard again, and April nodded a little too enthusiastically. She let out a little laugh, as he helped her to her feet and then dragged her through the little cottage to the bathroom at the rear of the master suite, both of them ready to start all over again before the water was even warm.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Warm droplets of water splashed across her face, her back pressed to the shower tile. Intimacy in the shower had always been a little difficult before—previous partners were a struggle to maneuver around—but there was no sight April enjoyed more than Van on his knees, his face buried between her thighs as he lapped at her slick folds, her swollen clit. After their session in front of the fireplace, April wouldn’t have thought she would have been rearing to go again so soon. Yet, there she was, moaning wantonly as Van pleasured her, her head thrown back in ecstasy. The shower stream was a constant, the water warming her, pounding her hardened nipples, as the room steamed around them.

With her fingertips dug into Van’s muscular shoulders, April whimpered his name when she came, her pussy clenching around his two fingers as he fucked her. The world went hazy for a moment, and she appreciated just how cool the tile was behind her. It grounded her and kept her focused in the here and now—rather than drifting off and rising with the steam.

Van stood quickly, water droplets clinging to his eyelashes. She wanted to wipe them away, but she could barely move, let alone coordinate the arduous task of not accidentally poking him in the eye. Towering over her, Van brushed his thumb over his lips, her taste no doubt still on his tongue, and they both held one another’s gaze as they caught their breath. Then, without a word, he pounced and hoisted her up, sliding his cock in soundly, a single thrust uniting them.

April whimpered, her arms wrapped around him, and kissed him, as he took her slowly, lazily thrusting his hips against hers over and over again until she felt the familiar tingle of yet another climax. How he managed to work her over so well, like they’d been dating for years, was beyond her, but she didn’t want an explanation: he probably just had a lot of experience.

He swallowed the cry that came when she did again, their lips joined and parted, expressing their affections through a simple kiss. The pleasure left her fingertips numb and body tingling, and she was grateful for the way he held her up, taking her a little rougher now. His thrusts grew sharper and harder until he spilled himself into her. April stroked his cheek, smiling, at the way his skin flushed, pulled tight over his features as his face screwed in pleasure.

When they were through—and April was sure her knees wouldn’t buckle the second he put her down—Van went for the soap and gave her a good scrub, getting all her nooks and crannies in comfortable silence. She returned the favor, of course, happy to rub the squishy loofah across his impressive abs and pert ass. There was no point in hiding just how much she appreciated his body after all.

The bathroom was a veritable sauna once they turned the water off, the air thick with heat and the mirrors covered in fog. She stepped out and walked happily into the fluffy towel Van had waiting for her, tucking it snuggly around her body as her hair dripped water on the floor.

“You coming?” she asked, lingering in the doorway between the en-suite and the master bedroom. Van swiped his hand across the mirror, clearing some of the fog away, and then grinned at her.

“I already did. Twice, actually. Props to you, O’Hara.”

She rolled her eyes and left him, and moments later his electric razor started up, followed by the sound of him trimming his facial scruff. Good. It was getting a little rough on her skin these days, and she almost preferred to see his handsome face without a dark smattering of hair obscuring it. But then again, without the scruff, he looked more like his dad, and there was one of her many dilemmas: No burning skin from coarse hair rubbing against her versus Van looking like his dad in poor lighting.

Decisions.

Sighing, April quickly toweled off before throwing on one of Van’s old oversized t-shirts, then she went to work on her hair. She knew for a fact that it was bad practice to go to bed with it sopping wet, but after the day she’d had—including the multiple orgasms over the last two hours—there was just no way she’d be able to stand in the bathroom and hold a hair dryer.

It just wasn’t happening. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes heavy with sleep, and worked her thin damp locks over with the towel. While she’d gained an extra inch of strawberry blonde since she’d returned to Cascade Falls, it was still thin as paper, which certainly helped when she was too lazy to dry it. Unfortunately, that was probably the only good thing about thin hair.

As she squeezed her hair through the towel, her arms getting heavier and heavier, April suddenly found herself looking at the little calendar on Van’s bedside table. There were a few things scribbled on dates for this month, including today’s dinner he’d taken her to at a cozy place on Main Street. Nibbling her lower lip, April flipped to August. It was only a two weeks away, and at the bottom of the page was a huge red circle around the date of James Palmer’s wedding to her mom.

Staring at it, a queasy feeling took hold of her, and April quickly set it back in its place. Unfortunately, even with the July page back where it should be, she couldn’t get that obnoxious red circle out of her mind. It was like the finale of the mental countdown she’d been keeping without realizing it. Two weeks and a month left before she and Van were legally step-siblings.

It shouldn’t have bothered her. They’d discussed it here and there, both agreeing that just because their parents got married didn’t suddenly mean they’d shared baths together as kids and acquired some of the other person’s genetic material. It was all a formality, really, this new relationship that loomed on the horizon.

And yet April couldn’t shake the sensation of her stomach knotting. They’d be in the wedding party together. Her mom would have Van’s last name. They’d pose for family photos: two couples, all related by marriage. She swallowed thickly, her throat suddenly dry. No matter how many times they had talked about it, fleetingly, April just couldn’t get the feeling out of her head that this was all somehow taboo. She didn’t give a shit about rumors. Let people talk—what did she care?

But her gut feeling? That was a little harder to ignore. She could easily see herself falling in love with Van if their relationship stayed on its current path, but would she feel differently when he was her stepbrother? Would she be required to love him differently? Would there be expectations? New rules?

Would she feel differently about him on principle? The thought made her heart hurt.

Finally, April sauntered back to the bathroom and hung her towel to dry, then she kissed Van’s bare back as she passed. Grinning, he swatted at her butt when she walked away from him, and April shot him a scandalized look over her shoulder. They both parted in laughter, belying the unnerving tightness she felt growing in the pit of her stomach. Once she was alone, back in the bedroom she’d been making some serious use of once they’d agreed to give the whole dating thing a shot, her smile fell. Despite the amazing evening they’d spent together, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off—about them, their relationship, or perhaps something else entirely.

And maybe that was why she pretended to be asleep when Van climbed into bed beside her. The king-sized bed had more than enough room for the two to sleep separate, but he always cuddled up behind her, keeping her safe through the night.

Things would be different in the morning. The feeling would pass. She’d forget all about it, and Van would go back to being her gorgeous boyfriend, not her stepbrother. There was still time to work out the feelings she had about the change in title, and there was no point in getting upset about it now.

So, still pretending to snooze, she rolled over and nestled against him, his broad chest warming her at the skin-to-skin contact. Sleep.

Everything was always better in the morning.

It had to be.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

April glanced at the clock then let out a long, slow sigh. It was Friday night once again, and while she would have preferred to be with Van, she was at her mom’s apartment, alone. While he’d been able to blow off some of his shifts at the bar to spend time with her, even the owner was required to make an appearance a few times a week. So, with much apologizing, Van postponed their ice cream date and motorcycle ride around the lake so that he could go check on everything at Cedar Lodge.

Which, honestly, April wasn’t all that upset about. She’d been having a blast with Van lately, but all couples needed a break from each other sometimes. So, while she would have rather been hanging out in his office at the bar, on his motorcycle, or enjoying some decadent ice cream from the parlor a few minutes from her mom’s apartment building, April knew she needed a night to herself. They were still in the puppy love stage, screwing frequently and wrapped up in each other’s arms constantly, and she didn’t want it to fizzle because they were spending too much time together—if that was possible.

Unfortunately, she’d thought her mom might actually be home that night, too. However, Renee O’Hara could no longer take a Friday or Saturday night off. She was in the process of rebuilding her boutiques after the fires, which meant meeting with investors, shopping at specialty stores with her friends, and schmoozing Cascade Falls’ elite for their patronage once the shop opened again. Despite her bubbly, in-love-soon-to-be-married glow, her mom proved time and time again to be a shrewd business woman, and even on the cusp of retirement, she was willing to pound the pavement to get what she wanted.

Her absence meant April was by herself on Friday night, twiddling her thumbs and flicking through the TV stations—and Friday nights weren’t exactly known for their prime TV… because everyone sane actually had plans to celebrate the end of the work week. April’s week just blended into one big week. No job meant no schedule, and sometimes she actually forgot what day of the week it was to start with. Her old job was still waiting for her, her boss giving her leave for the summer—the slowest months of the retail year—to be with her family, but a part of her wasn’t even sure she wanted to go back.

April was trained for business. She had a mom who was a veritable pro at the craft, and April was… an assistant manager who made two dollars more than the regular sales associate. It was time for a change.

Sitting around her mom’s apartment like she was some regular teenager, however, didn’t exactly boost her drive to do much with her career. She couldn’t bring herself to ask her mom for a job, because she knew her mom wouldn’t allow nepotism in her boutiques. Cascade Falls was a tourist destination, primed for foodies and photographers, but the small business sector was rife with competition and offered limited profit margins.

So, April watched TV and mucked around on social media instead. A few of her old high school pals were finally either back from school outside of Cascade Falls or were taking their summer vacations from work in the next few weeks, which meant she would have something to do then. She could wait it out. She just hated feeling like she lacked a social life if Van was busy, and while she was determined to establish a life of her own in the town she’d grown up in, she found it harder and harder to fill up her time with social visits. In short, she’d grown lazy.

Plus, the more she sat around at home with nothing to do, the more she dwelled on her concerns about furthering her relationship with Van. The whole stepbrother issue still loomed in her mind, and sometimes she wondered if James had just been trying to help both of them avoid that particular drama somewhere down the road.

But then she remembered that he torched her mom’s boutiques, and any thought of James Palmer being a caring, kind individual went straight out the window—fast.

Midway through one of her standard Friday night shows—some ridiculous baking competition that pitted contestants against one another mercilessly—her phone trilled obnoxiously from its spot on the coffee table. Flinching, she sat up and grabbed it, expecting to see Van’s name across the screen. Instead, she saw June’s picture and name as clear as day; never had her finger swiped the answer button faster.

“June!” she all but shrieked into the phone, and she could hear her college best friend giggling on the other line. They’d met when they were both wide-eyed innocent frosh, April in business classes and June taking art history. Given the vast differences in their coursework, it would have been unlikely that they’d have met had they not been residence neighbors, their dorm apartments right next to each other, and she’d been infinitely grateful to whoever coordinated that—she owed them one. June was sweetness personified, a girl from a rich family who never once gave the impression that her parents funded three buildings at their university. Initially, they’d bonded over their names, and from there a friendship blossomed that lasted all four years.

April had been dying to share everything that had been happening with June ever since she returned to Cascade Falls, but June had been off on some backpacking tour through Asia and was downright impossible to reach—until now.

“Hello, love of my life!” June shrieked back. “I have so much to tell you!”

“Same,” April gushed, muting the TV and sitting up quickly, as she tucked her hair behind her ears—like it would get in the way of the phone call if she didn’t. “Oh my god, June, I’ve missed you so much.”

Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, as she settled in for her best friend’s stories, eager to hear all about Thai food and Vietnamese boats and the clear waters around Malaysia. She would have loved to have gone with her when June invited her all those many months ago, but April couldn’t fathom leaving her job for something so frivolous.

June nearly flipped her lid when she learned that April was currently away from her job and back in Cascade Falls… watching TV on a Friday night and moping.

“Well, I guess it’s nice that you’re helping your mom out,” she managed, as April nibbled her lower lip. “But aren’t you bored? I mean, when you talked about home, it never struck me as a place where there was a lot to do.”

“I’ve found some things to do,” April told her, a sly smile crossing her lips. “Someone to do.”

June squealed into the phone again, and April pulled it away from her ear, laughing.

“Tell me everything!”

She did her best to leave no stone unturned, filling June in on every juicy detail about Van and their steadily growing relationship. The fire couldn’t be left out either, and June huffed appropriately at James Palmer’s irrational threats.

“You should report him,” she suggested, but April shook her head, sighing.

“I don’t have any proof.” If only she had some lick of evidence to tie him to the fires. She would have loved to see him locked away, even if it broke her mom’s heart. She’d get over it in time, and then she’d find someone who would actually treat her well. “It’s not like I recorded our conversations—though I wish I had.”

“And what does Van think of all this?”

“He doesn’t think his dad did anything,” she replied with a slight roll of her eyes. “They talked it over after I tried to walk away from all this, but a part of me wonders if he’s just covering for the guy. I mean… He has to know how awful his dad’s reputation is with the biker gang.”

“Hmm. Something to address?”

She pressed her lips together then said, “Maybe sometime down the road.”

Things had just been going so well with Van lately that she hadn’t wanted to ruin anything. She’d had her suspicions that he might have thought James was behind the fires, but he denied it so vehemently whenever she had brought it up in the week that followed his confrontation with his dad. Either he was a good actor, or he genuinely believed his dad was innocent. Neither of the options sat well with April.

“So, are you falling in love with this guy?” June asked. Heat flooded April’s cheeks, and just as she was about to deny it, her friend added, “Is the sex still amazing?”

“Oh my god, June… It’s the best,” she gushed, thrilled to finally have someone to talk to about this kind of stuff. “I’ve never had no many orgasms in my life!”

“Jealous!”

“And no,” April continued, as the TV flickered out of the corner of her eye, “I’m not in love with him. It’s too soon for that. I… have a strong liking for him.”

There was a slight pause on the other end of the phone, until June gave a little chuckle. “Uh huh. Right.”

“What?” Her eyebrows shot up, as little butterflies swarmed in her stomach. Was that how people felt when they were in love? Her friend laughed again, clearly in good spirits.

“Nothing, nothing,” June insisted. “You just sound really happy with him, that’s all.”

“I am,” April told her, and then she hesitated. All those happy little butterflies fluttering around in her stomach took a quick nosedive when she thought back to her anxieties about the future of her and Van’s relationship. “But…”

“But what?”

“But…” She opened and closed her mouth a few times, struggling to find the right way to express herself to her best friend for the first time in their whole conversation. Luckily for her, there was a reason why June was her best friend.

“But you’re worried about the whole stepbrother thing?”

“Yes!” Her anxieties instantly started to fade, and April let out a relieved sigh. “June, this is why you’re the best.”

She didn’t need to actually voice the problem for June to figure it out for herself, and for that, she was grateful.

“Not going to lie,” June told her, sounding like she was choosing her words carefully, “but it’s a little weird. I mean, if this all goes to hell, you guys are going to be in each other’s lives for years. Not that I want to put some storm cloud over your relationship, but in like, what, a month you two are going to be related.”

“Not by blood,” April remarked weakly, taking the same argument Van always used and offering it up for June’s scrutiny.

“Yeah, but no one will care about that.” Sure enough, her best friend wasn’t one to mince words. “I mean, does it bother you? You guys are the only ones that matter, but just know that people are going to talk about this kind of stuff. I mean, two people get married, and then their kids are having lots of orgasms together?”

“Ew, June!” When she put it that way, it sounded totally unbelievable.

“I’m just saying,” June laughed. “Prepare yourselves to face that kind of scrutiny if you are still together. I mean, I guess there’s a kink factor to dating your stepbrother. It’s kind of taboo, which usually makes things a little spicier in the bedroom—“

“And we’re done talking about this,” April interjected, mortified that it had gone down the path that it did. As easy as June was to talk to about this kind of stuff, April wasn’t comfortable voicing those opinions out loud yet. “Why don’t you tell me about the guy you met in Bali again? He sounds like a dream…”

“Oh, he was, but you can’t change the subject.”

“But I want to.”

“April,” she said.

“June,” April fired back, her tone leaving no room for arguments. Her best friend sighed on the other end of the line, and April swore it sounded like one of defeat.

“Bali guy’s name was Josh, if you must know,” June started, “and we met at a bar with no roof on the edge of the ocean…”

April sunk back into the couch, smiling. She’d much rather hear about June’s crazy sexy adventures than deal with her own insecurities right now. Even if June was the person to do it with, April just didn’t have the courage tonight. Maybe one day soon, but not now. For now, denial was her best coping strategy, and she intended to use it to the fullest until she was brave enough to tackle this issue head-on—and not a second sooner.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Unfortunately for Van, avoidance paired well with denial, and over the last week, April had adopted both strategies in order to keep her mind from wandering too deep into the whole future stepbrother debacle.

Instead of worrying, April threw herself into wedding plans. Despite hiring a top-notch wedding planner from the next town over, there was still a whole hell of a lot that her mom needed to do before the big day. Despite having an over-the-top ceremony and reception when her mom had married her dad, her mom was still set on making her special night one of the biggest and best the people of Cascade Falls had ever seen. Small details like the calligraphy on the place cards and style of napkin folding were scrutinized in almost painful detail, and while April thought it was ridiculous, she was happy for the distraction. Cake testing was her absolute favorite thing to do—though going in for her mom’s final dress fitting ranked pretty high up there, too.

They’d arrived when the bridal boutique was pretty quiet, which April was grateful for. The last time they’d had an appointment the store was buzzing with summer brides getting last-minute deals on their dresses, and it had been hard to appreciate the moment of her mom finding “The One” with a boatload of other women nattering in her ear.

“Now,” their sales associate said, as she approached, the bag containing her mom’s exquisite gown slung over her arm, “we can still make last minute adjustments, but try not to gain or lose a lot of weight between now and the wedding.”

“No promises,” her mom chuckled, patting her stomach. With all the stress of getting the boutiques back on track and planning a killer wedding, her mom had probably gone down a full dress size, and she seemed to be shrinking by the week. The associate gave her a hard look, indicating just how serious she took this whole dress alteration business, and her mom quickly dropped her joking demeanor and added, “I won’t call you ladies the day of, telling you the dress is two sizes too big or too small, I promise. I refuse to be a scary bride.”

“You say that now,” April teased, as they headed for one of the extra-large changing rooms. Her mom shot her a narrowed look over her shoulder, then she disappeared behind the curtain with the associate. Grinning to herself, April perched on the edge of a bench just outside the fitting area, humming along with the radio as she waited.

One day, she’d be picking a dress of her own, and after watching her mom try on just about every style imaginable, she had the dress of choice in her mind: fit-and-flare, sleeveless, with a sweetheart neckline, maybe a lace overlay. She’d get extensions added so that the hair stylist could do something gorgeous and dramatic with her hair, and she’d carry a mixed bouquet of spring wildflowers. She always thought a more natural bouquet looked much prettier than an obviously store-bought creation.

All the wedding thoughts instinctively brought her mind back to Van, and she quickly shook her head, willing them away. She still cared very deeply for him, of course, but the wrongness of a stepsibling relationship was really eating at her, and she needed some time away to think.

Fifteen minutes after her mom disappeared behind the curtain, the sales associated stepped out for the big dramatic reveal. April felt like she was on one of those bridal shows where women find the most important dress of their whole lives, and she glanced side-to-side, expecting cameras. The sales woman grinned, her heavily lipsticked lips spreading across her face, and then she pulled the curtain back. April gave her required gasp as soon as she saw her mom; she’d already seen the dress in detail before.

Still, it was just as breathtaking this time around. Her mom had expressed the desire to look like a princess and had chosen a dress with a somewhat poufy skirt and a fitted top. They’d played with the idea of adding sleeves to a sleeveless dress, but at the time April argued that her mom had amazing arms and that she should show them off.

“You look amazing,” she proclaimed, as she stood and hurried to her mom’s side, smoothing her hands over the tulle skirt. “And the shoes?”

Her mom lifted her skirt a little to show off her shoes, which had been bedazzled in glittery stones to give off the impression that she was walking on diamonds. A little gaudy for April’s taste, but it was her mom’s special day—she could wear whatever the hell made her the happiest, and April would support her completely.

“Do you think James will love it?” her mom asked, admiring her reflection, as April played with her hair, putting it up and in various different styles. She hesitated before answering, a sour taste in her mouth suddenly at the mention of James—though she did her best to keep the sourness from spreading to her face.

“He loves your sense of style,” April answered honestly. “He’ll probably love this, too.”

She smiled, her eyes glossy, and then she quickly wiped away the tears before they fell. If she somehow leaked makeup onto her dress, she’d have a full conniption fit.

“Wow. You look stunning, Renee.”

They both turned in tandem, equally surprised—but for different reasons, she assumed—to find Van standing a little ways away from the fitting room, grinning. April’s cheeks flushed when their eyes met. She’d ignored a text from him last night, asking if she wanted to grab lunch today, and at the time, she had planned to say she fell asleep watching TV and didn’t want to text him too late when she read the message.

A lie he probably wouldn’t buy for one second, but last night she’d thought it might work.

“Van!” Her mom stepped off the little pedestal she stood on, sashaying across the space to give her future stepson a kiss on the cheek. “You’d better not give your dad any hints about what I’m going to look like on the day.”

“How can I possibly do that?” he asked, his arm around her shoulder. “I bet you’ll look even prettier on the day. Weddings make brides glow, or so I’m told.”

“How did you know we were here?” April asked without thinking. She wanted to break up this little lovefest—fast. Her mom let out a soft sigh, stepping out from under Van’s arm to study herself in the mirror. As far as her mom knew, she and Van were more or less rekindling an old friendship. Maybe she knew about their mutual feelings for one another, but she hadn’t said anything about it to April. Instead, she seemed to be operating under the delusion that April was having sex-less sleepovers at the Palmer place like she might have done with friends when she was six.

“Dad said you ladies were off for a final fitting today,” he remarked. “Figured I’d drop by and say hello.”

While he sounded unfazed by the brusqueness of her comment, his face had that tight quality to it whenever he was annoyed. Plus, one look in his eyes and April knew he was irritated with her, and she turned back to fluff her mom’s skirt, hoping he might take the hint. They could talk some other time.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, as if reading her mind and doing the opposite of what she wanted. April straightened up and exchanged a look with her mom, pleading with her to make up some excuse about her needing to stay. Unfortunately, it seemed no one was getting her signals today, and she waved April off with a smile.

“Go,” she insisted. “I’m just going to stand here and admire how fantastic I look in this dress anyway.”

“Plus, we need to go over your necklace selection,” the sales associate added with a wink. April looked helplessly between the two women, ready to offer her expert opinion on accessories, but she soon found herself toddling off after Van. Much to her surprise, he took her to the back exit instead of the front, and while she was confused, she was glad that he’d had the foresight to take this conversation outside. Although the bridal boutique was situated in an area that would be considered urban, it still backed onto a forested area, the parking lot off to the side of the building. In a way, it was quite private, with no other shops around with windows facing where they stood.

Van rounded on the spot to face her, his arms crossing over his muscular chest. “So...you seem to have just dropped off the face of the planet, April. What the hell?”

She stared at him for a moment, shocked that he would just jump right into it. Apparently, there was no room for subtlety when Van was annoyed. This was the second time he’d gone straight in for the kill when he was frustrated with her. At least he wasn’t one to play games, and April immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over her for the way she’d been treating him over the last few days. It wasn’t fair to ignore him, but what was done was done.

“I just needed some time to think,” she told him, keeping her distance as his eyes narrowed.

“About what?”

“About us.”

“Why?” He took in a deep breath then slowly let it out. The heat of the afternoon sun was getting to her already, and she was glad she’d worn a little cute sundress to avoid the heat. Unfortunately, the way Van looked at her brought the heat anyway, and she continued to sweat, both from her nerves and from the sun, as he waited for a response.

“I just—“

“I thought we were doing so well,” he said, both of them starting up again at the same time. He pressed his lips together, as if waiting for her to say more, and when she didn’t, he added, “Have I done something that’s set you off?”

“No—“

“You planning on running again?”

“Right now I want to,” she snapped, a little irritated with the interrogation-like line of questioning. “I’ve been… thinking about us. About what we’re going to be when our parents get married. You’re going to be my stepbrother, Van. Doesn’t that seem a little fucked up to you that we’re sleeping together and…”

Developing feelings for one another. She kept that bit to herself, not wanting to bring up the way she felt about him in the midst of a fight. Not their first fight, and it probably wouldn’t be their last. April almost wished they weren’t doing it behind a bridal boutique. While it was secluded in a way, anyone could walk out the back door and come after them, and she didn’t want the whole store to know that they were bickering over this particular topic.

“No,” Van said after studying her for a moment. Some of the anger seemed to have drained from his voice, but he still towered over her, glowering. “I don’t think it’s fucked up. We’re not suddenly related, April. You’re a woman; I’m a man; and we like each other. That’s all that matters.”

She squared her shoulders, eyes narrowing at him even further. “That’s not all that matters. We have other people to consider. Your dad obviously knows, but my mom hasn’t seemed to clue in, and I don’t want this upsetting her.”

That was stretching the truth a little, and they both knew it. Instead, April opted for a different tactic and decided to go for the jugular on most men—their reputation.

“What’s going to happen when people start talking about us?” she asked, crossing her arms and arching an eyebrow at him. “I mean, what then? You know how the gossip mills churn out crap in places like Cascade Falls. We’re going to be related. It’s… It’s…”

Taboo. She didn’t say it, of course, because she wasn’t ready to outwardly admit that their relationship was, in a way, somewhat sordid. Instead, she went quiet, letting him fill in the blanks for himself. However, rather than offering any number of potential adjectives that probably sprang to his mind, Van stepped toward her once, twice, backing her all the way up until she was pressed to the wall of the bridal boutique. The warm wood heated her back, and she drew in a shaky breath when he stopped only an inch or so away from her, the heat of his body warming her front.

“I don’t give a fuck what people say about us,” he told her, his voice low, and she swore she saw a flicker of lust in his eyes. “And you know why I don’t give a fuck?”

She bit the insides of her cheeks, waiting, and then shook her head when she realized he was pausing for her to give an answer.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t.”

Because she certainly did—in a way, anyhow. Gossip didn’t usually bother her, but the nature of the gossip that would spread if they announced their relationship to the general public would be difficult to ignore. Plus, she didn’t need outside opinions making hers even worse. She was worried enough about the consequences of falling in love with the man who would be her stepbrother in just a few short weeks; she didn’t need anyone else adding to that with their idle chatter.

However, as he always did, Van had a way of making her forget her problems. Before he responded, he slipped his knee between her legs and brought it up, lifting her so that she was at his eye-line, his hands pressed against the wall on either side of her. April’s breathing quickened, and she was certain this time that she saw a growing need in his eyes. The mere sight of his desire made her panties dampen, and without thinking, she rubbed herself against his thigh.

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks,” he whispered, brushing his lips along her cheek and over to her ear, “because you’re mine.” The words sent a shiver through her, and she ran her hands over his chest, as Van growled, “You’ll always be mine, and that’s that.”

“Oh, is it?” Her words caught in her throat, as he sucked on her earlobe. With her legs straddling his, Van’s hands wandered down her body, slowly, possessively, pausing briefly to cup and knead her breasts. Her nipples had grown hard under her bra, and she moaned as he plucked at them through the fabric. She shot a panicked look up and around her quickly, worried that there might be a window open somewhere and their conversation—and what was following—had been heard, but there was nothing. Sure, a lone circular window at the very top of the wall, probably to a room on the second floor, but it was sealed shut. Behind Van, the wind rustled through the nearby trees. Cars rumbled down the road elsewhere, but otherwise, they were totally alone.

“V-Van,” she murmured, cupping his face and bringing him back to her so that she could meet his eye. “Maybe we should…do this…somewhere else…?”

She sounded weak, and they both knew it. There was no leaving that spot, not with the look that Van pinned to her, but she thought she ought to at least make a bit of an effort—just so she could say she tried to stop all this if they were caught. 

Van cut off her next bout of incoherent babbling with a hard kiss, pressing her to the wall as her legs wrapped around his waist. Immediately she felt his cock, hard and eager, against her thigh, and she knew there was only one way that this conversation could end. All of her fears faded when he kissed her, and she took his words to heart. She was his—just as he was hers—and it shouldn’t matter what people thought. There was an element of kink to their relationship, a hint of trouble down the road, but that was only if they ended things badly. With the way things were going, her worries aside, the chance of things ending poorly seemed slim. With James off her back, she could really give herself to Van; she had the opportunity to be with a man who desperately desired her and who made her happy.

Even if, in a few weeks, he would technically be her brother. Technically. Not literally. That had to count for something, right?

April gasped, as he pushed her dress up around her hips, her whole body alight with a heady lust that wouldn’t be extinguished on its own. Tongue thrusting into her mouth, Van slid his hands between her thighs and rubbed her, cupping her through the thin, damp material of her underwear. He pulled back, still stroking her as he smirked.

“Someone gets off when we fight,” he rumbled, his thumb circling her clit over her panties. April bit back a cry, her eyes clenched shut and head thrown back in sheer bliss. “Maybe we should fight more often.”

“It’s not the fight,” she insisted, and it wasn’t. “It’s… It’s you saying that I’m yours. I am. I’m yours—“

He slammed his lips over hers, pushing her underwear aside and slipping two fingers between her wet folds. April moaned, her concerns about being heard thrown out the window long ago, and fisted her hands in his hair. He let out a low groan, nipping at her lower lip hard enough to make her gasp, and pumped his fingers in and out of her. His palm rubbed the engorged little bud at the base of her being until she came. Her body clenched around him, and she moaned into his mouth, as pleasure rocked her body, her skin prickling, and suddenly the warm summer breeze didn’t seem so bad. It was almost refreshing in a way, her body shaking with chills as waves and waves of pleasure rolled over her.

“Oh my god,” she breathed, pulling away from his crushing kiss and gasping for air. Unable to stay away for long, she dragged his face back to hers, showing her appreciation for his compassion, his understanding, and his care through little butterfly kisses across his skin.

“If you think I’m done with you,” Van said, laughing, and she heard the sound of his zipper sliding down, “you are sorely mistaken.”

April nibbled her lower lip, thrilled that this wasn’t coming to an end anytime soon. Her mom would probably be wondering where they are, but then again, she was surrounded by pretty dresses, expensive jewelry, and an unending stream of champagne to make the whole experience just that much more decadent. By now, she might have even forgotten that she’d arrived with April earlier in the day.

It took a little maneuvering on their end, but Van soon had his pants around his knees and his cock buried deep inside her. April wrapped her arms around him tightly, her body stretching to accommodate his thickness, and found all she could do was just hang on and enjoy the heat of the moment. He started off slow, as he always did, getting her used to him again, delaying both of their climaxes—as much as it killed them—until the last possible moment.

His pace started to quicken soon enough, and she eventually found her hips slamming into the back of the bridal boutique, not caring whether the people inside might have heard it. Van wrapped her hair around his hand and tugged her head back, running his tongue over her neck. She closed her eyes tight, reveling in the delicious combination of pain and pleasure, her body starting its telltale clenching again, as another orgasm loomed on the horizon. 

“Never forget that you’re mine,” he hissed in her ear, as he pounded into her. April’s breath burned in her throat as she panted. She was so overwhelmed by the delicious wrongness of fucking outside, in broad daylight, that all of her previous concerns had officially melted away. She cried out when he nipped at her neck, and her eyes shot open, as he started to suck, no doubt leaving behind a noticeable mark that she’d have to either hide or awkwardly explain when all of this was over with.

“I’m yours,” she whispered back, nodding her head as best she could, and he took her harder, faster, as if spurred on by her words. The second climax that tore through her made April see stars, and she all but depended on Van to keep her upright. He did so quite masterfully, pinning her against the wall, as he slammed into her over and over again. Finally, he stiffened, his face screwed in pleasure, as he spilled himself inside of her.

He leaned against her for a long moment. Once she was in control of herself again, April stroked his hair, his back, and his face, then she pressed a gentle kiss to his sweaty forehead.

“You have to talk to me about these worries,” he told her, as their breathing evened out. She smiled and nodded, but the smile faded when he grabbed her chin and forced her to meet his eye. “I’m serious, April. I can’t lose you over something like this. I know it’s going to be weird after our parents get married… I’m not an idiot. Things are going to change, but we have to take the change together. You’re mine, and I won’t let you run again unless it’s for a damn good reason.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, hoping that he wouldn’t see just how deeply his words touched her. “And becoming your stepsister doesn’t seem like a good enough reason?”

“Not really, no,” he remarked, as he eased out of her then gently set her on the ground. As they fixed their clothing, the hot summer sun beating down on them, April found herself in awe of how calm and collected he was about the upcoming change in their status. Shaking his head, Van ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Look, all I want is to be with you. Now that you aren’t worried about my dad interfering, I think we owe it to ourselves to give things a chance.”

“But—“

“Is the idea of being my stepsister that repulsive to you?”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, as she scrambled to find the right wording. It wasn’t repulsive. She hadn’t grown up with him. They hadn’t shared baths as kids. In fact, she hadn’t seen him since high school up until the start of the summer, so, really, it shouldn’t bother her as much as it did.

“I just… You’re going to be called my brother,” she managed to get out, her words sounding a little hollow. “It just seems… off to me.”

“Then we’ll get through it together,” he assured her, kissing her sweaty forehead and brushing her hair away from her neck. The breeze felt much nicer now than it did when they first stepped outside, and April shot him an appreciative smile.

“That sounds like a pretty good plan to me,” April admitted after a brief pause. Once again, he’d found a way to put her at ease. It wasn’t the amazing sex that did it—not entirely, anyway. It was the way he looked at things logically while still acknowledging her emotionality about the subject, too. How had another woman not scooped up Van Palmer years ago? She’d have to put out a collective thank you note to the women of Cascade Falls at some point.

Now that things were settled, they parted on better terms than they met on earlier. Van opted to just walk around the building instead of going through the tulle-filled showroom full of chattering women, and once he’d kissed her goodbye, April fixed herself a few times over, smoothing a hand over her dress and hair, before stepping back in through the front door.

To her relief, there were no associates wandering around nearby. In fact, they were all busy with her mom, and April found her again with a wonderful selection of jewelry and headpieces scattered around her.

“Is everything okay, honey?” her mom asked, as April approached. April nodded and snatched a glass of champagne from the nearby tray, filling it with whatever was left in the bottle. “You were out there a long time.”

“We just had a bit of a disagreement,” April admitted, figuring a half-truth was better than a lie. “Van wanted to talk things through in person. I’d been avoiding him, so I’m glad he found me.”

“Oh, did you two patch things up?” her mom asked, as April settled on the white sofa beside her, instantly going for some of the more toned down pieces. “I really want you guys to get along. You seem to be doing so well.”

“Yeah, we… sorted things out,” April replied, her cheeks tinting, though she hoped her mom wouldn’t notice in the showroom lighting. “We really banged out the issue. So, it’s all good.”

“Good, that’s what I want to hear!” Her mom rubbed her arm, then she instantly turned her attention back to the task at hand: finding the perfect piece to complement her gorgeous gown.

Finally, for the first time since she’d start panicking about Van’s label, April could actually focus on the present.

And she found she really enjoyed herself.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Pulling up to Cedar Lodge on the back of Van’s motorcycle felt like coming home. It had become a place of comfort for her, and April loved spending weekday nights in the bar with Van. The place usually wasn’t crowded it if wasn’t a Friday or Saturday night, and all the tip-hungry staff who seldom paid attention to her on the weekends weren’t scheduled. Instead, she had an older group of staff to chat with while Van worked, many in their late twenties and early thirties, who weren’t all about the getting-blackout-drunk lifestyle that some of the younger servers enjoyed.

After their talk at the bridal boutique, a lot of April’s worries had fallen to the wayside. Sure, there was still a lot to consider, and as the wedding date crept closer and closer, she couldn’t help but wonder if her concerns would resurface at some point. For now, all she knew was that Van supported their relationship, that he cared deeply for her, and that he was willing to fight to keep them together. What more could she ask for, really?

Dressed in a pair of dark denim shorts and a hoodie, April had ventured out of her mom’s apartment that evening excited to spend time with Van on Cedar Lodge’s patio. He’d vowed to make her some more of his magical concoctions of fruit and alcohol, the ones that went down so smoothly, but he also promised not to let her get too drunk. She’d had a busy couple of days helping with wedding arrangements, and April needed a relaxing night to blow off some steam with her man.

The motorcycle engine gave one finally roar, as Van turned from the road to the parking lot, both of them bouncing as the wheels hopped the curb. April held tighter around his midsection, their helmets clunking together, until they settled in a spot near the main entrance. Up the road, the fancier resort was full of people that night, but she preferred the almost empty lot she faced here at Cedar Lodge instead. Sure, they weren’t going to cook her French cuisine, but April hoped they might put out a plate of spinach dip and some crispy dipping bread for them to enjoy with their drinks.

Well, she didn’t have to hope. Van was the owner, and whatever he wanted, he got—meaning whatever April wanted, she also got, though she tried not to take advantage of that newfound power.

Much. She tried not to take advantage much.

Climbing off the back of the bike somewhat gracelessly, April tugged down her shorts, which had ridden up her thighs on the ride, and then pulled off her helmet. Once she’d straightened herself out, she caught Van admiring her legs, and she swatted at him.

“What?” he asked, laughing innocently as he locked the bike up. “I’m allowed to look.”

“Not like you’re a starving dog,” she fired back, a hand settling on her hip. Van straightened up and pulled her close, an arm wrapped snuggly around her waist, and she let out an embarrassing shriek-giggle, as he pressed kisses up and down her neck.

“Oh, but baby, I am hungry.”

They carried on a little longer, April’s cheeks flaming red, only to stop when they heard, “Ugh. Get a room you two.”

April hastily untangled herself from Van’s grip, doing so with some difficulty, and then waved sheepishly at Darla. She was one of the weekday day-shift bartenders. Two of her kids were off to college, while the third was just finishing high school. A no-nonsense kind of woman, she didn’t take crap from drunk idiots, and April really wanted the woman to develop a soft spot for her. Thus far, she interacted with April as a good acquaintance might, despite knowing her mom.

Maybe that was why she kept her distance. It must have been strange to see a friend’s daughter sucking face with her boss.

“And a very pleasant evening to you too, Mrs. Davidson,” Van replied, his lips spread wide in a cheeky grin. She waved them off, keys in hand, as she made her way to her beat-up truck at the far end of the lot. When she raced out, a trail of exhaust smoke dragging behind her, the parking lot looked even more depressing. Van, thankfully, seemed not to mind. While his dad ran his empire with an iron fist, Van took a more laidback approach to his business—and somehow, they seemed equally successful in her eyes.

Taking her hand, Van walked her toward the bar. On weekdays, there was no need to have a whole crew of bouncers loitering around the front door. Instead, the security guys usually sat inside, cups of water or tonic in hand as they watched whatever was on the TV screens that night. Sometimes, if Van was feeling generous, he let each guy grab a beer from the back, but only on really slow night. Otherwise, he refused to let any of his staff touch a lick of alcohol while they were there, even the shooter girls.

For some reason, April appreciated that about him.

After depositing their helmets in his tiny office upstairs, she made the rounds with him to each station, asking how the day was going, how profits were, what they could expect for the evening. As expected, nothing was over-the-top on a Wednesday, and there weren’t any crazy expectations for the rest of the night either. Sometimes the old bingo ladies who played at the club house a few doors down stopped by for watered down drinks to celebrate any wins, but otherwise, Wednesday was for regulars, guys who didn’t want to go home to their wives, or college kids looking—and failing—to find a party.

April hung back as Van took care of the business side of things, but when he was finished, he grabbed her hand again and strolled with her toward the patio exit. The bar out there was closed for the night, and none of the handful of guests had opted to sit by the lake. For now, they had the whole place to themselves.

“M’lady,” Van teased, as he pulled out the barstool by the railing for her, the lake’s dark waters just a few feet away. Water sloshed at the patio’s underbelly, providing a calming soundtrack to the night. Having spent a lot of her time in the bar these days, she had a new, deep appreciation for nights that had no obnoxious music blaring out of the various speakers.

“Why thank you.” She grinned, as she hopped onto the seat, and before Van could get too far from her, she grabbed his shirt and dragged him in for a kiss. He fell willingly, smiling until the moment their lips touched, and she slowly closed her eyes, relaxing into the heat of the moment. Out there, alone, it was easy to feel romantic with him—and something about seeing him in charge, running things, really did it for her.

Maybe after a few drinks she’d ask for a long, thorough tour of his private office—with the door locked, of course. 

“Now who’s being wildly inappropriate?” Van posed the question with a chuckle, their lips no more than a breath apart from each other. She raised an eyebrow, her hands wandering the muscular length of his torso.

“I thought you liked wildly inappropriate?”

“I think it’s my life’s motto,” he fired back, his voice taking on that deeply sensuous quality it always did right before he pressed her up against a wall and fucked her brains out. She shivered at the thought, recalling their passion behind the bridal boutique. If there was absolutely no one else in Cedar Lodge, she might have gone for his zipper right now—she’d probably find him at least a little aroused.

But for all her naughty thoughts, April was still much shyer than Van when it came to public displays of affection. Sure, they’d fooled around in a few public places, but always in a shady corner where no one would ever see. Van would have bent her over a table with an audience watching; he liked to show her off.

For now, they could settle with a little light kissing. She tilted her head up and stole his lips once more, mouths opening as soon as they touched. Her fingers threaded through his thick dark hair, and she felt a flutter of desire curl between her thighs.

Van was the one who got a hold on himself first. He pulled back, though it looked like it pained him to do so, and let out a long sigh, as he brushed her hair behind her ears.

“If we keep going, I won’t be able to stop.”

She arched up as he stood, taking his hand and placing it just below her breast. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Yeah, you say that now…” Van laughed, trailing his finger down her neck. Shaking his head, he leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “What do you want to drink?”

“Surprise me,” came her standard response, and he disappeared inside after snagging one last peck. Alone on the patio, April leaned on the polished wood railing and stared out over the lake, enjoying the array of stunning colors dancing across the water’s surface as the sun continued its slow, meandering stroll beneath the valley’s peaks.

Van returned almost ten minutes later with a round server’s tray in hand, on which sat a mysterious red cocktail for her, a cold beer for him, and a bowl of spinach dip with a plate of crunchy pita bread beside it. April grinned; she hadn’t even asked him to get the food, and yet somehow he’d just known that she was craving it.

“Thanks,” she said softly, touching his arm with all the affection she had before taking a small sip of her drink. As always, the flavor lit up her mouth, and she leaned back in her chair with a moan. He was so skilled at spoiling her.

They sat out there together for some time, slowly sipping their drinks, enjoying one another’s company, and munching on crispy pita bread. However, after the sun had set, a chilly breeze swept across the lake, bringing with it an array of pesky summertime insects that seemed to think April and Van were only there for their consumption. After slapping her leg for the umpteenth time, April made a request that they move inside, and Van was only too happy to comply.

Once they were in, it was another round of dip and a new drink for her. The pair sat at the booth farthest from the speakers, which gave off a hum of music softly. Feet nestled together beneath the table, they continued to enjoy their night—until there was an unexpected arrival.

April saw them first. Thick men—who looked a little grimy—entered the bar, strolling by the bouncer without a care in the world. Two men who didn’t belong, even in a bar like Cedar Lodge. If anything, they ought to be at rough-and-tumble country bar out in the middle of nowhere, where the beer flowed constantly and bar fights were a form of entertainment, not a reason to get banned. She shifted on the spot, as they made their way over to her and Van’s booth, her eyes falling to the tabletop when she realized she’d been staring.

Only at the last possible second did Van seemed to notice them, trailing off mid-sentence once the two burly fellows were only a few feet away. April watched his smile fade and his eyes turn cold.

“Evening, boys,” Van said finally, leaning back and spreading his arms across the top of the booth. He gave off an air of confidence that put her at ease, but April was sure not to look too relaxed. These guys smelled of bad news.

“Van,” the one closest to her said, faintly stinking of cigarette smoke. “Never see you at meetings anymore.”

“Didn’t like the direction they were headed,” he told them with a shrug. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Maybe we just came by to check out the bar,” the other remarked, his eyes wandering the wall decorations. Her cheeks flushed when the man closest to her glanced her way, and she pretended to be very, very interested in one particular piece of pita bread.

Van leaned forward and nodded, his leg brushing hers beneath the table. “Maybe that’s the case, but I don’t believe it for a second. What do you want?”

“We wanna talk about a job—“

“I’m not hiring,” Van interjected, smiling that dashing smile of his. While it worked like a charm on April, neither of the men were stirred by it. Instead, it only seemed to make their expressions more stoic.

“A job for you,” one grunted. “From your dad.”

“He can tell me himself.” And with that, Van grabbed a piece of pita bread and dipped it in the bowl, scraping the outsides to get whatever was left. The pair stayed, even after his obvious dismissal, and when Van’s stare met hers, he offered her a smile. April returned it as best she could, but she couldn’t shake the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach. These guys brought bad news with them, she was sure of it—especially if they were dealing with James.

“Let’s talk somewhere more private,” came a suggestion, but Van shook his head.

“I’m good here.”

“Van,” the man beside him muttered, and finally an air of seriousness blanketed the conversation. Sighing, Van drummed his fingers on the table before finally shooting her a quick look. It was hard to decipher, but April figured she’d just let him do whatever he needed to in that moment.

He sidled out of the booth, gesturing to the staircase across the bar. “We can talk in my office.”

Without a word, the men followed him away, not once bothering to address April. She sat there in silence once he’d left, still unable to shake the queasy feeling in her stomach. It wasn’t the alcohol. No, while the drinks had tasted as delicious as they always did, April had asked Van some time ago not to make any of them super strong. She might want to let loose after all this wedding stress, but she wasn’t interested in getting embarrassingly drunk at Van’s work again either.

However, the longer she waited at the table alone, the more she wished there was just a smidgen more booze in her drink. If there was, maybe then she wouldn’t have felt so worried about Van. A few of his staff watched the trio disappear, and once they were gone, they flocked together and started whispering. April took a deep breath. No one bothered to look her way, so she knew this had to be a big deal.

Thankfully, Van wasn’t gone for long. She was practically licking the spinach dip bowl clean in an effort to distract herself by the time he returned—alone. Behind him, his sketchy visitors headed for the door, not bothering to grab a drink for wasting Van’s time.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, as he made himself comfort on the opposite side of the booth. His eyebrows furrowed down, as did the corners of his mouth, and he carried with him this uncomfortable persona that set her on edge. She’d seen Van angry, annoyed, aroused, thrilled, cheeky… but never had she seen this side of him before. To her, he was her protector, her big warm body to snuggle up to at night. It was unnerving to see him, well, unnerved.

“My dad has a job for me,” he told her, and she bit back a comment about deducing as much from the previous conversation. He took a long swig of his beer, then he shook his head and cleared his throat. “He divides his motorcycle club into two factions. There are the good guys with expensive bikes who like to hang around our lodge for the social aspect of it. They’re the ones who ride in parades, pose with puppies, help rebuild people’s homes after disasters… You know, upstanding guys who just like bikes.”

She nodded, a little guilty still that she initially lumped all motorcycle enthusiasts into the “gang” lifestyle. “Sure. Of course.”

“But then there are the guys like Will and Teddy there,” Van continued, his expression darkening. “I distanced myself from that side of the club for a long time. I mean, the guys who pose with puppies do a lot of good PR for Dad, but these guys… These are the guys who get the gritty shit done. They’re the reason my dad made a fortune when I was a kid. Drug deals, smuggling… Whatever he needed done, these guys did it.”

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered under her breath, leaning forward and taking his hand. How could she let someone as pure and sweet as her mom marry an awful guy like James.

“He’s pulled back on the… under the table shit these days,” Van told her, as if sensing her concern. “Your mom really knocked him right, I guess. But sometimes… there’s a deal too good to refuse.”

She pursed her lips, desperate to argue against that statement, but then thought better of it. “Right.”

“He needs me and a few guys to make a delivery,” Van said, as he grabbed his beer then set it down without taking a sip. “Really simple. Just paperwork for an old buddy of his.”

“Can’t he just mail it then?” Her voice was laced with skepticism, but she tried her best to at least look supportive. “I mean…”

“The documents probably don’t have totally legal stuff on them, I don’t know.” He rolled his eyes. “At least it isn’t drugs. I won’t touch drugs. Teddy says Dad explained it all to the transport group at the meeting they had tonight, but he won’t go forward unless I tag along. You know, make sure things get where they’re supposed to be. I guess he doesn’t trust everyone involved.”

And how could he trust James?! April took a few deep breaths, calming herself, otherwise she’d lunge across the table and shake him. None of this felt right—not one bit.

“He says the pay will be enough for me to keep fixing up the bar,” Van muttered. “No loans, no dipping into savings. I don’t want to, but… Teddy made him sound really insistent that I be in on this.”

“Well, maybe you should talk to your dad directly,” she suggested, sounding a little forced. Van gave her a once over, then smiled, reaching across the table and taking both of her hands in his.

“Don’t look so stressed, sweetheart.” He laughed in that carefree way that always made her feel better—though it wasn’t quite working this time. “Everything’s going to be fine. I used to do these kinds of things all the time. Make deliveries, I mean. It sounds like a day trip. Nothing crazy. Deliver some papers, get the pay, drive home. Don’t sweat it.”

He brushed the hair away from her face, head cocked to the side, then asked if she wanted another drink.

“Yeah,” she replied, pulling her hands away and setting them on her lap. Something still didn’t sit right with her, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. So, rather than air her concerns, she kept silent, figuring it would be easier to wait until he’d talked with James to talk him out of this. “Make it a double this time, please.”

Van winked, as he slid out of the booth. “Anything for my best gal.”

She offered a small laugh, knowing that’s what he wanted from her, but as soon as his back turned, her smile fell flat and her face tinged with sadness.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A gentle summer rain showered the window, little droplets of water rolling down the panes. April watched from the middle of the bed on her side, an arm tucked under her pillow, as some of the droplets raced, going this way and that, all the while reaching the same destination—and then disappearing.

She nibbled her lower lip, her eyes heavy, longing to drift closed, but her mind was to awake to sleep. Soft gray light trickled in from said window, bathing the master suite in Van’s cottage in the comforting aura of a rainy morning. On any other day, she would have lounged in bed with Van for as long as they could, wrapped in his arms, her head on his chest, listening to the soothing sounds of the outdoors. Sometimes she could even hear the trees rustling, their fat trunks unmoved by the gale, but the leaves making a stormy symphony of their own.

It wasn’t a surprise to her that she got little to no sleep last night. After all, she’d spent the last couple of days waiting for Van to call off his little job that his dad had bestowed upon him, only to discover last night that he’d be leaving early in the morning to get everything done. It all sounded so simple: drive for a bit, meet the client, deliver the paperwork, get paid, and go home. If anyone else had offered it to him, April would have encouraged him to do it the second he learned about it. After all, the pay was, supposedly, worth a job that required triple the effort of this one.

But it was one of James Palmer’s jobs. Van seemed to understand that his dad had a shifty side to him, but he was probably too close to the situation to sense when the old man might be fucking him over. Of course, April had no proof James was doing anything of the sort—nothing but a gut instinct that screamed for both of them to pack their things and head for the hills.

She said none of this, of course. April had decided that expressing her concerns might only cause them to fight, and she wanted to look supportive of whatever work Van did—that’s what girlfriends were supposed to do, right?

They’d fallen into bed early this morning, both exhausted, sweaty, and satisfied from vigorous screwing that left her a little sore. She’d enjoyed herself, yes, but in a way it was like they were coming together for the last time. Similar to how she’d felt when she tried to leave Van all those weeks ago, thinking that was the best and only option, April found herself wrapped up in more emotion than she wanted. She held him like she never wanted to let him go, and even now, as she lay alone in the bed, she wished he was back beside her.

He’d climbed out of bed only a few hours after they’d collapsed into it. While she’d tossed and turned, too alert mentally to get much sleep at all, Van had snored the whole time, one arm thrown protectively across her as he slept. April, meanwhile, just couldn’t shake the sickly feeling that settled over her.

He puttered around the bathroom, clearly trying hard to be quiet but failing miserably. April grinned when he dropped something and cursed, the door partially closed to obscure the light. She’d listened to him shower, the sounds of water pummeling the tile floor combined with the soft rain on the window. It should have been relaxing. She had no other responsibilities for the day. In fact, she should have drifted back to sleep with ease.

Instead, she lay awake, listening to him getting ready, all the while practicing the speech she’d said over and over again in her head about him not going. Send someone else. Surely James Palmer trusted more people in the world than just his son. From what she understood, Van had a cousin who operated on the sketchier side of the motorcycle club too; why couldn’t he go?

She closed her eyes slowly and sighed. There was no stopping any of it now. Van had agreed to go, and he didn’t strike her as the kind to go back on his word.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, because when the bed dipped downward as Van settled on the edge, she opened her eyes with a startled gasp, surprised to see him beside her. Van looked momentarily alarmed, and then he smiled, smoothing his hand over her cheek and pushing her bedhead hair back.

“Hey, beautiful lady,” he greeted softly. Outside, the rain had started to pour harder, and as she listened, goosebumps erupted across her skin as a chill shot through her body. “Did I wake you up?”

She shook her head, slumping back down onto the pillows. “No… I don’t think I actually ever fell asleep.”

“You were sleeping when I came out of the bathroom,” he told her with a chuckle, running his hand over her leg. “Your mouth was open and everything. I think I even see a bit of drool…”

Rolling her eyes, April wiped at her mouth then sighed. “Ha ha.”

“No, I’m serious,” he teased. “You’re a big drooler. I don’t think you even realize just how much saliva you produce when you sleep.”

April threw her hands up dramatically, smiling. “Great. Now I’m just that disgusting girl you sleep next to—“

“Who makes me very happy,” he interjected, crawling across the bed so that he could cuddle her. She let out a happy sigh this time, wishing they could stay there forever. Van pressed a kiss to her cheek and then said, “But I don’t think my girl is very happy. Is everything okay?”

She shifted around so that she could see his face in the soft lighting. Outside, thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance.

“Are you sure you should be driving in this?” she asked, her own subtle attempt at reining him in. Van shrugged.

“Just a bit of water,” he told her. “The documents are in a waterproof container, so I’m not worried.”

“I mean, is it safe?” she stressed with the hope that he might be able to read between the lines. “I mean, is this job safe for you to do… out in the rain?”

He gave her a hard look, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “What are you getting at?”

“I just… I mean…” Fumbling over her words, she sat up too, inching back so that she could settle against the headrest. “This whole thing doesn’t sound fishy to you?”

He blinked at her. “No.”

“But your dad—“

“Wouldn’t have asked me if he wasn’t desperate,” he said, a sharpness to his tone that made her frown. “He knows I don’t do this kind of shit anymore, especially after we started dating. If he’s saying he won’t go through with it unless I’m there, it’s pretty important.”

“But—“

“It’s just dropping off some papers, April.” Looking away, Van climbed off the bed and went for his leather jacket. She watched him get ready in silence, her knees brought up to her chest, arms around them. “I mean, are you trying to say my dad… What are you trying to say?”

She nibbled her lower lip when he rounded back to face her, his features shadowed with the window behind him.

“Nothing,” she said finally, figuring this was a fight they ought to save for another day. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Even though James never missed out on an opportunity to throw her a dirty look when no one else was paying attention, he loved his kid. He wouldn’t do anything to get Van in trouble. She shook her head, inhaling slowly before letting out the deep breath as Van watched her. “I guess I’m just… nervous about you going on the road. You haven’t done anything like this while we’ve been dating, and I guess it scares me. Plus, the storm sounds bad.”

“It’ll blow over,” he told her, snatching a baseball cap off his bookshelf and setting it on his head. “Storms always pass. It’ll be nothing but clear skies by noon, mark my words.”

“I wasn’t aware you had a degree in meteorology.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, sweetheart,” he told her, crawling back across the bed now and pausing just a few inches from her face. “I’ll be happy to show you… a little bit at a time.”

April scoffed, her body tingling at their closeness. “Such a typical man.”

“I’m all man, baby,” he crooned, oozing cheesiness as April giggled. He then leaned in and gave her a quick peck, smiling when he pulled away. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Tonight.”

She couldn’t leave it at that, however, and before he got too far away, April scrambled across the bed and dragged him back in for a longer, much more satisfying kiss. Lips parted and hands everywhere, April arched her body against his, almost succeeding in dragging him straight back to bed with her. Unfortunately, Van had built up a little resistance to her kind of teasing and eventually managed to untangle himself from her as she pouted.

“I see your tricks, little girl,” he told her, slapping her bare thigh playfully before hopping out of range of her retaliatory smack. “Can’t be late. Gotta go.”

“I know.”

They shared one final kiss, short and sweet, before he headed out into the main portion of the cottage. She listened to him get his boots on, grab his keys and helmet, and then disappear into the storm.

Wrapping a blanket around her, April hurried to the window to watch him go, unable to stop herself from smiling as he ran along the tree line to avoid the rain. One moment he was there, dressed all in black for a day of shady deeds, and the next he was just… gone, vanishing into the fog and water. Lightning lit up the sky—though it was quite a few long seconds before the thunder followed; the storm was far from Cascade Falls, it seemed.

And soon, Van would be too.

She licked her lips, chilled beside the thin window panes, and then let her gaze drift over to the main house. For all she knew, her mom might have been in there, asleep next to James. The thought made her stomach turn for a whole slew of reasons, and she tried not to focus on it.

In fact, she had to turn away from the house completely. The windows seemed too dark, like big, ominous black eyes watching her. To say it unnerved her would be an understatement, but April all but fell back into bed, exhaustion finally hitting her. As sleep claimed her, April’s final thought was that she hoped she’d wake up worry-free.

A childish hope, yes, but she hoped it all the same.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“I don’t understand why we had to drive all the way to Trentville to get wine,” April said with a sigh, as she leaned on the little green shopping cart. Her mom shot her a glare—though it lacked venom—and then turned back to the shelves loaded with wine bottles.

“You know Cascade Falls is lacking in the wine department, honey,” her mom said, squinting at one of the labels. “I want to make sure we have the best for my bachelorette party.”

April held back her sigh this time, knowing there was no sense in fighting it. Her mom had been partying all summer long with her friends, bringing them to James’s fancy house for garden parties and dinner get-togethers, and yet apparently this bachelorette party she was hosting this weekend would be different. For starters, it was being held at her mom’s apartment, keeping with the tradition of the bride and groom steering clear of one another before the wedding. The place was still on the market, drawing in interested parties each week, which meant April had to focus on keeping everything as neat as possible.

However, she fully expected to have a massive clean-up on her hands after her mom and her friends partied up a storm. There were games to be played, drinks to be drunk, and lots of treats to be devoured once everyone was too drunk to realize how many calories were in each snack. The whole ordeal was supposed to be exciting, but April just couldn’t get herself in the festive mood. Van hadn’t come home, and it had been two days since he went out to make the delivery for his dad.

When midnight hit the first night, April nearly had a full-blown mental breakdown. However, she calmed herself with a few delusions that would tide her over until the morning: the weather was bad, the client was late on picking up the delivery, Van had gone out drinking with the boys after, it was too late to drive home. She thought about all those possibilities, which managed to get her to sleep when he didn’t make it home initially.

But now here she was, two days later. No phone call. No explanation. No Van. She’d seen James when she picked her mom up, but he seemed totally unfazed by his son’s absence. April had tried to talk to him about it, but he seemed distant and uninterested, especially with her mom around. Irritated, she let it slide for the moment, but she couldn’t stop worrying about him. It wasn’t like Van not to return her texts, and if he didn’t pick up the first time she called, he always did the second time. Now, every call went to voicemail, and the worry was eating her up.

In a way, getting out of Cascade Falls and doing a little shopping with her mom was a good distraction. They’d picked up decorations and snacks before hitting the liquor store, and her mom spent a lot of the time asking for April’s opinion on almost everything they purchased. At least that managed to keep her a little busy.

Normally, it was the job of the maid of honor to host the bachelorette party, but, true to form, her mom wouldn’t trust anyone else to throw the bash. She wouldn’t even allow April to play hostess, thinking that it was too much to ask of her. Apparently, throwing a bachelorette party was too much to ask, but playing servant at all these dinner and garden parties was perfectly acceptable. 

“Do you think I should get some non-alcoholic wine too?” her mom asked, after loading up the cart with a few bottles of pricey reds. April followed her toward the non-alcoholic wine in question, her lips set in a frown.

“Or they could just drink water,” she suggested, as her mom crouched down to read the labels. “It’s free.”

“Oh, April, don’t be ridiculous.” Her mom started adding more bottles to the cart. “Everyone should be included.”

“Mom,” she said, shaking her head, “you know everyone is going to drink.”

It was astounding just how much all the ladies in Cascade Falls would chug back. Anytime her mom had hosted something since April had returned to her hometown, someone had to be sent home in one of the two taxi cabs in town. Once, much to her horror, an old high school teacher of hers, who’d ended up at one of the events as a plus-one, puked all over the downstairs guest bathroom at the Palmer residence.

And it definitely wasn’t her mom who was doing the cleaning that night. April had done most of it, but she forced Van to clean the spittle that caked onto the toilet.

It took a few days before she felt clean again, the scent of red-wine-tinted puke tickling her nose. Van, meanwhile, had claimed he was used to tidying up after drunks who’d had too much to drink. The memory made her stomach churn; she just wanted him to come home already.

Or, at the very least, return her phone call. Was that so much to ask?

“Honey, look! How cute are these?”

April dragged herself around the end of the aisle, her eyebrows rising ever higher when her mom showed her a few mini bottles of tequila.

“These might be fun little party favors,” her mom said, and before April could stop her, she started shoveling dozens of them into the shopping cart.

“Those are lethal,” was April’s only objection. From her college era, she knew just how dangerous those tiny bottles of alcohol could be. Sure, they looked innocent enough, but they packed a punch; one minute you were guzzling two at a time, and the next you were passing out in someone’s shower. Not pretty.

They were in the mixer aisle for a good ten minutes, her mom going through just about every bottle that was in some way vibrant or eye-catching—as if that made any of that sweet crap taste any better—when April’s phone went off. A couple at the other end of the aisle glanced her way as the device shrieked for her attention, and she turned away, a little embarrassed. To ward off the glare that was bound to be thrown her way by her mom, April pressed the answer button without checking the caller ID, quickly shoving the phone to her ear, her cheeks flaming red.

“Hello?”

“April?”

The voice made her heart stop. Van. His voice was all croaky and tired-sounding, like he’d been awake since the moment he left her, and without a second thought April abandoned her alcohol shopping expedition.

“Give me two seconds,” she said, as she hastily navigated her way through the store toward the exit.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Van told her, and for a second there it sounded like he was whispering. Panic seeped in, and she almost ran outside.

“Where the hell are you?” she demanded, unable to hold back. It was hard not to be angry at him for leaving her in the lurch, but the more dominant emotion at the moment was fear. “Why didn’t you come home? Haven’t you seen my texts? I’ve been calling—“

“The police have all my stuff,” he said gruffly, and April fell back against the wall of the shop, her hair rustling in the breeze, as cars pulled in and out of the quickly busying parking lot.

“W-What?”

“It was a set-up,” he explained. It took everything in her not to drop to the floor, her knees suddenly weak. “Someone hid drugs in the bag that had the documents. I should have checked it more thoroughly… I just opened it and saw the papers, so… I left. We got pulled over for some bullshit reason before we made it to the drop-off point, and they searched our bags. It was… a lot, April. Someone really wanted us to get taken in.”

Us? More like you. She took a few calming breaths. He’d been gone two days. Two days in a jail somewhere. Sure, he was tough, but she couldn’t imagine the kind of shit that put someone’s mental state through.

“Are you okay?” she asked, trying very hard to keep her voice even. This was no time to panic; Van needed her to be strong. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” he assured her. “No, just been sleeping on the floor for the last forty-eight hours, that’s all. They’re going to try to pin this on me, April.”

“Have you called your dad?” James sprung to mind almost instantly. He was the one who set all of this up; maybe he was actually orchestrating a set-up. “Maybe he… knew that—“

“My dad wouldn’t do this,” he said flatly—though it almost sounded like he didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth either. “It must have been one of the guys in my crew.”

She nibbled her lower lip, her mind racing a thousand miles a minute. “Where are you, Van?”

“County jail in Bloomsburg,” he told her. “I’ll have to go to a hearing about what my bail will be, but I need you to make sure my dad pays it. If I can’t get out and find a lawyer, I’m probably going to get put away for this.”

“They can’t—“

“They’d love to lock up the Palmer kid,” he grumbled, and she suddenly felt like vomiting all over the pavement. “They’ve been trying to tie things to my dad for years… so I guess I’m the next best option.”

“Is that why you didn’t call him?” She assumed he was using his one phone call to contact her, which was touching. If she was in any sort of trouble, Van would be the first person she would try to reach to help her—and he would follow-through in a heartbeat. She needed to be the same strength for him now.

“What? No… April.” She swore she heard him groan, and she could almost picture him running his hands through his thick dark hair. A gaggle of clearly underage kids hurried by her and into the liquor store, but she figured they’d be kicked out in about ten seconds flat; one of them looked about twelve. Van sighed. “April, I called you because I love…”

He trailed off, and her heart hammered in her chest. Was he about to tell her that he loved her? Over the phone? From jail?

“I trust you,” he told her after clearing his throat noisily. “I trust that you’ll help me, because…”

“Van,” she whispered, cutting him off, “I know.”

He cursed under his breath, and April pressed herself back against the wall as those same underage kids were escorted away from the store by a security guard.

“I have to go, sweetheart,” he said, and it sounded like it pained him to admit it. “Please try to get out here as soon as you can.”

“I’m on it right now,” she insisted, but before she could say anything else, the line went dead. Pulling the phone away from her ear with trembling hands, she finally let her knees give out and she sunk to the sidewalk. Her back against the outside of the liquor store, she placed her head in her hands and took several deep breaths, trying—and failing—to calm herself down. Someone had to have set Van up for this. Not once did it cross her mind that he knew he was transporting drugs. When he’d told her he didn’t do that kind of stuff, she believed him, because she trusted him, too.

Staggering to her feet, April hurried back in the store and tried to find her mom, but it was like she was walking through molasses. Her feet refused to lift off the ground. Her mind was trapped in a foggy haze. When she eventually did manage to find her mom, due in part to sheer luck and nothing more, her mom almost dropped the wine bottle in her hands.

“April,” she said, rushing forward and cupping her face. “What’s wrong, honey? You look like you’re about to faint? Do you need air?”

Shaking her head weekly, she pulled away from her mom and held up her phone. “Van just called. He’s been arrested.”

“What?” her mom hissed, her eyes widening, nostrils flaring. “Does James know?! When did this happen?!”

April relayed everything she could remember from the brief conversation back to her mom, and when her mom expressed how surprised she was that Van had called her first, April tried hard not to scowl.

“That doesn’t really matter, does it?” she snapped, irritated that they were wasting time not acting. “We need to go get him. Pay his bail. Whatever he needs.”

“No, no, we can’t rush in there… guns blazing,” her mom cautioned, taking April’s hand and pulling her over to the cart. “Let’s pay for these, then we’ll go talk to James. He’ll know what to do.”

She stared blankly at her mom, but followed her without argument to the cash register. Ever since the fire, her mom had become suspiciously reliant on James for any big, life-altering problems and decisions. Sure, April understood that her mom would want to discuss things with her new husband, as they’d be making these kinds of decisions in the future together—if April couldn’t put a stop to the wedding—but this was just too much. There was nothing to discuss, nothing to think over.

All that mattered was getting Van out of a prison cell, and April was determined to have him back in their bed by tomorrow morning.

Hell hath no fury like a woman on a mission to rescue her man.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“I’ll go there first thing tomorrow morning,” James said, as April and her mom crowded around him in the living room. For hearing that his son had been arrested two days ago, he was remarkably calm—and that rubbed April the wrong way. Not only did it seem suspicious, but now her mom was going to see James fucking Palmer as the port in any storm just because he could keep his cool in a crisis. She’d thought it after he’d been there to coddle her while her boutiques burned down, and here he was again, acting like the bigshot he believed he was. April pressed her lips together in displeasure.

“Why not leave tonight?” she demanded, glaring up into those beady eyes and seeing no signs of panic, no concern for his locked up son. “Van is sitting in a prison cell—“

“It’s a holding cell at a county jail,” he interrupted, and she swore he rolled his eyes—like she was the one out of line here. “It’s nothing crazy. I’ve pulled my guys out of those kinds of situations more often than I prefer to remember over the years. I know it seems scary to you, but—“

“Have you ever considered that it might be scary for Van?” April snapped, stalking away from him and pacing back and forth in front of the leather couch. To her left, a big screen TV sat mounted on the wall, where she and her mom had found James watching a black-and-white feature film when they arrived at his place. The sun had set by the time they returned to Cascade Falls, the trunk of her mom’s car filled to the brim with booze for her bachelorette party.

“Van is fine,” James said, scoffing. “He’s tougher than you give him credit for.”

“He’s locked in a cage!”

“With his friends!” James fired back, and her mom raised her hands as she stood between April and James, as if that might deflect some of the sting in their words. “And will be fed three meals a day! I can assure you that he’s better off there than any of the half-rate hotels between here and Bloomsburg.”

“This is bullshit,” she spat. Her mom’s eyes narrowed.

“April. Language.”

“I’m not twelve, Mom. I can curse if I want.” In that moment, however, she felt very much like a little girl at the whims of her elders. Neither of them had given much credit to anything she’d said since they told James that Van had been arrested out of town. Her mom had listened to her on the car ride here, readily agreeing to take the drive up to the jail to try to get Van out. However, now that James was smoothing everything over, it seemed she’d changed her tune.

The thought made April’s blood boil.

“Okay,” James said slowly, speaking to her like she was, in fact, a child. April almost crossed her arms over her chest but then realized that it would make it look like she was pouting. “Let’s just everyone take a deep breath. We’re all getting a little worked up here.”

“We should be getting worked up!” Her voice had raised to a shout now, and she ignored the look her mom shot her. “Van was supposed to drive some paperwork out to somebody you work with, and then on the day of, he gets pulled over and the cops find drugs in his bags?! He’d never do drugs, and I know he wouldn’t carry them anywhere. How about you explain to me how that might have happened?”

James regarded her over the brim of his thin glasses, the ones she thought he wore because they made him look intelligent and non-confrontational around her mom. As far as she could remember, she never recalled him needing to wear glasses before. But there he was, looking down his nose at her like he was a principal dealing with an unruly student, and her mom was just… letting him.

“I feel like you want me to have all the answers to this,” he started, letting out a deep breath and pulling his glasses off. April’s eyes narrowed, as she watched his charade, right down to the way he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “April, I’m just as shocked as you are that all of this happened. I hate the fact that my son is in a jail cell somewhere, but I know how this system works. We’ll show up tonight, they’ll load us up with paperwork, then they’ll drag us around until we’re too tired to think straight. This isn’t my first rodeo with these kinds of cops. They want a Palmer in prison because they think my bikers and I are bad news, and I hate that they’ve got Van. I hate it, but there’s nothing we can do right this second to fix it.”

“He needs to see our support,” she stated, as if that was such an obvious thing that James was missing. “He needs to know that we care… that we’re fighting to get him out!”

“Well, he called you first, didn’t he?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” April demanded, sensing a hint of bitterness in his tone. James gave her another patronizing stare followed by a sigh, and he then cocked his head to the side.

“He knows you’ll fight tooth and nail to bring him home,” James remarked, “because you two are already so close. Not even siblings yet, and—“

Her face flushed bright red, and she had to stop him before he gave her mom the wrong idea about her relationship with Van. “We won’t ever be siblings, technically, but that’s beyond the point.”

“All I’m saying is that I’m sure he knows you will do everything possible to ensure his safety,” James concluded, his hand falling to her mom’s shoulder. “I think that’s where we should leave it for the night. There’s no point in all of us getting riled up when we can’t do anything yet anyway. Why don’t you stay here tonight, April? Renee?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” her mom agreed before April had a chance to get a word in. “I’m just too shaken up about all this to even get behind the wheel of the car.”

“I can drive,” April said, her glare still fixed on James. “I’m fine.”

“No, honey, you’re worked up,” her mom insisted, crossing the room and drawing her into a comforting hug. April patted her mom’s back, all the while staring James down over her shoulder. For a second, she swore she saw the bastard smirk. When her mom pulled back, she placed her hands on April’s shoulders and gave her a small smile. “Why don’t you stay in the guest house tonight? Just take some time to breathe. We won’t be able to think clearly if we’re upset.”

Saying nothing, April nodded and stepped away, all the while swallowing down her rage at the inaction of both James and her mom. What did it matter if the cops jerked them around when they got there? April would wait a full week in a chair at the county jail if it meant getting Van back to her. As a father, James should have done the same thing. If she had been in Van’s position, her mom would have busted down doors and screamed to the high heavens until someone paid her enough attention to get what she wanted. As much as she hated to acknowledge it, her mom would, in a way, be Van’s mom in less than two weeks—surely she had more maternal instinct than what she was showing? April had seen her get more emotional about puppies in animal shelters than she was right now about Van.

Shaking her head, she tried to ignore James’s invite for her mom to join him in a nice hot bath to soothe her worries.

“You really don’t need this much stress before the wedding,” he said as he coddled her to him. Huffing, April was one step above stomping her foot and having a full mental breakdown. Still, she wouldn’t steal her mom’s car, as much as she wanted to, in order to drive to Bloomsburg. As much as it killed her, she’d wait until first thing tomorrow morning then drag both of them out of bed to have this handled once and for all. By tomorrow evening, Van would be back by her side, safe and sound.

Not wishing either of them a particularly good night, April stalked out of the living room and made her way back to the kitchen, planning to slip out the patio door to get to the guest cottage, her safety net in all this chaos. All she wanted to do was climb into bed and smell Van’s pillow and imagine, just for a second, that he was there beside her.

As she approached the patio doors, James appeared in the reflection, following her across the kitchen with an unnerving expression on his face. April pretended not to notice him, unlocking the door and sliding it open, only to flinch when his hand fell on her shoulder. He then shoved her outside onto the newly sanded deck, shutting the door behind him. Determined not to cower, she whirled around to face him, venom in her stare.

“I told you there would be consequences,” he hissed, towering over her, menacing as ever. April’s mouth fell open, and the suspicions she’d had from the second this job was announced started to look like they were about to be confirmed. “Did you think you were being clever sending Van after me? You’re lucky I was able to talk him down, explain this was all a big misunderstanding—“

“You threatened me!” April spat, enunciating every word. “Did you have something to do with him getting arrested?!”

His angry features shifted into a more neutral look, and James simply sniffed and looked away. “I won’t dignify that ridiculous question with an answer.”

“You just did,” she said. That was all the proof she needed. Shaking her head, April tried to dart around him and get back inside, ready to tell her mom everything about what a horrible man James Palmer truly was, but he stopped by before she’d taken more than two steps.

“Perhaps you’ll want to listen to my new terms,” he murmured, pushing her back before prowling toward her like a dangerous predator. “Leave Van once and for all, and I’ll make sure he gets a limited sentence in a cushy low-security facility nearby. I have sway with the DA. I can make it happen.”

She bit her cheeks, in pure disbelief that he still hadn’t given this old game up. Didn’t he see that Van cared for her—maybe even loved her? Didn’t he want his son to be happy?

Well, if he framed him for a crime Van didn’t commit, then probably not.

“Or?” she forced out, her hands shaking.

“Or,” he continued, his tone pleasant, like they were discussing the weather, “I will tell your mom everything about the details of your sordid relationship with my son… right before I put a bullet in her brain.” April’s knees threatened to give out, and she tried to say something, but all she could manage was to drag in and out gasps of air. “Yes, her use to me is limited. Do you think I enjoy garden parties? Dinner soirées? Do you think I want my house redecorated by that two-bit hack? No, your mom comes with a great deal of money, and we have no prenup—aside from the fact that her assets will be given to me.”

“What?!”

“Yes, I’m afraid I may have… fudged some things on her will when we sent our revised copies in.” James dusted something off his shirt, still casual, like they weren’t talking about him killing her mom, his fiancée. “Leave Van, and your mom is safe. Forget him. Move on. Stay with him, fight for him, and I’ll see that your mom is six feet under by Christmas. All her money is mine, and I’ll never, never leave you be.”

“W-What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded shakily, still trying to process the fact that her mom’s life was in danger because of her relationship. Not just her shops. Not her reputation. Not even her money. Her life. James smiled lecherously at her.

“I think you know what it means.”

April shivered, and the thought of all that happening and James Palmer haunting her for the rest of her life…made her want to crawl under the porch and never come out.

James patted her arm, and even after he pulled back, she could still feel his touch. She’d probably still be able to feel it after the scalding hot shower she planned to take in the immediate future. Maybe even when she fell asleep tonight—if she could sleep, that is.

“Think about it,” he said before heading back inside. He paused in the doorway, the light of the kitchen shining behind him, and then added, “But not for too long. I’m a patient man, but even I have my limits.”

And that was where he left her, alone on the porch beneath a clear sky and twinkling stars. He was an awful man, a dangerous man. And he’d just given her the most poignant ultimatum of her life: keep her relationship with Van and lose everything, or walk away and be free.

But if she walked away, her mom would still marry him. She’d never be truly free. At this point, all she could choose between was the degree of suffering she wanted for the rest of her life.

Staggering across the manicured lawn and over the bridge to the guest cottage, April realized before she’d even fished out her key and opened the door that she knew what she had to do.

And for the second time that summer, her heart shattered into a million pieces.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

April had never been to a jail before—or a prison, because apparently they were two different things. She’d never been in trouble with the police, never been a public menace. Sure, one time in college she’d been escorted out of the bar by security because she was a little too drunk for them to turn a blind eye toward. Back then, even in her intoxicated state, that had been the most embarrassing moment of her life: being paraded past all the other bar-goers who somehow managed to keep themselves together better than she did. It was that night that she decided it was time to ease back on the drinking, even for a college student.

But this was something else entirely. Bloomsburg was about an hour and a half away from Cascade Falls and was only slightly more industrial than her tiny lakeside town. There were a few more chain restaurants, a couple of fast food places, and a superstore that carried just about everything a person could need. Cascade Falls had, in her opinion, a little more class than Bloomsburg. The kids here were rougher; she’d known that even in high school. So, it didn’t surprise her that James Palmer had some sketchy business associate all the way out here.

She’d left as soon as she woke up that next morning, knowing that she couldn’t leave Van waiting for long. James had caught her on her way out, and the look she gave him let him know that he’d won, once and for all. She didn’t have it in her to go toe-to-toe with him. He’d already proven that he could be a dangerous son-of-a-bitch when he burned down her mom’s boutiques, and she’d let her feelings for Van cloud the fact that she’d put herself and her mom in very real danger by continuing with a relationship that that psychopath deemed unacceptable.

Even if Van had fought for her, she should have just gone home. June would have been back within a few weeks of her arrival, and her best friend could help her forget all about the man who’d stolen her heart and made her really feel things for the second time in her life. By now, maybe she would have met someone else, someone with less baggage, someone who wasn’t going to be her stepbrother in less than two weeks. Someone safe and a little boring.

At least with safe and boring she wouldn’t be sitting at the parking lot of a police station, mentally preparing herself to face her boyfriend behind bars.

Clearing her throat, she took a deep breath and checked her reflection one last time in the mirror. It wasn’t for vanity’s sake; April didn’t want to look miserable and exhausted, even if that was how she felt, when Van saw her. Even though she was here to call things off, she didn’t want to make him feel guilty for putting her through this. It wasn’t his fault his father was a sociopath bent on acquiring her mom’s fortune and keeping her and Van apart. Though, if she was being honest, it was hard not to be frustrated with him: Van made her love him in nothing more than a couple of months, and now she had to destroy them because of his family.

Once she was half ready, barely ready, April climbed out of her mom’s car, which she’d taken without telling her—though she’d left a note—and slammed the door shut. Just as she locked it, a cruiser pulled up to the spot across the small parking lot from her, and April watched as a new arrestee was hauled out and walked into the building, his hands in cuffs. She gulped, suddenly feeling very small in front of the station. It was just brick, nothing more. She ought to be more frightened of the men inside than the walls facing her.

The entrance hall was bustling with people, both average and official alike. No one paid her any attention, and she followed the signs through the pastel yellow painted hallways, the linoleum tile making everything just that much more depressing, until she reached the counter she wanted. There was a line, so she waited, patiently, until it was her turn, and then stated that she was here to see Van Palmer.

“You paying his bail?” the woman behind the counter asked, clacking away at her computer without looking up at April. She nibbled her lip, hesitant, and then asked how much the bail was set at. When the woman listed the price, her stomach flew up into her chest. She didn’t even have that much money in all of her accounts, period.

“No,” April admitted, her cheeks bright red as the woman’s stare wandered her way. “Just a visit, I guess.”

The woman arched a thin eyebrow at her. “You know… this isn’t just some hotel where you can visit your man whenever you feel like it.”

“I called ahead,” she said in a very small voice. “I was told it’d be okay to see him.”

After another hard look, the woman behind the desk picked up an old corded phone with a sigh, then she spoke into it in a hushed voice. April fidgeted with her purse strap, acutely aware that the eyes of everyone else in the line were on her.

“Go to those doors down the hall,” the woman told her after a very long couple of minutes of talking on the phone, clicking around her computer, and grabbing some paperwork. She thrust the papers into April’s hands. “You get ten minutes to talk, then we have to pull you out. Standard procedure, you understand.”

“Yes, thank you,” April said, as she grabbed the papers and made a beeline for the doors outlined in orange paint. Once in there, she was stopped by a pair of security guards. One took her purse and started rooting through it, and the other, another female officer, searched her person. Pockets. Bra. Shoes. Everything.

“Can’t have visitors bringing in any weapons or illegal substances,” the male officer remarked when he handed her purse back. She nodded, and while she understood, she couldn’t help but feel totally violated at the same time.

When they were through patting her down, April was taken to a separate building where they housed the prisoners. Most were short-term stays from what she gathered, and she was beyond relieved that she wasn’t forced to walk by the cell blocks. Unlike all the movies and TV shows that had prisoners screaming at visitors and making kissy noises, the establishment was pretty damn quiet.

Van was already waiting for her when she finally found him, seated at a table in a small room, his hands cuffed to a metal loop on the tabletop.

“No touching,” the guard said when she went to hug him, and April made her way around the table to the other chair stiffly. Once they were alone, all she could do was stare at him. He looked tired, yes. In the last three days, his face had lost a little weight, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they were feeding him properly. Apparently Palmer prejudice was a thing, given the astronomical amount his bail was set at.

“Hi,” he breathed, reaching across the table for her. April reached back, threading her fingers through his. Fuck the no touching rule.

“I wanted to come last night,” she assured him, “but it… wasn’t going to happen.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he insisted with a shake of his head. He smiled broadly and gave her hands a squeeze. “I’m just happy to see you now. You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“How are you doing?” she asked, ignoring the way his affectionate name for her made her stomach knot. “You look… tired.”

“Could be worse,” he muttered. He then leaned in, his smile fading. “Apparently someone is pushing me straight to a trial. Whoever set me up with the drugs probably wants me locked up.”

She wanted desperately to tell him the real villain in this story, but there were two cameras in the room, and it wouldn’t surprise her if they had sound. The second she ratted out James Palmer, her mom’s life was in jeopardy—and she wasn’t going to risk it. So, instead, she rubbed her thumbs over the backs of his hands, her eyes prickling with tears.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he said, his smile returning somewhat half-heartedly. “None of this is your fault.”

Their eyes met, and April couldn’t help but think that in a way, it was her fault. If she hadn’t been in Van’s life romantically, maybe James wouldn’t have put a target on his back.

“Is my dad here, or—“

“Just me,” she said, retracting her hands and setting them on her lap instead. They only had a limited amount of time, and she’d kick herself if she told him that she was breaking up with him right when she was forced to leave. “Look, Van… I came down here to tell you that…” She swallowed hard, each word feeling painful as she forced them out of her mouth. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he studied her. “Do what anymore?”

“Us,” April clarified, unable to look at him. “This. Our relationship. It’s too stressful, especially with you h-here now. When the wedding is over, I’m going to go home, and that’ll be that.”

She blinked hastily to stop the tears from falling, then she dared to glance up at him. There was anger in his eyes, yes, but also pain and heartache. How could she put him through this again? How could she knowingly put herself through this?

“April, I don’t understand. You’re mine, remember?” he managed after a few moments of stunned silence. “Where is this coming from? Sweetheart, is someone forcing you to—“

“It’s my decision,” she stated, sounding much braver and more confident than she felt. “I’ve been feeling this way for a little while—“

“But we talked about things already.” She knew he meant their conversation about them becoming stepsiblings.

“It’s not about that,” April told him, lifting her chin and looking at him over the tip of her nose. “It’s… It’s… I just can’t do this.”

Or her mom was going to die and James Palmer would never leave her alone. She bit back the words

“April,” he said as she stood. “April, let’s just talk about this. Please…”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then she shook her head. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”

As she headed for the door, dragging her feet behind, all she wanted to do was to turn back and throw her arms around him. Hug him. Kiss him. Love him. Even if it was just to say goodbye, but she knew that doing so would only make things harder for everyone. So, she went for the door and stood in silence, waiting for the officers to let her out. When she stepped through the doorway, she dared to spare a glance back at Van. He sat at the table, his head in his hands, silent.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but she was sure he couldn’t hear her. Escorted by the guards, April walked out of the county jail in a fog. She barely heard anything anyone said to her, the last word Van said echoing in her mind. Please.

Somehow, she found herself back in the front seat of her mom’s car. She kept the door open, the heat of the morning making the vehicle almost unbearable to sit in, but she did. She let the seat burn her thighs, the steering wheel singe her palms. The pain was good; it let her know she was still alive after what she’d just done.

Breaking up with the man who could have been her forever… while he was in a county jail awaiting his trial. Was there anyone lower than her out there?

When the fog finally lifted, her brain breaking free of the numbing haze it had been in since she left him, the storm rolled in, and unable to stop it, April doubled over and sobbed, crying and crying until there were no more tears left.

And then the numbness returned.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The wedding of Renee O’Hara and James Palmer was about to be the most extravagant Cascade Falls had seen in decades—and it was bound to be discussed in detail, from the flower arrangements to the ushers to the gowns the aging bridesmaids would show off proudly for decades to come. It was a town wide event, and April hated that she was a part of it, that she hadn’t found a way to stop it. While her mom was happily hopping into the happiest day of her life—for the second time—April could barely get herself out of bed.

She wasn’t a bridesmaid. She wouldn’t be standing up in front of everyone alongside her mom as she said her cheesy vows to James Palmer. Instead, April, dressed in a fitted black midi with capped sleeves and a lace overthrow, would walk her mom down the aisle. She was going to give her away to that awful man; it seemed her life could never stop being one big ironic joke.

Since breaking things off with Van last week, she’d been in a stupor, moving listlessly from task to task, nodding and smiling as her mom prepped for her wedding day. She checked seating arrangements with the wedding planner, sampled all the food one last time, and ensured everyone knew precisely what they would be doing on the big day, even if they seemed like they were paying attention at the rehearsal. On top of all that, she’d tried her hardest to stay the hell away from James Palmer. No more nights in the guest cottage; she couldn’t stand smelling Van’s pillow or seeing his clothes and pictures.

After all, why would she need to see pictures? She had the picture of Van’s heartbroken face, followed by his bowed head and silence, floating around in her head most hours of the day and night anyway. She had all the images of Van that she needed, thank you very much.

“It’s just absurd and cruel that they couldn’t give him, I don’t know, a little break to come to the wedding,” her mom said as she sat in the hair salon, a stylist prepping her for the big day. April leaned on the counter, her simple, half-up-half-down style already complete, and folded her arms.

“You don’t get a break from prison, Mom.”

“Oh, I know, but wouldn’t it be nice to have the whole family here?”

Unable to come up with a response, April simply turned away and asked someone to touch up her nails, as if Van Palmer and his predicament were the last things on her mind. There was so much going on around her, and it should have been easy to stop thinking about him. Bridesmaids were having their hair and makeup done, along with manicures, and April was fielding calls from the wedding planner every ten minutes with little hiccups that would, she promised, be resolved by the time everything got started.

April, meanwhile, was always about ten seconds away from breaking down in front of everyone, her lips in a constant wobble, tears always just on the verge of falling. All she wanted to do was crawl into Van’s huge bed, hide under the covers, and pretend that none of this had ever happened. She wished it was still three weeks ago and that they were riding through the countryside together, up to the lookout to watch the oncoming thunderstorm of the summer beneath the little rickety shelter. She wished he was still holding her tight as the thunder rocked Cascade Falls, the very hills themselves rattling with each boom.

Instead, he was behind bars, awaiting a verdict she already knew the answer to; James had been too happy to share with her that the DA, who was in his pocket, was going to push for Van to serve out a light sentence in a minimum security facility near Cascade Falls. Once he was done serving his time, James gloated, Van would need to come back and work for James in order to make up for lost profits at the bar, which was bound to go under without him cracking the whip.

It was horrible. Disgusting. But what was she to do? Spill it all to the police and watch James worm his way out of trouble, only to turn around and punish her by hurting her mom, then April too? No. She had more sense than that—or so she liked to think. It was the only way she could live with herself after what she did to Van that day at the county jail.

Once the ladies were made beautiful by the overpriced stylists at the salon near her mom’s apartment building, everyone was whisked off to the church to get ready for the ceremony. Most of the chatter was about the reception after at the resort. April’s mom had spared no expense over the food and drinks for the evening, and James had alluded to hiring some spectacular entertainment to keep everyone entertained. If the ceremony was going to be remembered for decades, the reception would live on in infamy for a whole lifetime.

April was the fastest to get into her dress, and rather than sitting around listening to the ladies babble to one another, she went out and wandered to church under the guise of checking on everything. It was all in order, as it should be. The wedding planner was top-notch, despite her mom’s complaints, and April had every confidence that the wedding would go off without a hitch.

What a depressing thought.

By the time guests started arriving, April was desperate to hide somewhere. She couldn’t take all the pointless small talk from acquaintances who were here mostly to see what scandals they could find at the wedding of the decade. Very few of her blood relatives were in attendance; no one from her dad’s side showed except for a cousin, who April had met once years ago. Otherwise, her mom was an only child whose parents had died, and very few her West Coast relatives were willing to make the trek out to the eastern side of the country for a second wedding.

April couldn’t blame them, but she would have enjoyed their company.

Time moved unnervingly fast that day. After shooing all the bridesmaids out of the dressing room, her mom wrapped her arms around April’s shoulders for a heart-to-heart.

“You know you’re my number one person,” her mom said, kissing her cheek gently to avoid leaving a lipstick stamp. April nodded and gave a small smile. It wouldn’t be fair to be outwardly miserable to her mom on her big day. She had a secret that she couldn’t share, so why take it out on her mom? James’s cruelty seemed to be her burden to carry—or else.

“I love you,” was all April could muster after her mom went on and on about how marrying James didn’t make April any less of her daughter, and how Van was going to be her new son, but April was important too. It was textbook, and April smiled the way she thought she should smile, given the situation.

The wedding planner arrived shortly after, urging the two to join the bridal precession. Waiting at the back of the church as bridesmaids and groomsmen walked down the aisle together should have been nerve-wracking, but April felt… nothing. She was empty, unable to stop this awful situation from happening. Van was locked up. James was about to become her stepfather—and her mom would go on living her life with rose-colored glasses, unaware that anything was actually wrong.

At last it was their turn to walk. The music shifted. Everyone turned to admire her mom in the beautiful white dress that April had helped her choose. She forced a smile, knowing there would be pictures taken, and preferred to look at the folks in the pews than the man waiting for them at the end. All of this, in a way, was her fault. She could have put a stop to this weeks ago, back when the threats were first issued. She could have grabbed her mom and ran—straight to the police, out of town, wherever.

Instead, she let her fear guide her. Anything that happened from here on out was her fault.

James looked quite smart in his tux, and he accepted his beaming bride with more grace than April thought he could ever muster. He looked almost… happy, but then again, sociopaths knew how to mimic facial expressions. In that moment, James probably knew precisely how he ought to act. As he walked her mom up the last few steps, he glanced back and winked at April, and she was proud that she didn’t double over and vomit right there in front of everyone.

Numb, April shuffled over to her place in the front row, which was empty for the bride’s immediate family only. So, she was alone. Aware that people would be watching her, she clasped her hands together and set them on her lap, her knuckles white as she tried her best to keep herself together.

“Dearly beloved,” the priest began, his voice booming across the whole hall, “we are gathered her today to witness the union of this man and this woman in holy matrimony…”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she watched, helpless and horrified, as James Palmer took the last piece of her heart away forever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Van had always been a deep sleeper. Even if he was in a weird place or a weird mood, he could usually fall asleep within a couple of minutes and stay asleep until his body had however many hours was required each night. His time in the county jail was a bit of a test: there’d been too many guys for the few benches in the cell, which meant Van had to sleep on the floor. Sure, he could have fought them for a spot, but he wasn’t about to let those cops think that the whole Palmer line was the same. His dad would have paid someone to fight the biggest guy in the room for him, and everyone would know, in the end, that James Palmer was the brains behind the brawn and he ought not to be fucked with.

Van had chosen a different path for his life. He’d decided years ago that he wasn’t going to be another crony on the dark side of his dad’s motorcycle club; he really wanted to make something of himself legitimately.

And somehow, he’d wound up in the place he would have ended up in had he been dealing drugs and breaking kneecaps and all the other shit that those guys did. Somehow he was the one in a fucking detention center, despite his clean record—or maybe because of his clean record—and the guys who did most of the dirty work for his dad were out on the streets. The irony made him sick more times than he could count, and he’d only been behind bars officially for a few weeks.

Tonight was the first night he’d been assigned a bed with the general prison population. He’d spent a few weeks getting acquainted with everything, waiting for a work detail, learning the lay of the land—all the crap first-timers did. His dad, apparently, was the one pushing him through a speedy trial, and the old man informed him that he was looking at years instead of months if he waited for the system to sort him out. So, Van had to fall on his dad’s good graces, as much as he didn’t want to, and accept that he had to do time for a crime he didn’t commit.

A lot of the other guys would say the same thing there. They’d argue that they were set up, that someone had framed them—but in Van’s case, he was actually speaking the truth. He’d never done drugs, not even recreationally at parties. Alcohol was the only drug he’d put in his system, and since owning a bar, his intake of even the weak stuff had decreased considerably. How the drugs wound up in his bag specifically was a mystery to him. A lot of the other guys bailed as soon as the cops put him in cuffs, and the few that hung around were just as clueless as he’d been.

The only difference was that those guys actually got out. Their bails were paid in a matter of days by family and friends, while Van’s pricey fee for release was never touched. He’d known his dad had been running low on funds for the last few years, but he never thought he’d be cheap enough to let his son sit in a cell.

But then again, his dad had bribed whomever he needed to in order to get Van in his current location. It was maybe a half-hour drive from Cascade Falls, and most of the guys in there were petty criminals who only needed minimum security. Max security was up the road, and since Van had arrived, there’d been a few transfers of some of the old-timers down to his facility. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but he’d been trying to make the best of it since they handed him a jumpsuit and told him breakfast was at seven o’clock sharp.

As was expected, he’d been placed with a bunch of other white guys, taking a bed in a cell block of about fifty prisoners. There were dividers to offer some hint of privacy between the sleeping cubes, though the walls only came up to Van’s armpits and were pretty damn thin. His new roommate was a quiet kind of guy—in for insurance fraud. He had a year left on his sentence, and he told Van he just tried to keep his head down and fly right. Gus was his name—seemed like a pretty okay guy. As far as roommates went, it could have been worse.

The snoring was outrageous that night. He’d just come from the new arrivals hall where he’d roomed with four other people, but nothing compared to the sounds of fifty assholes sawing wood late into the night, exhausted from doing… whatever the hell they did all day to keep busy. Normally, the noise wouldn’t have bothered him. Hell, he’d slept through the roar of motorcycle engines singing into the early hours of the morning, and this sounded almost the same. Something was keeping him up, and he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was the new surroundings. Maybe it was the exceedingly hard bed whose covers he’d learned he shouldn’t sleep under. (Bunk inspection was a bitch, apparently.)

Whatever it was, Van spent the better half of the night tossing and turning, his old bedspring squeaking each time. Gus made no noise when he slept. It was like looking at a fucking statue.

Maybe he couldn’t sleep because there wasn’t a warm, supple body beside him. It had been a long time since he’d wrapped his arms around April, and he imagined that if she was here with him now, he would have fallen asleep in all of two seconds. But he’d never want her here. As much as it broke his heart to see her go, sometimes he wondered if she was better off without him.

Other times, he couldn’t help but think she’d been forced to break things off somehow—something he’d yet to discuss with dear old dad, but planned to do as soon as possible.

Huffing irritably, Van rolled over the umpteenth time, his head a little sore from resting on such a thin pillow with zero support. Something about this particular movement felt different. Even with his eyes closed, he sensed someone was watching him. Maybe Gus was a bit of a creep after all. He tried to ignore it, willing his brain to shut off, but when something that sounded suspiciously like a footstep sounded just a few feet away, his eyes snapped open, and he saw a dark figure lunge toward him.

With a sharp object.

If he’d been asleep, he probably would have been stabbed.

Great—should make falling asleep all the rest of the nights a total breeze.

He reacted quickly, arms shooting up and blocking his attacker’s lunge, and then rolled out of bed and dragged the guy down to the floor. The commotion woke Gus, and as Van tried to wrestle the shank-wielding asshole off him, Gus started screaming for the guards. It was the loudest Van had heard him speak yet—though he didn’t step in and help. No, it was the older guy in for petty theft a few bunks down who came to his rescue, dragging the attacker off him while Van laid a few cheap shots at the guy’s face.

Blood trickled down from his nose as the lights came on, and suddenly there were a handful of guards in there screaming at everyone, telling them to stay in their cubes. As Van sat up, he realized the attention of everyone in the block was on him. A few of the guys looked concerned. Some seemed annoyed to have been woken up.

But there were a few… a few who wore the mask of indifference, and that set him on edge.

“Fuck you, Palmer!” his attacker screamed. Van’s eyes narrowed, but he stayed at the far end of his little cube, watching them drag the guy off. He was a junkie; Van could tell just by looking at him, and he wouldn’t have stood a chance if they’d fought squarely. They hadn’t said two words to each other since Van arrived in the sleeping hall earlier in the day. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever seeing the guy, and Van had an eye for tattoos. The ones that swirled up the junkie’s arms were intricate. Definitely memorable.

“Okay, let’s go,” one of guard’s said, grabbing Van by the arm and dragging him forward. “Gotta fill out a statement.”

“That guy tried to kill me,” he hissed, and the realization hit him as soon as he said it out loud. Someone had tried to murder him tonight while he slept. When would it happen again? Were there others? Was this a one-off incident because that psycho thought Van looked at him the wrong way? It wasn’t the first time he’d been in a fight, and he knew he could handle himself, but he wasn’t in the mood to get cornered by a bunch of assholes because someone outside of prison was paying them to take him out.

Sweat trickled down his face, as he was marched away from the scene of the crime.

He had the get the hell out of here—fast.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“Hello, love of my life!”

April’s cheeks tinted at her best friend’s exuberant greeting as the people on the sidewalk around her glanced back curiously. A chilly fall breeze tickled the exposed skin on her hands, neck, and face, and she was glad she’d opted for jeans today instead of a thick skirt and tights. Her strawberry-blonde locks were tucked under her wool cap, and a part of her worried she’d have horrible hat hair when she took it off.

Not that it mattered: she’d always pale in comparison to June, the woman who’d steadily become her closest friend ever since her old college days. In true June fashion, she’d fled Bowmansville around the time April returned, explaining that she was off to visit some friends in Europe before the weather went sour. It had been the early days of September at the time, and now, a month later, the woman was finally back—and April could finally get everything off her chest.

Just as she’d planned, she left Cascade Falls as soon as James Palmer and her mom were officially married. Sure, she stayed for a few days after, enjoying the post-wedding festivities with as much fake enthusiasm as she could muster, while also overseeing the final sale of her mom’s apartment. A wealthy buyer from out of town had finally paid top dollar for the place, apparently planning to turn it into a hotel suite of sorts, eager to compete with the thriving bed-and-breakfast industry that Cascade Falls boasted. April didn’t really care who bought it. That apartment was her final tie to the town, and once her mom had moved all of her things into James’s huge estate, April was out of there.

If she could, she’d never look back. Everything about Cascade Falls made her heart ache after the turbulent summer she’d had there. Falling in love was scary, but being forced out of love—and only realizing when it was over that you were actually in love—was devastating. She’d had no contact with Van Palmer since she ended things in the county jail, though she knew through her mom that he’d been moved into a minimum security facility somewhere near home, and that he wasn’t sentenced for very long. Apparently, James could follow through. April had broken both her and Van’s hearts, just as that awful man wanted, and in return, James made sure Van wasn’t locked away for life.

And he probably used her mom’s money to do it. From what she understood after leaving Cascade Falls, the gossip mill following her all the way back to the metropolis of Bowmansville, was that the Palmer fortune had run increasingly dry over the years—and many assumed he was marrying for money. Why she hadn’t heard any of these whispers when she was in town astounded her, but the more she thought about it, the more April realized James’s vice-like grip on the community was stronger than she thought. People in Cascade Falls probably knew better than to gossip about James in town, but once they were out, the rumors ran rampant.

She couldn’t say anything to her mom—not after April had seen exactly what James was capable of. For now, she was stuck, constantly worrying that that awful man would do something to secure her mom’s money by any means necessary while also fearing that, despite his promises, James Palmer wasn’t exactly done with April quite yet.

“You look beautiful!” June said as they hurried toward one another, both of their arms extended and ready to wrap the other in a giant hug. “Have you lost weight?”

April wrapped her arms around June’s midsection, burying her face in the woman’s coat. She smelled like peaches and vanilla, looking tan and trim. Her olive skin tone always took to the sun well, and she’d never been one to dye her hair; it was the same glossy brown it had always been. June oozed easy confidence, and April couldn’t help but wonder if that came from the easy life she’d led up until this point.

Still, you’d never know she came from a ridiculously wealthy family just by looking at her or talking to her. She was sweet, down to earth, pleasant—kind, above all else.

“Maybe,” April said in regards to the woman’s question. “I mean, you haven’t seen me since, what, January? It’s possible.”

In fact, she’d shed quite a lot of weight since Van was arrested, her stress diminishing her appetite to almost alarming proportions. Luckily, she was slowly mellowing out—now that she had put a good distance between her and James, but she was still down at least fifteen pounds from where she’d been at the start of the summer. Her mom would have a fit if she saw April in a bikini now, and she was glad the cool fall weather allowed her to layer up.

“I’ve missed you so much,” June gushed, keeping an arm around April’s shoulders as people skirted by them on the sidewalk. It was barely midday, but the downtown core of Bowmansville was always busy. April had a day off from her position as an assistant manager at the same boutique she’d worked in before she left for Cascade Falls, but every shift was painful. Now that she was back, she almost couldn’t stand dragging herself into work the few times a week that she did, and she was constantly on the hunt for something more degree-appropriate in Manhattan or LA or Chicago. Anything to get her out and get her some respect.

Anything to take her far away from James and Van Palmer would do. Hell, she’d even pack up and leave the US if she needed to, but that was only if the offer was really, really good.

The two women strolled toward their favorite downtown coffee joint, arms still around one another, the conversation endless. By the time they were up at the register to place their order, neither knew what they were getting because they hadn’t shut up once since stepping into the store, and much to the annoyance of the people behind them, they hummed and hawed over their order for a minute or two before placing it. Red-faced again, April took their little table number sign and shuffled off after June, who seemed oblivious to the issues they’d caused by not being prepared at the register.

They chose a pair of cushy armchairs by the window, despite the fact April had ordered a salad alongside her coffee, and she prompted June to launch into her grand retelling of her escapades through France, Italy, Germany, and Austria—plus the one wild night in Amsterdam. It was nice to live through someone else for a change, someone who actually did something adventurous and crazy. Even if April wasn’t the adventurous and crazy type, she still enjoyed listening to someone who was.

“Enough about me,” June said as the pair enjoyed their lunch. Outside, the sky had started to cloud over, and by the looks of the people walking around, the wind had picked up too. Should be a wonderful walk back to my apartment—not, April thought.

“I could listen to your stories all day,” she admitted, almost dreading where the conversation was headed. June cocked her head to the side, as she ripped off a piece of her muffin and popped it in her mouth. “Why don’t you tell me again about the guy in Italy who—“

“You’ve heard the story twice, in detail,” her friend argued with a slight shake of her head. “We’re going to talk about you, and why you’re not back in Cascade Falls with that gorgeous stepbrother of yours. Did work call you back?”

April swallowed hard and shook her head. “No. Work was fine with me taking as long as I wanted off, surprisingly. They hired another assistant manager, and she’s a total workaholic, so I get like two shifts a week these days—“

“April.” June set her muffin aside and crossed her arms, fixing her with an even stare. “Why are you here? Did you guys break up or something?”

“Or something, I guess.” She nibbled her lower lip. Going into their lunch date, April had known June would want more information on what had happened with her and Van. After all, they hadn’t talked much since June surprised her with a phone call in the middle of the summer, and since then, everything had just been a chaotic whirlwind of metaphorical shit hitting the metaphorical fan. In that time, she’d sort of kept her best friend in the dark. Then, June was travelling again, and April was trying to rebuild her heart through trashy TV and copious amounts of ice cream…

“Spill it,” June ordered, poking April’s leg with her foot. “Now. In detail. I want to know everything that happened. Did he turn into an asshole? You said he was a player back in high school.”

Her lip wobbled when she thought about Van, a crushing tightness in her chest making it difficult to draw a full breath. No, Van hadn’t done anything. He’d been perfect—nothing that had happened was his fault. He’d built his own bar honestly. He’d spoiled April relentlessly. He’d confronted his dad for her.

And in return, because he wanted their relationship to continue, he’d ended up in jail. Prison. Minimum security facility. Whatever.

“It’s kind of a long story, I guess,” April started with a sigh. “We were doing okayish the last time you and I talked…”

She regaled June with almost everything that had happened with her and Van, including her concerns about becoming his stepsister and still continuing the relationship. When she mentioned that he’d been arrested, June was floored, but she kept her reaction toned down, probably for April’s sake. While she mentioned that James wasn’t a fan of the relationship, she couldn’t tell June, her best friend, the extent at which he’d interfered. Even here, miles and miles away, she worried what might happen if she told anyone the truth.

“He threatened to tell my mom about us,” was the best April could do. “Mom wouldn’t have taken it well, and she had enough stress going on with the wedding. It didn’t seem worth it to… to… You know. He was in the county jail anyway, and I didn’t know how long he’d be going away for. It seemed easier to just cool things off until our future was more certain.”

June stared at her for a long moment, as if absorbing all the new information, and then shook her head. “I get not wanting to do the whole… dating a guy in prison thing. I mean, I wouldn’t want to drive out there every weekend just to see him. Dating would be kind of tough.”

“Kind of very tough,” she agreed, jumping on the prison bandwagon and hoping June would ignore the rest. “I mean, we weren’t even allowed to touch when I saw him at the county jail. I don’t think I could do a whole… I don’t know, he was fifteen months or something.”

“But you seemed like you really liked him regardless,” June continued, sticking her with that same even look that April knew meant the woman was trying to worm the truth out of her. “If James told your mom about you guys, would it really be that big of a deal? He had that much power over you just because he was going to expose a little secret? Seems a bit… off, April.”

“It’d break my mom’s heart,” she said absently, as she reached for her coffee and brought it up for a sip. “She really wanted us to be a family. Brothers and sisters don’t date.”

“Or whatever else you guys did,” June added, wiggling her eyebrows. April offered a scandalized look, though she wasn’t exactly feeling it. Her friend must have noticed, and she cocked her head to the side, frowning. “Are you sure that’s everything? You just seem so… down.”

Clearing her throat, April nodded and forced a brilliant smile, the same kind that she forced at work. It hurt to use such a shameless tactic on June, but she didn’t see any way around it. She wasn’t happy without Van, and she couldn’t tell anyone the truth about what had happened. So, she thought that maybe she ought to get used to faking it.

“I’m just tired,” she lied, waving off her friend’s concerns. “I mean, it’s hard rehashing any breakup, but what’s done is done. I’m just trying to move on. Forget about my ex, now in prison.” June’s lip twitched, clearly finding her tone amusing. April grinned, rolling her eyes, as she saw a way out of this particular conversation. “Find a new job. Make use of the degree I spent all that money on. You know… be an adult finally.”

And forget that for a time, she’d been desperately in love with Van Palmer; she just hadn’t realized it until he was gone.

***

Despite what one might think, getting time to use the phones while locked away wasn’t especially difficult. If Van had been put in max security with a stricter routine, maybe he would have struggled more to make contact with the outside world. However, given his current position, it wasn’t hard to find time to use one of the eight payphones lined up by the administration offices. A guard always stood watch; it seemed some poor bastard had a whole day of phone duty to look forward to. Plus, the cell blocks each had a designated few hours during the day when they were allowed to make phone calls.

It was a pain now, however, to try and remember everyone’s phone number. When he was a kid, he used to know all the important numbers by heart. Hell, he’d even made little songs in his head to make remembering the nine digit codes easier. These days, all the necessary numbers were stored on a person’s phone, and if they couldn’t find them there, the internet was just a click away, and soon enough anything you wanted was within reach.

It wasn’t that easy where he was now, unfortunately. He’d had to write down all the key numbers on a slip of paper, which he tucked under his shower gear on the little bookshelf in his bunk. He’d wanted to carry it with him at first, but there were random pat-downs at any time by any number of the guards patrolling the facility, and he didn’t want any of them to take it away, thinking it might have been some bullshit code for something illegal.

April’s cell phone had been the first number on the list. He got it off her mom when she and his dad stopped by for a visit at the end of September. Both were incredibly tanned, having just come back from their extended honeymoon in the Caribbean, and they seemed oblivious to the fact that Van was sporting a few new bruises and a split lip.

“Just the hazards of being behind bars,” his dad had laughed, brushing off the incidents with a toss of his head. “Things will settle down. Boys just need to sort themselves out in the pecking order.”

That particular comment had stung him, considering Van thought someone had put a hit out on him. After the bunk incident, he’d been jumped a few times more: in the bathrooms, coming out of the cafeteria, on the track field, and in the library. Most of the time, fellow prisoners were the ones to break everything up. Nobody wanted to be punished because a couple of guys were caught fighting. Minimum security was cushy compared to what a lot of these men had been through in their life, and despite the tensions between certain groups, most wanted to keep things the way they were.

Van, meanwhile, just wanted to make it out alive. He had no interest in a trip to the hospital wearing handcuffs, and healing a broken bone in a place like this was not appealing in the slightest. He needed to get out—and he wasn’t above taking illegal measures to do it.

He’d been set up. Van knew that. Hell, the police probably knew it, too. He needed to find out who set him up to clear his name, and he didn’t trust anyone else to do that for him while he was locked away. He did trust someone to get him out of prison, however, and to get that particular person here, he’d need someone dedicated to his cause.

Someone who loved him—and who he loved, too. April hadn’t taken a single one of his calls since he was transferred to this facility, obviously rejecting the call after the operator explained who was calling. So, for now, Van knew he had to stop trying. April needed someone to look her in the eye and tell her that this hadn’t been his fault, that he was still a reformed bad boy who wanted to be with her.

Holding the payphone to his ear with his shoulder, Van tried not to think of how many other sweaty guys had done the same thing so far today. The standard guard was pacing in the doorway, both paying attention to the three prisoners using the phone and not at the same time. If he could carry his phone, he’d probably be texting. Clearing his throat, Van turned away and opened the folded slip of paper with all his important numbers on it, then dialed the last on the list.

As it rung, he tried not to listen to the guy behind him berate whoever was on the other end of the phone. After a few rings, the line went silent for a moment, and then a gruff voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Mike,” Van said quickly, smiling at the sound of a familiar voice that didn’t belong to his dad. “How’s it going, man?”

“Good, good,” Mike replied. “I heard you got locked up, kid. What’d you do that your dad didn’t?”

He grinned. Mike belonged to the faction of bikers who rode in parades, took pictures with kids, and rescued abused puppies. He was close to sixty, liked to drink wine and play golf, and had one of the prettiest bikes Van had ever seen. He’d been in the club ever since Van was a kid, and he’d taken on the position of friendly uncle who refused to spoil Van, even if the other old-timers did.

“Listen, I don’t have a lot of time on the phone,” Van said, knowing that they were usually kicked off after five minutes. “I need you to get a message to someone out there—“

“I’m not getting involved in your dad’s crap, kid.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Van insisted. “It’s to a woman. April O’Hara. She… I need her help, but she’s not, uh, exactly in a receptive mood to talk.”

And that made him suspicious. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was keeping April away from him, but there were too many other issues for him to worry about.

“Right. What do you want me to tell her?”

Van bit his lower lip, thinking it over, and then said, “You know what? This would be easier if we talked in person. Can you come down this weekend? I’ll get you added to my visitor’s list.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, followed by a heavy sigh. “Only for you, kid. If it was anyone else, I would’ve hung up by now.”

He grinned. As much as he wanted to tell Mike that he was being pummeled repeatedly by druggies and skinheads who seemed like they were set on killing him, he realized it probably wasn’t smart to do it over the phone. They listened to everything here, recorded everything. However, he had to get a message to April, soon, because he knew she’d fight for him.

She was the only chance he had to get out alive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Well she was being a huge cunt!”

“Wow, okay, uhm…” April held back a bout of laughter threatening to surface based on the look on Carey’s face. Her sales associate, one of the newer hires, had gotten into a bit of a tiff with a customer that evening, which prompted April to have to sweep in and smooth things over so they could still get the sale. Carey, to her credit, wasn’t exactly wrong. The woman had been totally obnoxious and came across as one of those people who thought anyone working in sales or retail was below her.

To be fair, the boutique she worked at sold high-end makeup to wealthy clientele, and many, many of the regulars were huge snobs. Some had a particular shop associate they wanted to work with, while others would only take advice from management—or April if they really had to, but they were even snooty with her. Apparently, the “assistant” title on her silver magnetic name tag meant she was a few degrees below them socially. She could understand the wrath of each and every associate who worked in the store. Retail was seldom ever fun, and there were very few people who were cut out to love the job. Still, most of these girls were in college, and they loved the discount on high-end makeup, so they put up with it. Plus, in April’s opinion, they earned a pretty fair wage.

Only fifty cents less than April did, which was saying something.

“I know I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” Carey went on, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. April let out a small sigh; Carey hadn’t worked at the boutique long enough for her to know if the waterworks were real or not, but it was still difficult to watch one of her workers cry. “She was just being so awful, and she kept muttering things under her breath about me like I was some deaf idiot, and I just… I snapped!”

April nodded, knowing the feeling well. “I get it.”

She really did. She’d had a few trying customers that day too, and now that the boutique was in the midst of its closing routine, she finally felt like it was the right time to take Carey aside and let her blow off some steam. One of the other associates was still in the store, irritably doing all the closing jobs on her own so that they could all get out of there on time. Well, not April. April would be there an hour after the sales associates left, balancing the books, putting the day’s earnings in the safe, and doing sweeps of all the areas herself before finally locking up.

What a thrilling life she led away from Cascade Falls. Sometimes she missed lounging on her mom’s couch and watching TV all night, but her bank account was happy to be making a living again.

“Am I going to get written up?”

April took in Carey’s flushed expression, her teary eyes, and her quivering lower lip, and then decided that the girl was genuinely upset over what had happened. Sighing, she shook her head.

“No,” she replied. Carey’s shoulders slumped forward, her face relaxing. “No, I just wanted to get the full story, in case she comes back and tries to complain to Grace or Harriet. It’s fine. Just… try to keep it together until the customer leaves next time. If you need to, go scream by the garbage cans out back or something.”

“I’d like that,” the girl said, after giving a strangled laugh. Pleased they’d seen eye-to-eye in the end, April sent her out to help her co-worker close for the night, then she got started on all her duties. Sure enough, an hour after she checked both purses of the associates working before they left for the night, April was finally locking the doors and heading for home. Her feet ached after wearing her little kitten heels all day, and all she wanted to do was chug back a glass of wine in a hot bath. As much as she disliked her job, it was usually busy enough to keep her mind off Van.

Her dreams, however, were never safe territory. Just last night she’d dreamt that they were together again, and she woke up just as he started fucking her over a table at his bar while everyone watched.

Bit of a risqué place her mind went sometimes, but she chalked it up to being totally celibate since she’d broken things off with Van. 

Wrapped up in a few layers to combat the evening chill, April gave the doors to the boutique a few good shakes before stepping away. Everything was locked. All the lights but one were off. Nodding, she stuffed her keys in her purse and turned away from the building. Just two days off until she was back here again, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with her time off. She’d been working eight-hour shifts for the last ten days, and it was time to take a retail breather.

As soon as her foot stepped off the curb and touched down on the parking lot pavement, a chill ran down her spine. It affected her so much that she froze, her hands tightening around her purse strap, and she did a full sweep of the semi-empty parking lot. The boutique, for all its fabulousness, was located in a little strip mall with a bunch of other business, and usually there were a few people around by the time she headed for home. There were still a few cars in the parking lot, but they weren’t what caught April’s attention. No, it was the stocky man sitting on a motorcycle in the wheelchair spot in front of her store that snagged her stare.

He pushed his visor off, as she tried to shuffle over to her car without making eye contact, and she heard him say, “You April?”

Fuck. Not looking back, she did a little half-jog to her car, and all but threw herself in the front seat. Without bothering to check her mirrors or any of the usual things she did once she got in the car, April shoved the key in the ignition and then whizzed out of the parking lot faster than she was legally allowed to go.

James swore he’d leave her alone. He said that if she broke up with Van and kept all his awful threats to herself, he wouldn’t bother her. Yet, there was a man sitting in the parking lot. On a motorcycle. Who knew her name.

And was currently following her. A single light reflected in her rear-view mirror, and April’s grip on the steering wheel tightened to the point of white knuckles when she clued in that he followed her. The telltale roar of a bike sounded behind her, a sound she felt in her bones. Of course he’d follow her. He’d said her name. There weren’t many cars on the road at this hour, and her little blue hatchback wasn’t difficult to spot in a crowd.

Biting her lower lip, she tried to take a few alternative routes home, turning sharply here and running red lights there. By the time she reached her apartment, she was in a full-tilt panic. Pulling into her usual spot in the underground parking garage, she turned off the car and let out a long sigh. Thus far, it seemed that he hadn’t followed her there—maybe all the security cameras would throw him off. Grabbing her purse with a trembling hand, she hopped out of the car and made a beeline for the elevator doors—only to find she hadn’t lost her pursuer after all. He was there. Waiting for her in a different parking spot, still seated on his bike with both legs on the ground.

“I have pepper spray!” she shrieked, digging through her purse for the little canister as he raised his helmet’s visor again. He held up his hands defensively, as she pulled out a little black can, which was actually hair spray disguised as pepper spray, the label colored over with black marker.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, stepping off the bike and removing his helmet. “Van Palmer sent me.”

Her arm fell to her side, which caused her purse strap to slide off her shoulder. It landed noisily on the ground by her feet, and she suddenly felt as though her tongue had lost its ability to move. Van had sent a ruffian after her?

Well, he wasn’t exactly a ruffian. Now that her brain wasn’t in complete panic mode, April took a second to notice that his bike practically sparkled in the awful overhead lighting, and while his thick gray hair made him look sloppy, he wore a sharp pair of dark jeans and polished leather boots—and his jacket had the emblem of the motorcycle club on the arm.

“Van said to tell you I’m the… the kind of guy who does parades and poses with puppies,” he said slowly, setting his helmet on his bike seat, but he stopped his slow advance on her when she raised her hand again, finger on the trigger. “My name’s Mike.”

“Well good for you,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing a little as she held his stare. “How do I know you’re from Van and not from…?”

The other one. She pressed her lips together, worried she might give too much away by finishing the question. Mike let out a long sigh.

“The parades and puppies comment didn’t do it for you?”

April shook her head. Even though she remembered Van saying something along those lines, she wasn’t going to drop her guard to this total stranger and let him in.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, eyes flickering up to the security camera nearby. If someone was watching, surely the scene looked a little suspicious.

“I’d rather do it inside.”

“You’re not coming inside,” April told him swiftly with a shake of her head. “Whether Van sent you or not… You aren’t coming into my home.”

That much she was firm on. Mike nodded. “Fair enough.”

He then turned and started locking up his bike.

“Is there a coffee shop around here somewhere?” Mike asked once he was finished, straightening up and running a hand through his thick gray hair. “I could use a cappuccino. Driving to my daughter’s place after this in Mellville.”

April slowly set the fake pepper spray canister back in her purse, keeping her distance as he stepped around the bike. “How old’s your daughter?”

“About your age, I guess,” he replied, and slowly they made their way toward the exit of the parking garage. There was, in fact, a nice little coffee shop just one street over from her place, and April took him there under the assumption that it would be good to do this in a public place. She’d forked out a lot of money in coffee shops since she’d returned from Cascade Falls, using them as her place to meet up with June and her other friends—and as an excuse to get out of her apartment.

“Look, he told me you two ended things before he was sentenced,” Mike told her once they’d received their orders and taken a seat at a small table by the window. They had about an hour before the shop closed, and April hoped to be home—alone—in half that time. Mike was a much smaller man without his leather jacket and bike, and now that they were in better lighting, he definitely looked like the dad-type in his polo t-shirt and jeans.

“We did,” she remarked, tensing. Some people thought she had been a little harsh on Van, what with leaving him as soon as he got arrested, but they didn’t know the whole story. Besides, it wasn’t like he was sick; he was locked up. If they’d found cancer and she broke up with him, then they had the right to call her a bitch. Thankfully, there was no resentment in Mike’s tone.

“He gets that,” the man continued, slowly stirring his drink with a little wooden stick. “He really does. He’s not trying to hound you or suck you back into whatever you guys had. He needs your help.”

“Not really sure what I can do out here,” she muttered, breaking off a piece of her lemon-raspberry cake and stuffing it in her mouth. She chewed for a few moments, not really tasting much and then cleared her throat. “I have a business degree, not a law degree. I can’t fight his case for him.”

She couldn’t do anything for him—not publically, anyway. Not with James looming over her shoulder, ready to dive in at any second and remind her that he had the power.

“Hey, I get that,” Mike said, holding his hands up again, “but April… He’s gonna die in there if we don’t do anything.”

Her heart stopped for a split second, and she was seeing stars. Blinking them away, she let her hands fall limply into her lap. “W-What?”

“He’s getting jumped by some guys on a pretty regular basis,” Mike explained, his expression darkening. “I’ve known Van since he was a kid. His dad’s a piece of shit, sure, but Van’s one of the good ones. Got a solid head on his shoulders and all that. But while he’s in there, all of James’s enemies are taking out whatever anger and aggression they have on Van, and I’m pretty sure he’ll be dead by Christmas.”

She fell back in her chair, stunned. Did her mom know any of this? Did James? When she vocalized her thoughts, Mike just shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Wouldn’t count on James to do much, anyway,” he muttered. “He’s more focused on getting his bank accounts back in order.”

“Why are you in his club if you know he’s such a bad guy?” April asked. She’d always wondered why guys like Mike bothered with an asshole like James Palmer. Again Mike shrugged.

“There aren’t any other clubs in the area,” he answered, then he took a small sip of his drink. He hissed noisily, clearly finding it too hot, and set the comically small cup back down on its plate. “I’d say seventy percent of the guys in the club are decent. We just ignore the rest. James Palmer doesn’t exactly get involved in much lately anyway. We basically run the club ourselves. However, I’m not here to talk about James.”

No, of course not. James was never meant to be the center of her world, Van was, and yet somehow the awful old jerk had taken over. None of this was supposed to happen. If James hadn’t been such a psychopath, she might have been back in Cascade Falls now, enjoying her time with Van as they took their relationship to the next level. Daydreams about what could have been crossed her mind just as often as nightmares about what did happen: April had broken both of their hearts.

And now Van might die because of her—because of her cowardice. She swallowed thickly, unable to take another bite of her cake. This was all her fault. Van hadn’t done anything wrong, unless falling for her was wrong. She owed it to him to do whatever she could to help him, because he didn’t deserve the life was living. Prison—jail, whatever—was bound to be a rough ride for anyone, but she figured he’d be out next year and ready to move on with his life. Never had she thought things would spiral into such a terrible darkness.

Besides, he was technically family now. April would do anything for her family. To keep her mom safe, she let that psychopath dictate her life and let herself live in constant fear. No more. It was time to take charge of her life again. It was time to get the people she loved most to safety.

Clearing her throat, she looked Mike dead in the eye, and with an unwavering voice she said, “Tell me what I need to do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Cascade Falls was stunning in November. The first dusting of snow had already settled across the little town, though the dark lake remained almost entirely unfrozen still, awaiting the colder weather that was sure to trickle in during the upcoming winter months. Mike had visited her in the final week of October, and once again in the second week of November to solidify their plans. April was to return to Cascade Falls for Thanksgiving to avoid arousing suspicion from anyone, and from there, they would make contact with a much sketchier character on the wrong side of the motorcycle club who might be able to help Van. It was a longshot, but they didn’t have much of a choice. Breaking out of any security facility, minimum or maximum, wasn’t exactly a cake-walk.

However, they couldn’t leave him in there anymore. April’s heart broke again and again, as she thought about all the physical trials Van had to endure while incarcerated. Recently, he’d taken a few shots to the ribs, and Mike said he was sporting a black eye the last time he went to visit. Things weren’t looking great, and they had to act fast. Mike’s ominous prediction that Van would be dead by Christmas sat heavily on her shoulders, and April thought of nothing else most of the time: she had to find a way to get him out.

Once he was back on the outside, she hoped—maybe foolishly—that they’d be able to prove his innocence and incriminate James, but she also knew they had to take things one step at a time. Nobody was going to slap Van on the back and give him a get-out-of-jail-free card for escaping prison, but that was exactly what she and Mike were hoping for. Get him out. Get him safe.

Sometimes she pictured their reunion, which always involved a lot of kissing and nudity, but April tried not to dwell on it. She’d ended things with Van for a reason, and even if—and that was a big if—they were able to spring him to freedom, she wasn’t sure she ought to hop right back into the relationship.

Even if she did still love him.

After all, this had to be love, right? She was willing to break a man out of jail—that had to be love. Only for now, it might be best for everyone if she kept those feelings to herself.

She’d only been back in Cascade Falls for two days, and she was itching to drive out to the prison to see Van. However, with James watching her like a hawk and her mom stressed about preparing her first Thanksgiving feast as a “Palmer woman”, there was no way in hell she’d get out to see Van. Again, it was probably best for everyone that way.

Thanksgiving was a few days away still, and she’d been staying in one of the guest rooms in James’s huge home under the guise of wanting to visit for the week. Her mom had been thrilled to have her there, and she felt a little guilty for deceiving her. If everything went according to plan (when they eventually made a plan, that is), she was sure her mom would understand why April had to keep so much from her. They would need to have a serious talk about everything that had happened over the last few months, specifically about James, and then they would move on from there.

If everything worked out. Her future was heavily reliant on a huge if at the moment, and she tried not to focus too much on that.

Sighing, April gave herself a final look in the en-suite bathroom mirror, then switched off the light. She didn’t want to dress up just to meet Mike and whoever else he had invited to their little free-Van-from-prison session tonight, but she’d told James and her mom that she was meeting some friends for drinks after dinner. So, she’d thrown on a pair of sinfully tight jeans and a cute beige sweater, which she would eventually pair with black boots and a knit cap. A part of her hoped that word might get back to Van about how good she looked, but that was more of a selfish want than anything else.

After grabbing her purse, she slipped out of the guest bedroom and rushed for the front door. She slowed on the grand spiral staircase, however, as she saw James and her mom strolling from the kitchen to the sitting room.

“Oh, honey, you look so pretty,” her mom cooed, as she descended the few final steps. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, as she tried to pull off a breezy casualness that didn’t come naturally to her. “Where are you meeting the girls again?”

“Just the coffee shop,” she said, as she went for her boots, which lay flopped over by the front door. As she moved, James’s eyes followed her every step, and she could practically feel his skepticism at a ten foot distance. “We might go to the bar afterward too… Not really sure what the plan is.”

“Well, don’t drive home if you do go to the bar.” Over her shoulder, she saw her mom pat James on the chest. “One of us will be happy to pick you up if you end up drinking.”

April bit back a cringe, as she stuffed her feet into her boots. “Sure. Thanks. That’d be great.”

“Who are you meeting again?” James asked. April went for her coat, which she yanked on a little more forcefully than necessary. Just the sound of his voice grated her nerves, and she could barely make eye contact with him anymore; not only was he terrifying, but she was essentially plotting against him with some of his own guys. Nothing would bode well for her if things fell through.

“Just some girls from high school,” April told him with a shrug. His eyes narrowed, and she pretended to search through her purse for something.

“Who?”

“What’s with the interrogation,” she said lightly, trying to pass it off as a joke. “I wasn’t aware I was still in high school. Do I have a curfew, too?”

Her mom’s shrill laughter made both James and April visibly wince.

“Honey, we’re just nosy old farts who are living vicariously through you,” her mom insisted with a slight roll of her eyes. April offered the best laugh she could, all the while thinking that if anyone ought to be living vicariously, it was April. James and her mom went to many social events around town, several of which had been while April was visiting. In the last two days.

“Right, right, yeah, I guess,” April babbled, as she went for the front door finally, her palms sweaty. “See you later then.”

“Say hi to the girls for me!” her mom called, as she all but ran through the doorway, and April gave her a small wave and a smile. The last thing she saw before shutting the door was James’s scowl, which stayed burned into her field of vision, as she hopped into her mom’s car and headed down the snowy driveway.

But, of course, April wasn’t headed to meet up with any of her old high school friends. In fact, none of them even knew she was in town, though she realized that she probably should have actually met up with one or two at some point. She needed someone to validate her story should James end up snooping around for her exact whereabouts—and, really, it wouldn’t kill her to touch base with a few of her old friends. She’d never been great about keeping in touch with the exception of a few close friends, and she figured she owed it to herself to try more.

Although she took the route that would get her downtown, April turned at the last possible moment and headed out of Cascade Falls. There was a little resort on the other side of the lake with a cozy Italian restaurant that Mike had made reservations at, and she was already running a little late. Small towns weren’t as efficient as bigger ones in clearing the snow off the roads, and she had to fight her way around snow drifts and ice patches to reach her destination. When she finally made it, she was a little unnerved that there was no motorcycle in the parking lot, but when she saw Mike waiting by the main doors, she figured it made sense that he wouldn’t drive that beast anywhere in this weather.

“Glad you made it,” he said as she approached, smiling at her in that kindly way he always did, the skin around his eyes crinkling. After being in contact with Mike on and off since they first met, April had a little ball of guilt sitting heavily in the pit of her stomach for assuming he was such a creep. Sure, he drove a motorcycle, but she had to stop stereotyping all bikers as assholes.

Not everyone was James Palmer.

“Ice patch on the last turn nearly took me out,” she told him, shivering as they walked for the warmth of the resort. Peter’s Inn was in direct competition with Cascade Falls’ very own historical resort on the other side of the lake, and from what April had heard, the prices here were more reasonable.

“You got snow tires on that thing?” Mike asked, as he shot one last look back at her mom’s car. She shrugged, which made him grumble. “It’s really not safe to be driving without them.”

Why couldn’t her mom have married Mike? The guy was recently widowed and worked for the town newspaper as its editor-in-chief. Motorcycle enthusiast. Dad of three. All-round nice guy, despite plotting to bust Van out of jail. At least she felt safe with him.

“Rabbit’s already here,” he told her, as they strolled through the rustic resort, making their way back to where the Italian restaurant overlooked the lake. Despite being early in the week, the place seemed packed as they approached, the volume of conversation rising more and more with every step she took.

She needed a few seconds to process exactly what he’d just said, and when she did, April stopped and gave Mike a hard look. “Rabbit?”

“He’s the best in the business,” Mike told her, a slight warning edge to his tone. Right. Don’t insult this Rabbit guy or his name. Got it. April nodded, as if this all made perfect sense, and then slipped a step behind him as they entered the restaurant. The hostess tried to seat them at first, but Mike waved her off with a smile, pointing across the way to a booth beside the window overlooking the lake.

“Our friend is waiting on us, but thank you.”

April too gave the woman a smile, but the hostess was already back at her little station, scrambling to get the cordless phone that had just started ringing.

As they moved through the restaurant, unease settled across her. She’d been trying to avoid James and his goons ever since she returned to Cascade Falls, but in this new setting, she had no idea just how many eyes might not be looking at her favorably. Swallowing hard, she pulled up the neck of her coat and tried to subtly hide her face in it, hoping she could lose any onlookers once she was in the booth.

Rabbit was almost Mike’s opposite—physically, anyway. Where Mike had the thickness a lot of older men had, some of it due to lack of activity, some thanks to beer, Rabbit was thin as a rod. Jet black hair sat atop his head, and he was fiddling with a sharp toothpick when they arrived. He didn’t stand to greet them. Didn’t even smile. At least he looked scrubbed up and clean. April would have thought a guy who went by the name of Rabbit might have looked like a criminal, but she was happy to see that wasn’t the case. He was clean shaven and wearing a dress shirt, though she couldn’t see what was on the lower half beneath the table.

“Rabbit,” Mike said by way of greeting as he slid into the booth. The man’s head bobbed up and down, his eyes drifting over to April as she climbed onto the bench after Mike. She realized once she’d settled that she preferred it this way. It was easier to make an escape when she wasn’t sandwiched between a thick body and a window. “This is April.”

She glanced up sharply at the mention of her name, offering Rabbit a small smile.

“April,” he said, as if trying her name out for size. “Van’s girl, right?”

“His friend,” she corrected, not wanting to be associated as some romantic interest and therefore not taken seriously. “Stepsister, actually.”

Rabbit nodded again, then he leaned back, as a waitress arrived to deliver some drinks. Both Mike and Rabbit were given beers, and April’s lips twitched into a frown when a water was placed in front of her. The newcomer shrugged apologetically when she looked his way.

“Didn’t know what you’d want,” he said, as though waiting for her to place an order was so out of the question. She shook it off, not wanting to make anything a bigger issue than it needed to be. Falling silent, April twirled her straw around inside her drink, ice clinking off the glass, as Mike and Rabbit exchanged some small chitchat. She’d almost tuned it out completely until Van’s name popped up a few times over, and by then their food had arrived. Rabbit seemed to be the take-charge kind of guy and had ordered everyone a fettuccini Alfredo with seafood, which she had no complaints about.

At least he hadn’t gotten her a salad; he seemed like the type of guy who assumed women only ate lettuce leaves in public.

“Look, I know the kid’s in a tough spot,” Rabbit said with a sigh, “but I’m trying to go straight these days. You know my boat tour thing is really… really taking off.”

A cold feeling gripped her, as she stared at him. This guy was supposed to be their in, their saving grace. Mike, however, seemed unperturbed by the man’s statement.

“You’re actually happy just giving rich assholes tours of the lake?” he asked, swirling his noodles around his fork before shoving it into his mouth. April picked at her plate, still full from dinner at home but feeling rude if she didn’t eat.

“I dunno. It’s good money.”

“You know I hate this stuff,” Mike said softly, shaking his head. “I don’t want to associate with this side of the club.”

“I know.” Rabbit grabbed his napkin to wipe some food off his shirt, which had fallen from his fork midway to his mouth. “You’re a good guy, Mikey, but this is a big operation you’re proposing—“

“You owe Van a shitload of favors, Rabbit,” Mike remarked, his gaze hardening. Suddenly, the cold feeling started to dissipate, and April found she could sit up a little straighter. “A lot. He’s pulled through for you in the past more times than you can count, I bet.”

April arched an eyebrow and wondered if Mike knew this from personal experience, or if Van had told the guy to gently remind Rabbit of the fact. Either way, she was glad they had some leverage here.

“Aw, come on, Mikey—“

“I don’t really see what the discussion is about then,” April interjected, finding her nerve at last. Van needed their help, and if this guy was the guy to do it, she wasn’t going to let him worm his way out of the task by complaining. “You owe Van favors. Van needs your help now. It’s as simple as that. If he stays in there, he’ll die… then you’ll be owing a dead man, and I hear that really eats at a person.”

She’d heard that line—or something similar—on a cheesy crime show once, and she was proud with how flawlessly she’d delivered it. Rabbit stared at her for a long moment, and she shrugged her shoulders as she tucked into her meal.

“Where’d you find this girl?”

“She’s here for Van,” Mike replied, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could hear the smile in his voice, and it gave her confidence. All this time she’d been worried that she was making a mistake by coming back, that Mike could have done this without her. But she’d never be able to forgive herself if she didn’t personally see to Van’s freedom in one way or another. She’d essentially put him in there, and damn it, she was going to do everything she could to get him out.

Rabbit fell silent for a few long moments, his gaze unfocused and distant, until he finally said, “Because it’s for Van, and I do owe him, I’ll do it for a fraction of my usual fee.”

“We’ll negotiate the price when you tell me what you plan to do,” Mike remarked breezily, and April sat back, hiding her smile. It was finally in motion, and she couldn’t help but think she’d played a small part in getting the ball rolling.

“I mean, if I look back on other gigs, I have a few ideas already about how to get him out,” Rabbit continued, settling back against the booth. “This one time, we…”

April leaned in, listening to the man regale both Mike and her with stories of the old days, when breaking out of federal facilities wasn’t really all that hard. That was how he’d earned his reputation for being the best in the business, and she suspected a part of him wanted to show everyone that he was still damn good at his job.

And that was precisely what April wanted to hear. Someone out there, Van was eating a shitty prison dinner, worried about if he’d make it to this weekend—not realizing that by this weekend, she’d be seeing him face-to-face again as a free man.

Hopefully.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

April had never had a Thanksgiving dinner with this many people before. Looking down the long table in the Palmer estate’s expansive dining hall, she noted that the majority of the guests were retired couples from the Cascade Falls elite, most of whom probably had kids of their own who were married and celebrating the holiday with their kids. In fact, the person closest in age to her was someone’s third wife, who was in her mid-thirties and spoke with a dreadful British accent that April assumed was fake.

But she could hardly focus on any of that. She barely tasted any of the rich food she’d been shoveling into her mouth for the last half-hour. Today was the day Rabbit sprung Van from behind bars, and that was all she could think about. After some haggling over fees and such, Rabbit eventually concocted a fairly straightforward plan: bribe the guards, sneak Van out in the delivery truck bringing in the Thanksgiving meal for all the prisoners.

When she’d first heard it, April scoffed noisily, worried that Rabbit’s grand scheme was far too simplistic to actually be successful. There were cameras everywhere—or so she assumed—and Van already had a target on his back. Mike, however, seemed willing to jump on board with the plan, and before long, they were parting ways with the wily Rabbit character and hoping, praying, that he’d be successful.

As she absently pushed mashed potatoes and turkey around her plate to make it look like she was eating, April decided that all she could do was wait; Van would either get out of prison today, or he wouldn’t. Thus far, there was nothing tying her to the escape, but she planned to be there for him tonight, waiting at the safe house outside of town that Mike had told her about. It was known only to a few of the “good guys” in the motorcycle club and was generally used for retreats or date nights with their lady friends.

“April?”

She looked up sharply at the sound of her name, irritated that it came from James’s mouth. He was seated at the head of the table, like some mob boss overlooking his subjects, with April and her mom seated on either side of him. However, unlike a mob boss, none of the guests were clamoring to sit close to him, and instead situated themselves based on their usual social groupings.

“Yes?” She went for her wine glass, which had been empty for most of the meal after her initial mammoth gulp.

“You seem on edge,” he purred, setting his utensils aside and leaning his elbows on the table. “Is everything okay?”

At this point, she had no idea if James knew about what she and Mike had been doing behind the scenes with Rabbit, but she had an inkling that he was suspicious of her.

“Fine,” she told him with a fake smile. “Just savoring the food.”

“And the wine,” her mom giggled, tuning into the conversation momentarily to shoot April a wink. “You’ve had an empty glass all night, honey!”

Her mom had had six glasses since she started preparing for the festivities of the day at noon, but April chose not to comment on that. Instead, she forced an even brighter smile and laughed, as she placed a hand on her head.

“Yeah, it hit me pretty hard,” April insisted with a slight roll of her eyes. “I was fasting before dinner, so I think it’s really affecting me.”

“Maybe you need a glass of water then,” James said stiffly, as he resumed eating, clearly annoyed that he hadn’t gotten the reaction he was sniffing around for. April cleared her throat and looked away, then she tried her best to engage in the conversations going on around her. If she sat there worrying, she’d definitely look like she was up to something. James wanted to catch her doing something behind his back, and she didn’t need to give him any extra reason to pay closer attention.

A few deep breaths settled her nerves somewhat, and she repeated a gentle mantra over and over again in her head.

There’s nothing you can do from here. Van will be fine. Everything will be fine again.

It had to be.

***

“On your feet, Palmer.”

Van slowly set the book down on the table, his eyes narrowing at the pair of guards approaching. He’d been hiding out in the library for the better part of the day, knowing that some of the meth heads who liked to try to psych him out were always a little nervous in the library—something about people getting an education that set them off, apparently.

Today was supposed to be a good day, all things considered. The warden had ordered a huge Thanksgiving feast for all the staff and prisoners at the facility, and while everyone knew it wasn’t going to be like the feasts they were accustomed to back home, it was better than nothing. Some of the guys had even been decorating the cafeteria with shitty hand-drawn turkeys and indiscernible cornucopias overflowing with vegetables, though they only had pens to color everything with: apparently some of the markers magically disappeared from storage sometime a few months ago, and no one had bothered to replace them.

Having been locked up for almost three months at this point, Van had a few solid acquaintances. Despite his reputation for being the guy who got the shit kicked out of him pretty frequently, there were a few kind souls willing to put their reputation aside and strike up a friendship with him. Although these weren’t the types of guys Van wanted to associate with anymore, he couldn’t exactly be selective in his prison friendships. Once, a few nights ago, one of his new companions used a food tray to smack some asshole across the face who was trying to start something with Van. Both guys got put in solitude, and while Van felt bad he’d been the cause for some poor guy getting thrown away in jail while already incarcerated, he couldn’t help but feel like he was finally making progress.

Maybe if he had a few more tough guys like that in his social circle, he wouldn’t be shanked by Christmas.

But things started to go downhill at the sight of the guards.

“Have I done something?” he asked, as he slowly rose, his hands up to show that they were empty. He knew the pair of guards by sight only. They worked in another dorm most of the time, and he had to check the tags for their names.

“You got a lot of outdoor time you haven’t been making use of,” one remarked, as he grabbed Van’s arm. “We gotta make you use your hours or you lose them.”

Van frowned. If that didn’t sound like a crock of steaming bullshit, he didn’t know what would. Everyone, whether they were in a jumpsuit or a uniform, made him suspicious these days. His eyes darted to the nearest prisoner, but the guy looked away, burying his face behind a textbook. In fact, none of the guys milling around the small, poorly-stocked library spared him a glance as the pair of guards all but dragged him out.

His feet moved on their own. In fact, many of his reactions these days were unconscious ones. If an alarm went off, everyone dropped to the floor. Palms on the floor. Face up against the wall. Do what you’re told, when you’re told, and things should be okay for you. However, nothing about this smelled right. He hadn’t heard from Mike in about two weeks, and the last he’d heard, he was trying to get April to come back to help him break out. How she could do anything about his current situation was beyond him, but he had a better time coping knowing that she might be nearby.

April factored into how he reacted in the heat of the moment. He could have put up a fight. After all, the two guards were about half his size, and he could probably get at least one of them knocked out before he got to his weapon. But then he might end up in solitude, and if Mike and April were cooking something up for him, he might miss his opportunity to get the hell out of here.

However, the halls that he was led down were notorious for prisoner abuse, as several of the cameras were rumored to only be for show. He tensed, ready for a fight, but kept moving as long as the guards did.

“What the hell is this?” he muttered after being shoved into a jacket and dragged outside into the snow. The exercise fields were empty. Most of the prisoners and staff would be getting ready for Thanksgiving dinner at this point, which meant the outdoor areas, even the ones off-limits to prisoners, were all vacant.

Was this a hit? Was someone paying these two idiots to take Van out back and shoot him?

“Fucking calm down, Palmer,” one of the men grunted, shoving him into the fenced-in yard that once housed a fairly well-maintained running track. It was closed for the winter months, as the higher-ups weren’t willing to pay for someone to clear the snow. From what he’d heard, some of the prisoners volunteered to do it for free if it meant they could still use the track loop, but no one was keen on giving any of these men shovels.

The air hurt his throat, as he staggered to a halt, standing upright and glaring at the guards behind him. Some of the prisoners made use of the outdoor rec time these days, but most preferred staying out of the elements. The snow was up to his ankles, soaking through his jumpsuit pants to his socks, and the bitterly cold air made his breath fog up in front of him.

“What is this?”

“Just walk,” the smaller of the two guards ordered, “until we tell you otherwise.”

Glowering at them, his hands in fists, Van turned slowly on the spot and stiffly began his forced march through the snow. A chain-link fence surrounded him. Beyond lay a beautiful forest, empty now of its greenery, save for the random assortment of pines. Without initially realizing, he soon noticed that the guards were leading him to one of the sides that faced the wooded area.

It was blissfully quiet outside. Since he’d been locked away, Van wasn’t used to silence. Even at night he was surrounded by snoring men, some talking in their sleep, others screaming. Occasionally the bathrooms were quiet, but if that was the case, his mind couldn’t shut up. Here, in the snowy nothingness of the outdoors, there was nothing to bother him but the crunch of feet on snow.

“Palmer,” one of the guards grunted, and when he glanced back, the man hissed for him to face forward. He did so, his frown deepening. “Ten feet from here, there’s a hole in the fence. You gotta push through. Looks pretty tight. When we reach it, you’re gonna punch both of us in the face, then go through that hole.”

Van stopped moving and turned back to face them, shaking his head. “Is this a fucking joke?”

“Your buddy Rabbit sends his regards,” the taller guard said, and finally things started to fall into place. “He’s got a delivery truck waiting for you down the road. Just follow the trees, hop in the truck, get the fuck out. Clear?”

A grin tugged at Van’s lips, his heart suddenly racing in his chest, but he did his best to keep things neutral. “How much did he pay you to do this?”

“Not enough,” the shorter one mused, giving Van a little shove, “but that’s classic Rabbit. You’re an okay kid, Palmer. Sucks that someone framed you to put you away in here.”

“Sucks worse that people have been trying to kill me since I got here and no one’s done anything about it.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, don’t get preachy,” the taller one growled. “Let’s just get this over with.”

By the time they reached the hole, nearly invisible if you hadn’t been looking for it, Van turned and clocked the taller one extra hard in the face. He went down like a lead sac, out cold before he hit the snow. The smaller of the two guards grimaced, and Van took a bit of the force out of his arm this time. Sure, his fist collided with the guy’s nose, but unlike his partner, the smaller guard wasn’t going to walk away with a broken nose. The guy looked at Van, surprised, and then made a fake dramatic fall to the ground.

No sirens went off as Van clambered through the hole in the chain-link fence, though he grunted a little when his pants snagged on one of the sharp edges. Shaking it off, he disappeared into the trees as best he could then headed into the general direction of the road.

A part of him still worried this might be some big game—that he was being tricked. Somewhere in the woods there could be a bunch of guys waiting for him with crowbars for all he knew, but he had to put his faith in something. Being locked up had damaged him, and he was ready to get the fuck out of here—even if he had to fight his way through.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” April hissed into the phone, as she paced the front hall of the biker safe house. The silence inside had made her skin crawl the second she stepped into it almost an hour ago, and she’d turned on every single light possible to make herself feel a little safer—as if lights would scare away anyone who wanted to hurt her.

Although it hadn’t been easy, she’d managed to slip out from James’s curious stare when Thanksgiving dinner came to an end. Grabbing her stowaway bag, which had been packed the night before in preparation for the big day, April had snuck out of the Palmer estate and made a run for it—straight to her mom’s car, which she borrowed for the time being. If either of them were to ask, she planned to tell them there was an old high school dinner being held at a friend’s place, and she got too drunk on wine to drive home.

In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have been driving at all. She’d had more than her fair share of wine during the meal, but it seemed all the food she’d ingested—along with the frigid November air—had sobered her up enough to follow directions. The safe house was a good half hour away from Cascade Falls, still technically within the town limits, but off in the woods where people built cottages and lake houses, all of them abandoned until summer rolled back in again. Smart investors bought up the land as fast as they could to make use of it during the small tourist rush in July and August.

When she’d arrived, she noted that the house where they’d hide Van looked just as Mike had described it—two stories, exposed brick, and wooden beams. Following the information Mike texted her earlier that day, April had to go into the cobweb-littered basement to turn on the heat and electricity, which, outside of the way she sometimes felt James’s eyes roaming her body, was the low-point of the afternoon.

“I just can’t get away,” Mike insisted. Apparently his kids had shown up as a surprise that afternoon with cars full of food, demanding that they have a family Thanksgiving back in their old childhood home. Mike was supposed to meet April at the safe house, and instead she was there alone, listening to the sound of people chattering and laughing through her phone. Occasionally there’d be some kids screaming, which grated on her already sensitive nerves.

“But—“

“Look, it’s you Van will want to see anyway,” he told her. “Rabbit texted me earlier to say things were going smoothly, so you don’t even need me, really.”

She bit her lower lip, her stomach churning a few times over at the thought of seeing Van again. Sure, the plan had always been for the two to reunite: she was desperate to tell someone all the awful things James had threatened her with, and Van seemed like the right person to finally open up to. After all, she had a sinking suspicion that James was the reason Van was in prison in the first place—it only seemed fair that he get the whole story.

But she hadn’t seen him since August, and back then she was breaking his heart at a county jail. A part of her wanted a buffer between them the first time they saw each other again, and since she’d grown comfortable around Mike, April had wanted it to be him. However, it seemed like she was about to face this hurdle on her own—and she wasn’t sure she could do it.

“Maybe I should go,” she said, her pace quickening, as she stalked up and down the hall. “I mean, maybe it will be kind of overwhelming for him to come out and be around other people.”

“I can guarantee you he will want to be around familiar faces,” Mike told her, and she swore she heard a hint of a smile in his tone. “Look, don’t be nervous. He begged me to find you. He said you were the one hope he had, and just watching you talk about him… Well, April, it made me realize that helping him really was the right thing to do.”

She tried to swallow the lump of raw emotion that had suddenly gathered in her throat, but failed. “Really?”

“Yup.” In the background, voices called for Mike to get back to dinner. “Look, I gotta go. More stuffing to eat, I guess.”

“Must be nice.”

“You bring any food for Van?”

“Whatever I could find and hide yesterday,” she said lamely, only just realizing how disappointed Van would be that there wasn’t a Thanksgiving feast waiting for him. It was a day of overabundance; there was no reason why she couldn’t have filled up a few containers of leftovers and brought them.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be happy he isn’t eating whatever garbage they serve on the inside anymore,” Mike remarked, and April had a suspicion that he was trying to make her feel better about being a terrible post-prison hostess. “Call me if you need me.”

“I will.”

“But I know you won’t,” he added, “need me, that is.”

“Well—“

“Just enjoy the moment,” he said, and before she could argue the point any further, Mike had hung up. Silence crept back over her, and without giving it much thought, April wandered into the small kitchen and turned on the radio. Over the years, the men who made use of the cabin had spruced it up and paid for repairs. Most of the furniture was new. Everything was remarkably clean—a welcome surprise, given how infrequently it was used during the winter. Surrounded by thick trees and backing down onto the lake, it was tucked away from the rest of civilization. In a way, the silence was almost peaceful.

The peace was shattered, however, at the roar of an engine. Not a bike—it didn’t sound like one, anyway. April hurried out of the kitchen, hastily making her way to the front room that overlooked the long driveway that wound through the trees. Sure enough, just like Rabbit had planned, a delivery truck was making its way toward the house. It was too dark to make out the driver, but April could only see one person in the front seat. Her heart sank: Mike had said Rabbit told him things were going fine, so why couldn’t she see Van anywhere?

A horrible feeling gripped her, as she stared out the window: what if James had found out about their plan and intercepted things on the way? Mike assured her James had only heard rumors about this particular cabin, but she doubted a man as powerful and well-connected to the underground world as James Palmer wouldn’t know that his own club members had bought and built a secret cabin for weekend retreats.

Even with her concerns, April pushed away from the window and hurried to the front door. Her feet had taken on a mind of their own again, and she had to force herself back inside to throw on her boots and coat before she went out to meet the truck. For a final measure, she flipped the switch to turn on the porch lights, then stood there, waiting, as the truck finally slowed and stopped by the front steps. Once the headlights were off, her arm dropped, no longer needed to shield her face, and she gave a nervous smile when she saw Rabbit behind the wheel.

Gruff as ever, the man barely returned the expression, instead climbing out and stretching. He seemed to be wearing some kind of uniform, which she assumed went along with the ruse of delivering the food for Thanksgiving dinner. Arms wrapped around herself, she hurried down the few steps and looked in the cab portion of the truck, frowning when she saw it was empty.

“Did you get him?” she asked, her heart hammering so loudly in her chest that she was sure the folks back in Cascade Falls could hear it. Rabbit nodded, and when he said nothing in response to it, she raised her eyebrows and gestured to the front seats. “And? Where is he?”

Rabbit produced a cigarette out of nowhere—though it might have been behind his ear—and struck a match off the side of the truck, lighting it and taking a few drags. April waited, her hands in fists, her teeth threatening to chatter in the night air. Finally, he gestured to the cargo end of the large delivery truck.

“In the back.”

“What?!” she exploded, her cheeks reddening, as his eyes narrowed at her. “He’s in the back?! It’s freezing out here!”

Probably just as cold inside. Not bothering to wait and hear his excuse, she hurried around to the back and started undoing the latches, though she needed Rabbit’s key to get the final lock off.

“Not like I was going to drive by all the roadside cameras with an escaped felon sitting beside me,” he grumbled, and April scoffed, her arms crossed.

“He could have worn a hat or something.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement,” Rabbit said with a grunt, finally opening the lock and taking it off. She stepped back as the door rose noisily, waiting, her breath catching in her throat.

For a few long seconds, all she saw were boxes and storage bins. A frantic look to Rabbit saw him totally unfazed, still puffing away at his cigarette. Just as she took a step toward the dark container, a shadowy figure emerged from behind one of the green storage boxes. Tall and broad, he clambered forward, and April let out a soft gasp when she finally saw Van Palmer again. Looking more than a little worse for the wear, it was almost too obvious to her that he’d lost weight, though the gravity of his appearance didn’t hit until he was out of the truck and standing in the porch light.

There was a sunken quality to his cheeks that there hadn’t been before, and she tried not to focus on the dark hue around his eyes. Clearly, he’d been having a rough time, and she almost felt guilty that it had taken her this long to realize that he didn’t belong behind bars. Well, no, she knew that all along, but it had taken her too many months to grow a backbone and do something about it.

His eyes darted to Rabbit for a split-second, then honed in on her—and there they stayed. Swallowing thickly, she debated hanging back until he came to her, but that plan lasted about two seconds. Before she could stop herself, April rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck, dragging him into a hug whether he wanted one or not. Her body pressed against his, and it lacked the width it once had. Without meaning to, her hand wandered up his back and buried in his hair, fisting around its thickness like that was where it always belonged.

Van didn’t hug her back right away, but she could feel the way his body trembled, as she held him. Finally, his face sunk into the crux of her neck and shoulder, and his arms encircled her waist, dragging her even closer. His name slipped through her slightly parted lips, nothing more than a whisper, and her eyes suddenly prickled with unexpected tears. It felt so good to hold him again, to be held by him again. The cold didn’t bother her anymore—she barely felt it—and for a fleeting few moments, April couldn’t imagine ever letting him go.

But she did, of course. It was what was best for both of them. They gave one another a few inches of breathing space, but when her head tilted back, it took every ounce of restraint in her being not to push up on her toes and kiss him. His lips were practically begging to be kissed, and while he seemed tired, a hunger blazed in his eyes that made her shiver.

Her eyes widened a little when he went in for the kiss instead, but she turned away at the last moment. This was his first moment of freedom, and there was a lot Van needed to do in the coming weeks to ensure he never went back to prison again. There was no need to muddy the waters by hopping back into the confusing state of affairs that was their relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to him—to either of them—and so, as much as it pained her, April turned away and stepped around him.

“Let me get you something to… to put on,” she muttered, as she made a hasty retreat to the porch. Van said nothing as she went, and when she glanced back, April spotted him speaking with Rabbit. Their breaths fogged out between them, and their hushed tones made it impossible for her to eavesdrop. Shaking her head, she hurried inside and grabbed the thick blanket off the couch in the living room. Sitting in the back of that truck had probably chilled him to the bone, and once he was through with Rabbit, she planned to get some food into him, then put him in a hot shower.

He could probably do with both. Hell, if she’d been locked behind bars for almost four months, she would be desperate for both—among other things.

And judging by the look in his eye when she set the blanket across his shoulders, Van was hungry for other things, too.

***

There were a lot of things in life that you didn’t realize just how much you loved until they were gone. Showers, for instance. Private showers. With actual opaque curtains and a legitimately clean floor. Van could have stood in there forever, his body slowly thawing from the outside in as a steady stream of near scalding water pummeled him. With two cans of beans in his stomach, along with a few slices of buttered toast, he was pretty damn happy in that moment. Stressed, sure. Who wouldn’t be after breaking out of jail with the help of a sketchy biker pal? But the quiet solitude here in the cabin, surrounded by woods on one side and the lake on the other, was exactly what he needed to start to feel normal again.

Well, not normal. Seeing April again didn’t make him feel normal—far from it. He felt queasy seeing her, his palm sweaty and his knees weak. It was like falling in love with her all over again, only before he’d done it gradually, over the course of a few months like a normal romance. This was different. The feelings had always been there while he was locked away, but he’d pushed them deep down; they didn’t do him any good where he was anyway. But as soon as he saw her standing there, wrapped up in a puffy jacket, her cheeks red from the cold, all those feelings surged back to the surface again, nearly knocking him off his feet.

If she hadn’t caught him, he would have fallen.

It made sense that she was unsure around him. He’d just escaped from behind bars, after all. He was a felon, an escaped one at that, and he’d dragged her into this. April could have stayed away easily and not gotten her hands dirty, and yet she returned to Cascade Falls to see the plan through. On their brief pit stop at a gas station, where Van was given a bag of chips and a soda, Rabbit had told him that it was April’s persistence that made the plan to spring him loose really come together. She’d been passionate about ensuring his freedom: he could hear it in her voice, apparently. See it in her eyes.

Just knowing that…made everything worth it. April had fought for him, just like he knew she would, and he wouldn’t—couldn’t—ask for anything more from her. She’d given him a lot just by coming back to Cascade Falls, just by being there when Rabbit opened up the back of the delivery truck.

It would be tough as hell, but Van could give her space if she needed it. They were technically broken up anyway, and for all he knew, she could have found a new guy over the last few months, and only really came back because she felt sorry for him. It wasn’t like they kept up a steady correspondence or anything.

All he wanted to do was press his lips to hers and swallow her whole. He wanted to consume her, to breathe her in. Throw her on the plush king-sized bed. Fuck her as she clawed at his back and screamed in pleasure. However, he had to restrain himself—that much he knew. They hadn’t talked about much while she prepared the light meal for him, and he didn’t want to push her away by coming on too strong. He could be her friend. Technically, after all, they were family now. If she didn’t want him back, he’d have to learn to keep his desires sedated whenever they were around each other.

Maybe he should have taken a cold shower instead of a hot one.

Nah. Too many cold showers over the last few months—he’d earned a hot one.

It wasn’t until his fingers started to prune that Van finally decided it was time to get out. Begrudgingly, he turned off the water and grabbed the towel hanging on the nearby rack, then he rubbed himself down quickly. A glance in the mirror showed him exactly what he’d been seeing for months—though out of the prison’s harsh lighting, he didn’t look quite as sickly. It must have been a shock for April to see him like this: he’d gone from peak physical fitness when she’d last seen him to… this. Slim but not skinny, his body had devoured a lot of his muscle, and it would take time to get back to where he wanted to be.

Sighing, he brushed his teeth with the borrowed brush and paste he found under the sink, all wrapped and waiting like they were there just for him. Towel around his waist, Van strolled back into the master bedroom, which was the only bedroom in the cabin connected to a bathroom. On a good day, the cabin could hold about fifteen people, with the top floor full of tiny bedrooms and single beds—and then the master suite, which Van assumed everyone fought over when groups came up here to stay the weekend.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he found April sitting on the bed. Her legs dangled over the edge, wrapped in a tight pair of dark jeans, looking long and gorgeous. She’d probably come straight from the Thanksgiving feast at his dad’s place; his stomach gurgled at the thought, a little bitter about missing out on a plate of turkey and gravy. Still, he was just happy not to be eating prison food anymore. His eyes wandered upward quickly, hoping that he wouldn’t look like a total creep, as he took in the way her white sweater hugged her waist and clung to her breasts. A gold chain hung around her neck, though it was delicate and dainty, like it would snap if he so much as plucked at it.

When his eyes met hers, he immediately realized he wasn’t the only one enjoying the view. She blushed a dark crimson when she was caught ogling him, her gaze wandering down his body before quickly darting back to his face.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she told him, as he sauntered toward the bed. Good God was she ever beautiful. Stunning, especially in the soft lighting from the nearby bedside lamp. April sat up a little straighter the nearer he drew. “I figured I’d… sleep in one of the other bedrooms.”

“You can have this bed,” he offered. After all, he was used to sleeping on a tiny, hard board; any bed, big or small, would be a luxury. She shook her head, her strawberry-blonde hair fluttering around her face, framing it. He wanted to cup her cheeks and drag her into a kiss—his hands balled into fists instead.

“No, this bed is definitely the comfiest,” she insisted, as she stood, her arms crossed over her chest. “Seriously, I’ve tested all the other ones while I was waiting… This… You deserve this one.”

Shooting him a small smile, she turned and was just about to make her way out—until Van grabbed her arm. It wasn’t a harsh grab, but he held her firmly enough to keep her from leaving. In that moment, he couldn’t stand to see her go. Forget what he’d said before about giving her time and space. The tension between them was electric: it lit up the room with no more than a few short words. April let out a soft breath, facing him with a raised eyebrow.

“Van…”

“We don’t have to talk,” he whispered heatedly. “We should, but we can do it some other time. Tomorrow. After. Doesn’t matter when.”

She licked her lips before biting down on her plump lower lip, and that all but sealed the deal. Throwing caution to the wind, he dipped his head down and kissed her. Softly at first, not wanting to scare her, but before long, it was hard to restrain the passion. She’d been out of his arms for too long. How many dreams had he had with the two of them together again? How often had he woken up with a frustrating half-hard cock after she’d danced across his mind while he slept? Van had missed her—desperately, more than he would ever admit to anyone—and he wasn’t about to let her walk away now.

It took her a few moments to respond, her body stiff in his arms, her lips unmoving. But then, at the blink of an eye, her soft body melded against his, her hands sliding up his chest to thread through his thick hair. A soft moan escaped her when he deepened the kiss, their tongues sliding over one another’s without a hint of tentativeness. It became apparent in that moment, as she arched against him, her body rubbing over his steadily hardening dick, that it wasn’t just him who’d missed her. April had missed him too; she didn’t need to say it aloud for him to know. Everything she needed to say was said in her kiss.

He wouldn’t be able to last long tonight, but in their frenzied movements, neither seemed to mind. Soon enough, his towel was tossed on the ground, and he let out a hiss when her hands wrapped around his solid length. Pumping up and down, April moved with careful precision, as if they’d done this exact same thing last night—like it was their usual routine. The thought made his chest tight: Van wanted it to be their usual routine. He wanted to wake up each morning and look at her, to see her smile and laugh. Hell, he’d even take her bad moods, too.

All he wanted was April.

Unable to hold back for much longer, Van sloppily freed her of her clothes, their naked bodies soon falling onto the bed, limbs entwined and mouths pressed together in desperate need. She didn’t hold back tonight, didn’t keep her sounds to herself. Each moan made his cock twitch. Each heady sigh made his heart hurt.

Sliding a hand between her thighs, he found her hot and ready for him, but he couldn’t help himself: making her come with nothing more than a pair of fingers had always given him a bit of a thrill—and a deep-seated sense of pride. Her back arched, as he thrust his fingers between her slick folds, pumping in and out as they lay side-by-side, finding that spot along her inner walls that always made her writhe.

Van wasn’t the only one who wouldn’t last long tonight. In a matter of minutes, she was crying out, her skin flushing in that familiar way it always did whenever she’d reached her climax. Van smothered her cries with a kiss, rubbing her clit to prolong the pleasure. When her breath started to slow, he settled between her thighs and pushed into her, meeting no resistance, sliding right into her slick, tight channel until their bodies collided.

April whimpered his name, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers drawing little shapes on his back. He took her slowly at first, enjoying the feel of her body wrapped around him again, but it proved to be incredibly difficult to continue on like that for long. Before he was even aware of it, he was slamming into her over and over again. It had been too long since he’d felt her, since he’d buried himself deep inside of her. Van wanted to consume her, to make her his all over again, and with the way she clung to him, he couldn’t help but wonder if she felt the same.

Her second climax was less of an affair, clearly smaller and not as powerful as the first, but the look in her eyes touched him somewhere deeper. Groaning, he clenched his eyes shut and buried his face in the crux of her neck and shoulder, his pace stuttering out of control until he finally spilled himself into her. He slumped down onto her as he saw stars, all of his muscles like liquid for a few short moments, as pleasure pulsated through him. Finally, as if only then remembering where he was and who he was crushing, he rolled off her, chest rising and falling steadily, as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

They stayed next to one another in silence for a long while afterwards, a comfortable silence blanketing them. Outside, the snow had started falling again, thick, fluffy flakes painting a nearby window.

“I know you just had a shower,” she said finally, her voice soft and a little cautious, “but how do you feel about grabbing another one?”

As difficult as it was, Van was careful not to let his smile grow too big as he nodded. “Probably a good idea.”

Shifting off the bed, April held out her hand to him, waiting, and without a second of hesitation, Van grabbed it. Their fingers threaded around one another’s, and it felt right to have her smaller hand in his palm again—that was where it belonged.

And this was where he belonged. By April’s side. With her, all his worries fell away. He didn’t think about the fact that on this Thanksgiving, he’d become an escaped convict, or that someone out there was trying to beat him senseless. He just thought about her. He lost himself in her. Over and over again. Well into the morning.

All the while knowing that first light would change things, and even as they fell asleep, warm and nestled against one another, Van couldn’t be sure if the change would be for the better.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

April awoke with a deliciously pleasant soreness between her thighs and a warm body beside her in bed. She hadn’t meant to spend the night at the cabin, and when she’d opted to at the last possible moment, she told herself that she had to sleep in one of the smaller bedrooms. It didn’t matter which uncomfortable single bed she took, as long as she wasn’t sleeping next to Van. They weren’t ready for anything. Hell, they could barely have a conversation about nothing without it being awkward.

Yet, they’d done so much more last night than have a conversation about nothing. Repeatedly, in fact. Over and over again she’d fallen into Van’s arms, forgetting all the baggage they had in order to just enjoy herself with him. It had felt so good—so right—to have him between her thighs again, to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, and to sink her nails into his back. In fact…

As silently as she could, she rolled over and scanned his exposed back, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling when she spied a few lingering marks around his shoulder blades that she’d left with her nails. Thin red lines. Without thinking, she reached forward to trace them then pulled back when Van stirred. Her heart started to pound, as he rolled over to face her, and in those few possibly long seconds, all her fears and worries came hurdling back. Before he opened his eyes, she quickly darted out of bed and locked herself in the bathroom.

Luckily for him, all it took was a splash of cold water on her face to bring her back to her senses. Just because she didn’t want to dive back into a relationship with him right away didn’t mean they couldn’t interact at all. There were things April loved about Van that were beyond the physical realm; she could still enjoy all those things. They were less dangerous than touching, certainly.

However, once she was back in the room, she was lost to the look in his eye. He beckoned her back to bed with a nod and an extended arm, and they soon fell straight back into one another’s embrace. They hadn’t talked about them. She had no idea what Van was thinking as he kissed her, caressed her, ran his tongue along the soft crest of her breast, and wrapped his mouth over her nipple.

And a part of her didn’t care. She could sit in the dark for just a little while longer.

Instead of the frenzied, heated lovemaking they engaged in last night, April rode him lazily, cradled in his arms as his hips rose to meet hers. Foreheads touching, morning breath forgotten, they kissed and nibbled and lavished each other with sweet, sleepy affection until they’d both succumbed to the pleasure—April first, Van following shortly after. That was the only time he handled her roughly, thrusting forcefully into her, as she rode out her orgasm and Van came inside her with a groan. Sweetness was nice—and appreciated—but there was something about being manhandled by him that always left her wanting more.

However, once was enough. Maybe they both sensed it, and they both headed for a strictly platonic shower together before heading downstairs for something to eat. In her flighty panic, April hadn’t thought to pack anything more than the cans of beans and bread she’d given him last night, and she smiled when she opened the fridge. Clearly Mike—because Rabbit didn’t strike her as the caring sort—had been by earlier that morning with all the essentials. Wordlessly, she pulled out a carton of eggs and got to work on some fried eggs and toast. Van, meanwhile, set the table, glasses and cutlery clinking in the background.

Once the meal was served, they sat eating for a few minutes in silence, nothing but the crunch of toast and the slurp of coffee heard aside from the soft background noise of the radio.

“We should probably talk,” Van said finally, and her throat suddenly seemed too dry to get her latest bite down. April managed but with some effort before taking a large gulp of her coffee. “April—“

“We should talk,” she agreed, nodding, “but about something else first. Something I should have told you a long time ago.”

He slowly set his mug down, and then he leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on the table. “Okay.”

Where to start? She’d rehearsed this speech in her head so many times, but now that the spotlight was on her, she froze. Shaking her head, she cleared her throat and struggled for a few moments, the words simply not coming.

“Is it about us?”

“Sort of,” she replied, touched by the gentleness in his tone. “When you first called me to tell me you’d been arrested, I… I was ready to jump in the car and drive there that night to see you. I was ready to fight, because I knew you’d never do what you were accused of. I’ve always stood by that.”

When she glanced his way, Van’s eyes were fixed on his coffee mug, his forehead wrinkled in a slight frown.

“But my mom made me go back to your dad’s that night to talk, and he said we’d all go in the morning because all we’d do is sit around waiting until then at the station to see you anyway,” she continued, remembering that night as clear as day. She’d played it over and over again in her mind, wondering if she could have done something different to alter their lives. “I went to sleep in the guest house, and your dad…. He followed me out.” Van’s hand closed into a fist suddenly, and she gulped. “He threatened me again, like before, but worse. He said he’d hurt my mom if I didn’t call things off between us. He said she was… a cash cow, basically. That all he wanted was her money.” Her voice shook as she relayed that particular comment, fear and rage gripping her in equal measures. “He said he’d never leave me alone. That he’d kill her. That he’d make sure you went away for a long time… I… I had no choice.”

The silence that fell between them was so heavy, and for a moment, she thought he might not believe her. He’d always believed that there’d been some misunderstanding between her and his dad before, and she could only hope that this time things would be different. A darkness had crept across his features, and before she could stop him, he’d picked up his mug and hurled it across the room. It shattered as soon as it hit the wall, coating the floor in broken bits of ceramic.

“I didn’t want to believe that he would… do something like that,” Van seethed, anger radiating off him. “That he’d threaten to hurt you. I couldn’t. I knew he was a piece of shit in another life, but I thought your mom had changed him…”

Sighing, April swung her chair about the table so that they could sit next to one another again. She’d initially thought of kneeling beside him, but nixed the idea, feeling it was too intimate. Instead, she placed her hand on his shoulder, then let it fall down to his back, rubbing gently. His body heat was off-the-charts, though the tension slowly eased out of him as she rubbed his back, and when she pulled her hand back, he slumped in his chair.

“I don’t think anyone can change a guy like your dad,” she said tentatively. “Not a wife, not a friend, and not a son. It’s nobody’s responsibility by his, and I don’t think he really wants to change.”

“It was naïve of me to think it, I guess.”

April shook her head. “No one wants their dad to be an asshole.”

A psychopathic asshole at that.

“That’s putting it mildly, I guess,” Van said, as if reading her thoughts. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he sat up and placed a hand on her leg. “I’m so sorry he did that to you. I will never, ever let him hurt you. Never.”

She set her hand on top of his for a brief moment then pulled back. “Van. You say that, but he put you in jail—“

“What?!”

“That’s my theory, anyway,” April told him hastily, feeling the rage flare up again. “He… He had access to the bag. Hell, he set up the job that got you arrested. Maybe he even tipped off the cops, I don’t know. I don’t have the proof… aside from my gut instinct.”

And it wasn’t like her gut instinct would hold up in court. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips as she waited for his reaction, but it seemed like he just needed time. Rising, Van stalked out of the kitchen, and she heard him open and slam the front door. Worried that he might take her car and go off after his dad, she raced to the living room window, only to let out a deep breath again when she saw him sitting on the front steps in nothing but sweat pants and a t-shirt, something she assumed Mike had also left for him.

Pursing her lips, she grabbed the blanket she’d used last night and crept out onto the porch. Once she’d draped the fabric over his shoulders, she left a soft kiss on his cheek and moved back inside to clean up.

By the time he rejoined her, she was snuggled up in the living room in front of the fake fireplace—why they wouldn’t build a real one was beyond her—as she played games on her phone. There were a few missed calls from her mom, which she refused to return, and James had sent her a text message she didn’t dare open. Van shuffled across the polished hardwood then dropped down on the couch beside her.

“Sorry if I… exploded,” he muttered. “I just needed some time to think. And thanks for the blanket.”

“Can’t have you freezing to death.” April shifted into a more upright position, though she was careful not to cuddle up against him. “Who will protect me then?”

His mouth twitched at her joke, which she quickly realized was in poor taste.

“I’m going to round up some of the MC guys,” he told her after a brief pause. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“Let’s not forget you’re also on the run from the coppers,” April added, stiffening when he reached out to play with her hair. He smiled.

“I know. I’ll be careful, but my dad needs to pay for what he did, what he’s done for years.”

April nibbled her lower lip, wanting to tell him that she thought they should keep things casual until all of this was sorted out. After all, Van had a lot on his plate, and he didn’t need the relationship touchy-feely drama that they were bound to drudge up.

But he also didn’t have to have “the talk” either. He had enough to worry about. She’d tell him another day. So, when Van leaned in to brush his lips over hers, she let him, because he had enough to worry about.

…Right. 

CHAPTER THIRTY

April hadn’t been back to the Palmer estate in almost four days—and she didn’t care in the slightest. Sure, she’d left the cabin to run errands; there was almost no food or personal items once they’d gone through everything on the first day—and she and Van had taken a number of hikes around the semi-frozen lake together. She’d tried, to the best of her ability, to keep things platonic: no snuggling, cuddling, or spooning. It proved a little more challenging, however, when he kissed her, because that always led them down a road upon which April’s brakes were useless.

Luckily for her, Van still had a number of things on his mind, one of which was the meeting he’d thrown together with some of the power-players in the motorcycle club down at his bar. The place was closed for the night—for a special event, according to the sign on the door—and all of Van’s staff had agreed to keep his appearance on the down-low. They knew what type of man he was, and he wasn’t the type to carry drugs for anyone. But, to keep those who knew about Van’s presence in Cascade Falls to a minimum, there was a skeleton crew making the drinks and prepping the appetizers. April even helped with the serving so Van had less to worry about.

The meeting had gone well. It didn’t surprise her that the kind of guys Van had called were eager to put James Palmer in his place. They’d been sitting there quietly for years, trying to ignore all the behind-the-scenes bullshit that went on at the club—a group they genuinely loved being a member of, but no more. Apparently, turning on one’s kid was enough to send them over the edge.

Rabbit had been called back for one final job: find the evidence Van needed to prove his innocence. April suggested the man look around the Palmer estate to get the proof that James had framed him, maybe even nabbing the security cam footage in the garage where Van’s bike had been waiting for him that morning, to which Rabbit grumbled that he didn’t need help, especially from her, when it came to getting the job done. The April from a few months ago would have slunk off, frightened of a man like Rabbit. This April, however, had merely smiled and waved him off, immune to his antics.

“You call me if you need anything,” Ken Grisham remarked, patting Van on the arm, as the crowd of older bikers drifted to the door. It was getting close to midnight, and the meeting had been going since nine. After they’d come to the consensus that it was time to pull a Julius Caesar and oust their dictator, the men decided to call it a night. April stood next to Van, smiling at the few old grizzly bears who’d offered her a polite good night as they passed by.

“Will do, Ken.” Van gave the man an appreciative smile, and they waited until the last were out. In the background, the few bar staff working started clearing bottles and glasses off the tables, and April hastily followed Van toward the stairs after he wandered away.

“I think that went well,” she said, hurrying up after him. “I mean, they’re on your side, if anything.”

“Yeah, but they’ll only do something once we have the proof. We need to get that first, then they’ll publically support me when I kick my dad off his stupid throne.” He didn’t exactly sound tired, but he wasn’t operating at one hundred percent either. April couldn’t blame him. All of this was stressful enough, never mind the fact that, as of this moment, there were police officers out there hunting him, trying to put him back in a cage he didn’t belong in.

Once they were in his upstairs office, a tiny room stacked high with boxes of files, paperwork, and a brand new computer coated in a layer of dust, Van locked the door and leaned back against it with a smile.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning her to him with a slight nod of his head. She swallowed thickly, heat rising to her cheeks when she caught the hungry look in his eye. Here? He wanted to do that here? Taking a deep breath, she crossed her arms and shook her head.

“Van, we have to stop this.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Stop what?”

“This,” she emphasized as she pointed between them. “All the… you know...”

“Fucking?”

Her blush darkened.

“Yes, the fucking.” She stood a little taller, proud that her voice hadn’t shook. “It’s just muddying the waters, and you have enough to think about.”

His head tilted back as he observed her, and after a long moment of silence, he cleared his throat and said, “Did you fall out of love with me while I was locked up?”

The question threw her for a total loop, and April staggered back to sit in his cushy chair. Did he know his words were like a punch straight to the gut? That he’d winded her with just a simple—and yet not simple—question?

“No,” she whispered, feeling it better to be honest than to spare his feelings. Maybe they owed it to one another to be honest at this point anyway. “I didn’t.”

The response made his lips twitch, but he kept his expression neutral, like he was hiding a smile. “Good.”

“Did you fall in love with me while you were in there?” she asked after another brief pause, turning the spotlight around onto him. He shook his head.

“No. I loved you before I went in there.”

April let out a soft breath, once again winded by his words. They’d already caused each other enough pain—what was the point of denying what they both wanted now? Who would it help if she pretended she didn’t want him? Clearly, she’d already failed to keep her distance from him, just as she had failed to keep her distance when she first arrived at the start of the summer. Why change course now?

Why couldn’t she just let herself be happy and trust that things would work out? Distancing herself for Van’s sake seemed like nothing more than a pathetic excuse.

“April?” She looked up sharply at the sound of his voice, the depressing fog that had slowly clouded her vision cleared—and there was Van. Waiting for her. Patiently. He nodded to her again. “Come here.”

She stayed still for a long moment, knowing that this was a precipice that she ought not to cross. Her mind knew that there was the chance they could be separated again, that James could emerge triumphant—that someone could lock her away for helping Van hide from the law.

But in the end, she didn’t care. Not a single bit. All she saw was Van, offering her the same smile he had that night long ago, as they stood at the foot of the wooden bridge. Behind them, after-prom was well underway. Ahead of them was the guest cottage. The same excited tingle that had urged her forward then got her onto her feet now—and pushed her onward. Her heart hurt—and she was done trying to suture a broken heart that wouldn’t heal.

Van drew her into his arms once she was near, turning so that he pressed her back against the door. Closing her eyes, she smiled at the soft butterfly kisses he placed along her cheek, her jawline, her neck. It was the familiar first few steps of a dance that she never wanted to stop, and her fingers wove through his hair, pulling him close. His body warmed her. His kiss soothed away the fears. His hand slipped between them, cupping her, rubbing her, encouraging the heat between her thighs, and April let out a heady sigh.

This was what she wanted. It was time to let herself want, let herself need. No more restrictions. She was with him until this thing was done, one way or another.

The hiss he gave as he pushed into her wet heat, his cock stretching her inner walls, filling her in a way that was just right, sent a shiver through her body. Pressed up against the door, April wrapped her legs around him and kissed his lips and his neck, as she clung to his shoulders. Sometimes they were gentle with one another, but not tonight. No, tonight he took her harshly, feverishly, like a mad man finally getting his first taste of sanity—and he couldn’t let go. Like her, Van let himself be free, his emotions written brazenly across his face.

“April…” His soft whisper made her smile, and she nodded, tears welling as she studied him. He didn’t need to tell her again, but he did. He murmured declarations of love against her skin, the sweet words a contrast to his harsh thrusts, and April reveled in both.

“I know,” she murmured back. “Me too…”

They climaxed within moments of each other, first April, then Van, but even then they stayed together, wrapped in one another’s arms, unwilling to let go.

Not until it was absolutely necessary. Until they had no other choice to part.

And April dreaded the day.

***

In order to avoid suspicion, both Van and April agreed that she ought to go back to the Palmer estate, even if it was only for one night. After all, she was technically in Cascade Falls to see her mom, and the fact that she’d been away for almost a week already was bound to raise some questions. So, after the meeting at the bar, April dropped Van off at the safe house outside of town. A hood and hat hid his face the whole ride there, and then she headed back to the place she least wanted to be in the whole world, her mind reeling.

After all, she and Van had just confessed their love for one another. They hadn’t had the “we should keep things casual” talk that they should have had, and instead they seemed to be falling deeper and deeper into dark, dangerous—but also romantic and thrilling—waters. In a way, it felt right, like she finally had the confidence that they could actually swim this time, like neither she nor Van were destined to drown just because they admitted their feelings. Van belonged to her, just as she belonged to him. They were tied together by more than just family now, and there was a fight brewing in her. She wasn’t about to let him go now.

But as soon as she was back on that familiar road leading up to Van’s childhood home, a fear gripped her that she couldn’t shake. It eased somewhat when she spied Rabbit’s truck parked up the road, and although she didn’t actually see the man anywhere, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was somewhere on the property. Maybe he’d followed her suggestions after all. There was no way James would let April root around the house or the garage without demanding to know what she was doing, but if he didn’t suspect someone might be snooping…

A small smile touched her lips, as she pulled into the driveway—though it dropped quickly when she saw a flurry of lights flicker to life in all the windows at her arrival. At this time of the night, usually her mom would have been asleep, but since April had been gone for so long, she couldn’t help but wonder if everyone was waiting up for her.

She’d left her overnight bag at the safe house. If she hadn’t carried it out with her after the Thanksgiving dinner for “drinks with friends”, she wasn’t about to bring it back in. It only occurred to her as she approached the front door that she wasn’t wearing the same clothes, but she could smooth that one over easily enough: girls gave their friends a spare change of clothes all the time. She could—and planned to—say that the jeans and sweater she was currently wearing were borrowed.

April hadn’t made it more than two feet into the foyer before James was on her. He seemed to materialize out of nowhere, grabbing her arm and slamming her back against the front door. She bit her lip, the image of Van pushing her against another door earlier that night flashing across her mind, and she tried not to smile at the thought.

“Where have you been?” he spat, his words dripping with venom, spittle hitting her face. She flinched back, her nose wrinkling. “Take a trip over to the federal facility, huh?” His grip tightened, his face warped in rage, and April tried not to wince. “See a certain someone and maybe help him escape—“

“What the hell are you talking about?” She did her best to incorporate as much rage into her voice as James did. “I was visiting friends. A bunch of them were in town for Thanksgiving, and we decided to spend a few days together.”

He gave her a little shake, and her eyes narrowed. “Do I look like a fucking simpleton to you, April? Van broke out of prison the same week you arrive—“

“What?!” No one had ever complimented April on her acting skills, but she thought she was decent for the heat of the moment. “Van escaped?! Where is he? Is he okay? Why are you here and not with the police? He’d never do that!”

“Oh, spare me,” he growled, and she swore his fingertips had worked their way down to her bone. “I know you were behind all this—“

“April!”

James slowly released her at the sound of her mom’s voice, and she scuttled away as fast as she could toward the woman descending the nearby staircase.

“Where have you been?” her mom demanded, dragging her into a hug as soon as she was physically near enough to do so. April returned it, a shard of guilt stabbing at her for leaving that poor woman alone with James for so long. What the hell was he even capable of doing when no one was looking?

“I was visiting friends,” April said, her voice wobbly at the thought of lying to her. “Didn’t you get my messages?”

“No!” She huffed noisily in April’s ear, her breath blowing some of April’s thin hair out as she spoke. “Van’s broken out of prison! It’s a nightmare!”

“I know,” she said, as she pulled back, taking in the genuine anguish on her mom’s face over the news. “James just told me. I can’t… I can’t believe it.”

“Oh, honey, I know.” Her mom pushed her hair back and cradled April’s face in her hands. “You… You didn’t have anything to do with his escape, did you?”

She feigned a scandalized look, as James prowled around in the background. “Mom!”

“I just need to make sure,” the woman insisted, her eyes a little watery. “I mean, if you did, you could go to prison for aiding an escaped felon, and I couldn’t stand the thought of my baby—“

“I promise you,” April said, slowing her words down to calm her mom, who seemed on the verge of hysterics. “I had nothing to do with his escape.”

Which, in a way, was technically true. She had been the one to encourage Rabbit to finally accept the job, apparently, but she hadn’t physically gone to the prison and cut the hole in the fence. If anything, April had been a muse, and she could live with that.

“Maybe I should have the police over here anyway,” James suggested, and both women shot him a narrowed look. “I’m sure they’d like to take your statement.”

“Oh, yes, by all means,” April fired back, trying her hardest not to seethe, “bring them by. Maybe they can talk to you, too. I don’t know… Ask you some questions. I hear the police are pretty excited to catch James Palmer doing something—“

“April,” her mom admonished, as she placed a hand on her arm, the soft touch reeling her back in. “James. That’s enough. I’m sure the police will want to talk to us. We don’t need to bring them here and accuse each other of anything outlandish, do we?”

April’s hand pressed to her forehead, and she let out a long, weary sigh, all the while wondering if her mom knew more about James’s criminal activity than she was willing to let on.

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes darted between her mom and James, as if they were both included in her phony apology. “I’m just… so tired, and this is a lot to take in.”

“I know, honey.”

“Maybe we can talk about it in the morning?” she suggested, to which her mom nodded.

“Everything is clearer in the mornings,” the woman said, smiling. “That’s what my mom always used to say.”

Unable to help herself, she pulled her mom back in for another hug, squeezing a little harder this time. “I love you,” she whispered. It’d be over soon. Rabbit had to find something on James, and when he did, Van would kick him off his haughty throne with the help of the guys from the club. But James was good. He’d been doing this for years, covering his tracks and all. She had no idea how long it would take until Rabbit managed to get any dirt on him, and she wanted her mom out of this marriage yesterday.

“I love you too, honey,” her mom murmured, easing back and cupping her cheek. “You look exhausted. Off to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” April said with a chuckle. She then turned and hurried up the stairs, heading straight for the guest bedroom to spend a nerve-wracking night alone in James Palmer’s house—a night when he must have sensed something was afoot, regardless of her acting abilities. After firing a text to Van’s new disposable cell phone, she bolted the door and pushed the chest at the end of the bed in front of it.

Then, after climbing into bed, fell into a restless, lonely sleep, desperate for the day when she could freely curl up next to Van and know that everyone in her life, herself included, was safe and sound.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Van would have never thought that he’d be marching up the front steps of his childhood home just two short weeks after escaping prison with a mob of bikers behind him. Once more Rabbit had proved his worth: the man had dug up years’ worth of dirt on James, including a recording of James planting the drugs in Van’s bag, which had apparently been deleted from the main server but backed up elsewhere. This was why Rabbit demanded such a high price for his work; the man was effective at what he did.

When Van had first looked through all the evidence at the safe house, Mike at his side and April patched in on Mike’s phone loud-speaker, he wanted nothing more than to get up, find his dad, and bash the fucker’s face into the nearest hard surface. April was the one to calm him, as she’d always done, and together the trio worked up a rational approach to what was supposed to happen that evening. First, they needed to share their findings with the men who wanted James out. The more people who saw the evidence, the better.

Once the ol’ gang had had a look through all the files and footage and listened to all the recordings, they were ready to toss James out into the dirt. No one wanted to contact the police—not yet, anyway. Van was still on the run, and there were a few incriminating files on guys who’d worked for James in the past but were totally clean now. Van wasn’t there to throw anyone under the bus, but it was time for his dad to go—far, far away.

As always, the front door was bolted shut, but a quick text to April let her know that justice had arrived. She was there in a flash, and when she opened the door, it took all his self-restraint not to pull her into his arms and kiss her. She’d spent most of her time flitting between the safe house the Palmer estate, and all the sneaking around had taken a toll on her. Heavy bags sat under her eyes, and she seemed paler than he remembered—paler than he liked, too. Once this was over, he planned to treat her like goddess she was: massage dates and home-cooked meals courtesy of him. Hell, he was ready to spring for a trip somewhere warm and tropical to thank her for everything she’d done.

And to show her just how much he loved her.

But he couldn’t express any of that in the heat of that moment, not with twenty guys waiting in the freezing cold, their blood boiling at the thought of all the shit his dad had pulled over the years.

“He’s in his study,” she said softly, as the crew traipsed in, and Van couldn’t resist pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. She leaned in, her hand falling to his arm, and it physically pained him to pull back.

“What is going on here?” Renee O’Hara-Palmer was a loose end they needed to tie up, but that was April’s job. The woman had suddenly emerged from the kitchen area, no doubt drawn by the noise. Van assumed April had kept her in the kitchen so that she and James weren’t together when everyone arrived. She’d been desperate to get her mom out of this marriage, and Van couldn’t blame her. When he promised he’d keep her and her mom safe, he meant it. 

“Mom,” April said as she crossed the foyer, her hands up to catch the woman. Van, meanwhile, moved toward the spiral staircase, his little gang in tow. Over his shoulder, he heard April say, “We need to talk.”

Four words he hoped she’d never say to him—unless it was about her being pregnant. He could handle that “we need to talk” conversation at this point.

Just as April had said, Van found his father in the grandiose second floor study, seated behind an obnoxious desk whose corner had given Van a concussion when he’d fallen into it as a kid. The man looked up as soon as Van stepped into the room, his thick eyebrows downturned. Then, he threw his pen at the paperwork he’d been writing on.

“What the hell is this?” the old man demanded, his eyes flitting to all the other bikers before resting squarely on Van. “Looking to add a couple decades to your sentence? What the hell were you thinking breaking out of prison?”

“I was thinking that I shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” Van said, determined to keep his voice steady, as he stared at dad down. Somewhere behind him, someone shut the door firmly, and James rose to his feet. “I was thinking that someone had framed me, and I had to find out who. And now I know.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“It’s time for you to go, Dad,” Van announced, his supporters nodding beside him. “Your time in the club is over.”

James gave a sharp, barking laugh, his arms folding over his chest. “What is this? A mutiny?”

“Cut the crap, James,” Mike said, murmurs of agreement following. “We’ve turned a blind eye to your underhanded bullshit for years. You turned a respectable club into what everyone on the outside expects it to be. Drugs. Trafficking. Getting your boys involved in gang disputes. Putting your son in prison!”

“That’s nothing but a bunch of gossipy bullshit,” his dad stated with a slight shake of his head. “What are we? A bunch of women complaining? How I conduct my business is none of your concern—“

“It’s not just your business,” Ken barked, and the intonations of agreement grew louder this time. “As president, you make the best decisions you can for us. The club belongs to its members, not some dictator who’s been on his high-horse for too many years.”

Van couldn’t help but smile. He barely needed to say anything. As soon as the gang got started, they dug right into his dad, no holds barred. It seemed, for the first time in years, that people weren’t afraid of James Palmer anymore. Hell, even when he threatened to contact the police, all Van needed to do was show him the overwhelming amount of evidence that would land him a life behind bars.

James threw some of the files into his hearth with a snarl, watching as the paper curled in the flame.

“All of our files are backed up in multiple locations,” Van announced. “If you retaliate in any way, threaten anyone, we’ll send it to every police precinct in the state.”

“It’s over, Palmer,” Mike added, setting a reassuring hand on Van’s shoulder, as the two blocked the man’s escaped. “Your era has come to an end.”

***

April couldn’t let out a full breath until James’s car was off the driveway and hurrying away, a few bikers tailing him. Once he was officially gone, she let out a soft gasp and collapsed onto the bed in the guestroom she’d been using since she returned to Cascade Falls. Down the hall, her mom was heartbroken, but not completely surprised to learn about everything James had done. Apparently she’d always had a suspicion about him, but he’d never done anything to her specifically that made her want to follow-up on her feelings.

The look on her face when April told her that it was most likely James who had burned down her boutiques… Well, that was a look that would haunt April until the end of her days. She was thrilled that the old bastard had finally been chased out of town, forced out by Van and his gang of good guy bikers under an intense amount of blackmail, but she couldn’t help but feel guilty that she hadn’t done something sooner. All of this could have been avoided from the start if she’d just told someone about that day she and Van had had a paint fight and James threatened her in the bathroom. So much heartache. So much agony.

A soft tap on the door tore her from her thoughts, and April sat up quickly as Van slipped inside. The large house had finally fallen silent, the voices of the other bikers no longer echoing through the expansive halls and high-ceilinged rooms.

“Hey,” he said, crossing the room quickly to sit with her. “Are you okay?”

She shrugged, though she couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips as she touched her hand to his cheek. He was so warm; she missed having him in her bed. “Better now. Is he… gone?”

“Yes.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “Yes, he’s gone.”

Exhaling shakily, April fell into his arms and let Van cradle her to him. This was what she wanted. Right there, in that moment… This was what made everything worthwhile.

As always when they were wrapped up in each other’s arms, it wasn’t long before their lips met. Gentle at first, she soon found herself pressed back against the bed, Van’s hips nestled between her readily parted thighs. He ground against her, as his mouth plundered hers, their tongues darting out to meet like old friends. All she wanted was to feel him, to taste him. She wanted him buried deep inside her, as she wrapped her arms around her neck, moaning in reckless abandon as they savored their victory.

But she’d been selfish enough.

“Van,” she whispered, arching her head up and out of his reach. He shot her a feral, hungry smile before adorning her neck with heated kisses, ones that sent wave after wave of need and desire pulsing through her. It would have been so easy to give in him, but she couldn’t. There was a sobbing woman down the hall who needed—and deserved—her undivided attention, even if it was only for tonight. “Wait, wait…” April sat up on her elbows and tried to wriggle away, but Van held tight, his fingertips pressing into her. “Wait.”

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, a flicker of concern flashing amidst the desire. She shook her head, as she took a few deep breaths.

“No, no, it’s just…” She cleared her throat, partially regretting stopping him. “I should be with my mom tonight. She’s pretty torn up that her marriage is basically over.”

She noticed how he bit down on his back teeth, jaw clenched in a way that wasn’t annoyance, just mild disappointment.

“You should be with her,” he said after a long moment, finally nodding and easing up on his grip. Her body protested the loss of contact, arching up against him before she reined her libido in. Van smirked, no doubt realizing that stopping was killing her just as much as it pained him. He then cupped her between her thighs, rubbing just enough to make her gasp, and whispered devilishly, “I suppose I can wait until tomorrow night to fuck you senseless.”

April let out a shaky breath, and it was Van who pulled away at last, taking with him the ceaseless tension that would drive her crazy if he stayed.

“I gotta get back to the safe house anyway,” he said with a sigh, running his hands through his hair as she straightened her clothes out. “There’s still a lot to do.”

But the most important goal was achieved: James Palmer, right now, was fleeing Cascade Falls with his tail between his legs. The thought brought a smile to her face, one that couldn’t be wiped away easily.

Hand-in-hand, they walked down to the front door, where Van pinned her against the wall once more to ravish her with his mouth, his lips, his teeth, and his tongue, before heading out into the dark, frigid night. April watched him go, her arms crossed, and smiled brighter once he was in Mike’s waiting car. She waved when someone honked at her, not going back into the Palmer estate—well, perhaps now the O’Hara estate, given the current occupants—until they disappeared down the main road.

And for the first time in a long time, April could let Van go, knowing that she would see him again and that they would be in one another’s arms soon.

Free and unburdened, like they were always meant to be.

EPILOGUE

“Hello, love of my life!”

June’s exuberance echoed through the already busy little train station, and April waved her over, practically bouncing on the spot. Her best friend was visiting Cascade Falls for the first time, for New Years Eve of all things, and she was going to stay a few days because, well, because she could. The woman wasn’t working these days, and she had plenty of time to kill between trips to the Caribbean and Hawaii, so April almost felt honored that she’d be spending one of the biggest holiday party days of the year in Cascade Falls with April—and Van.

In fact, meeting Van was one of the reasons June was so thrilled to come down. After a month of delivering evidence that would exonerate him in the eyes of the police and the local court, Van was finally released to her on Christmas Eve. Even if he was on probation for breaking out of prison, he was the best Christmas gift she’d ever received.

“Now, am I still the love of your life?” June asked after they’d hugged and greeted one another, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. April’s cheeks flushed, and the woman let out a laugh. “Ah, I’d thought not.”

“Of course you are,” she said, grabbing one of June’s bags and heading for the exit. “You just have to share the title now.”

The woman sniffed dramatically, which made April grin. “I’ll allow it, I suppose.”

They trudged through the snowy parking lot together, braving the bitter winds before throwing themselves in April’s mom’s car.

“How’s your mom taking your relationship?” June asked through chattering teeth, as April fiddled with the controls, eventually blasting them with lukewarm air as the engine heated up. “You told her, right?”

“Last week,” April replied. She shoved on a pair of gloves, the steering wheel too cold to grip without them. “We w-wanted to wait until Van was out of c-court and everything.”

Her mom wasn’t entirely surprised to learn that April and Van were in love, and while she wasn’t thrilled with it when April had first told her, she slowly seemed to be warming to the idea. It was probably hard for any parent to learn that some kid was fooling around with their daughter, and April planned to give her as much time as she needed. For now, all three lived in the Palmer estate, which had been rightfully signed over to Van. In the meantime, her mom’s divorce proceedings inched along, all the documents signed through the mail.

No one knew where James Palmer had run off to, but after an anonymous source—April suspected Mike—had delivered all the evidence against the man to the local police, she had a feeling they wouldn’t be seeing or hearing from the old bastard anytime soon.

After they’d dropped June’s bags off at home, April took her straight down to Van’s bar. It was closed for the day, as the staff prepared for the festivities that night, and when she and June strolled in, she was blown away by how different everything looked. Gone was the tacky wall art and florescent signs, and in its place, New Year’s decorations—banners and strings, black and white photographs of past celebrations, and twinkling strings of Christmas lights that looked suspiciously like the ones missing from their grand Christmas tree back at the estate. April grinned.

“Oh my god,” June gasped, grabbing at April’s arm. “Who is that?”

She turned in the direction June was gawking, only to find Van hurrying down the stairs. Dressed casually in a plain gray t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, he looked positively divine. Life out of prison was treating him well. He’d regained much of the muscle he’d lost while locked away, and his cheeks had lost the sunken quality that made her heart hurt when she first saw him on the night of his escape. There were long red marks down his back, animalistic and probably a little raw, courtesy of April—but no one else would ever know of their existence.

“Oh, him?” She beamed when their eyes met, the intensity between them as hot as ever. “That’s my stepbrother Van… and he’s all mine.”

THE END

Read on for your FREE Bonus Book – Animal

ANIMAL

PROLOGUE

“What do you mean she’s in the hospital?” Isabel walked away from her circle of laughing friends to better hear what the faceless woman on the other end of the phone was saying to her.

“I know this must come as a bit of a shock, she’d been doing so well, but these things tend to go one way or another pretty quickly.” The kind voice did nothing to assuage the rapid beating of Isabel’s heart.

“What things? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I spoke to her a couple of days ago and she was fine and now you’re telling me she’s in the ICU. What happened?” Isabel thought about the most likely explanation: her mother had hurt herself doing repairs on the Victorian boarding house that was her pride and joy. “Did she fall off a ladder or something? Has she broken anything?” The idea of her mother immobilized was pretty impossible to imagine. Caroline Bishop hadn’t been still a day in her life; she wouldn’t know what do with a broken arm or leg.

The pause on the other end of the line was so long it made Isabel wonder if she had lost the connection.

“She hasn’t broken anything, Miss Bishop.” The tone of the kindly nurse was suddenly uncertain.

“Issy, you coming? We’re going to be late for class.” Amy waved her over as she and the rest of their little group started heading towards the medics’ building at the far end of the quad.

“I’ll catch up with you guys.” Isabel waved them on, before going back to her cell. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Miss Bishop, I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized you weren’t aware of your mother’s condition.”

Condition, the word was laden with possibilities Isabel didn’t want to consider.

“What condition? What are you talking about?’ The frustration in her voice was clear and she didn’t do anything to hide it, a fact she would regret later, but was too caught up to think about just then. “Look, this must be some kind of a mistake.”

The noise of rustling as the nurse goes through her paperwork is a welcome distraction to the sound of Isabel’s blood pumping through her body as if it were trying to escape. Finally the nurse found the page she was looking for. “I’m speaking with Isabel Bishop, only daughter of Caroline Bishop residing at No 11, Skyline Drive?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Isabel shook her head as she confirmed it, still not understanding what was going on. “But I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why is my mother in hospital?”

“It would be much easier to explain in person, when you get here,” the nurse said as if it were a foregone conclusion.

“Get there? I’m in Dallas! I have a class that I’m already late for. I can’t just come to Chicago!” Isabel looked towards the direction her friends had already disappeared off into. Rationally, she knew she was rambling, that she was in shock, but it was hard to be rational when it felt like your life was about to change.

“We don’t know how much longer she’ll be conscious for and she’s been asking for you.” The nurse’s voice was soothing, as if that would soften the content of what she was saying. “She’s very sick, Isabel.”

Images of her mother ran through Isabel’s mind. Caroline Bishop was a force of nature. She was vital, beautiful, the center of any party, the focus of the boarding house that she had run for so many years. In her late forties, she looked ten years younger. She was fit and healthy and the most capable person Isabel had ever known. She couldn’t imagine her mother unconscious, lying in a hospital bed with tubes sticking out of her. The images just didn’t make any sense.

“How bad is it?” Isabel gripped her cellphone hard in her hands, frightened she might fall if she let go.

“How soon can you get here?” There was no mistaking the tone in the nurse’s voice; Isabel had heard it time and time again at the hospital where she was doing some of her training.

CHAPTER ONE

“It’s terminal.” The voice reaches Isabel’s ears from far away, pulling her out of her memories.

“Sorry?” She blinks her brown eyes wide, suddenly very awake.

The older man gives her a strange look, as if he’s wondering if he should be dealing with an actual adult instead of the doe-eyed twenty-two year old in front of him. “Your pipes, they’re terminal.”

He gestures with his wrench and Isabel follows it with her eyes to the floor of the basement, her basement, which is now submerged in two inches of water.

“It doesn’t look like they’ve been updated since this place was built.” The plumber shakes his head in disbelief, as if he can’t imagine how anyone could be so careless. “The house needs a complete overhaul, starting here. Otherwise this won’t be the first leak you’re going to have.” He gives her a warning look as if to emphasize his point.

There’s no need; Isabel is already well aware of how dire the situation is. She’s the one who’s going to have to bail the water out of the basement as if it were boat. The plumber, or Bob as his uniform loudly proclaims, starts packing up his tools and Isabel is gripped by a mild panic. “Wait! What are you doing? You’re not going to fix it now?” She points at the pipe in the ceiling that is still gushing water.

He sighs heavily as if she were asking him for the moon. “It’s an emergency call-out so that’ll be time and a half.” He gives her an appraising look, not bothering to hide the fact that he clearly doesn’t think she has that kind of cash. Isabel has to admit that he wouldn’t be completely wrong. Bob seems to take pity on her, seeing something in her face that makes him a little more amenable. “I knew your mother.” His voice is gruff and he doesn’t look her in the eye, as if the mere thought of having a crying woman on his hands is enough to terrify him. “I was sorry to hear about her passing.”

“Thank you.” Isabel nods quickly, the words coming out of her mouth automatically, without her even having to think about them anymore. For a while she had puzzled over what the appropriate response was to all the ‘we’re sorry for your loss’ commiserations she’d received in the weeks after her mother’s death. She’d learned pretty quickly that a quick thank you was the best way to close what was inevitably an awkward conversation for all concerned.

“I’m sure I can give you a good deal.” Bob gives her a reassuring smile and an awkward pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks.” She breathes a little easier at the thought of a discount; she sorely needed something to lighten the load right now. “Knock yourself out.” Isabel gestures for him to go ahead before she trudges up the stairs.

She makes her way to the office that had been her mother’s. The room still held all of her things: her pens with their chewed tops, her diary with scrawls that were indecipherable to anyone apart from her. Isabel falls more than sits in the chair that she’d christened as ‘the spinney chair’ when she was a kid playing at working. Now sitting in it, faced with the piles of bills in front of her, it doesn’t seem nearly as much fun as it had back then.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Mom?” She looks at the framed picture on the desk, one of the only items she had brought into the space. It was her favorite picture of her mother laughing at some unknown joke, her head thrown back as she clutched a dark-haired serious-looking girl in her arms, Isabel.

It is still so hard to accept the fact that she is gone, that her mother is gone and she is never coming back. No amount of hoping or wishing will change that. Three months have gone by and the loss of her still hits Isabel with such force. It’s like a weight on her chest that makes it hard to breathe.

She rubs her temples, forcing herself not to cry. If she succumbed to that feeling every time she thought about her mother, she wouldn’t be able to function and that is exactly what she needs to do now. Now she’s the only person she can rely on; there is no one else. She is alone.

Isabel takes a deep breath and plunges into the pile of bills in front of her. Electricity, gas, water, taxes, taxes, and more taxes, the mortgage repayments – everything is behind; it is all way behind and way past due. It had taken a while to understand where all the money had gone. The Bishops had never been flush but they’d been comfortable. Isabel’s father had been a cop and his pension still comes through every month but it isn’t a fortune – being killed in the line of duty apparently doesn’t buy your family any kind of real security after the fact.

It’s funny; thinking about her father has never really made Isabel sad, because she barely knew him. He had been shot and killed when she was only four. She has no real memory of him, nothing other than the vague silhouette of him drawn from her memories and the stories her mother used to tell. Caroline Bishop had only been in love once.

When Isabel had asked her why she’d never remarried or even dated anyone else – it wasn’t as if her mother lacked admirers, after all – she looked at Isabel as if she were mad. “Because I’m still married to your father.” She held up the finger where she still wore his ring and that had been the end of the conversation.

Isabel often wonders if she will ever love someone like her mother had loved her father. It seemed unlikely – theirs was a love from another time. Unbidden, thoughts of Mike filter into Isabel’s mind and she pushes them away. That is a whole other can of worms she isn’t ready to deal with just yet. He’d been her closest friend in Dallas, but the night before she’d got the call about her mother they had slept together. They had both had too much to drink at a party, but Isabel knew that was a poor excuse for ruining what she had thought would be a life-long friendship. Now Mike seems to want to take their relationship to the next level and Isabel avoids his calls.

Since that night, he has offered to come to Chicago and help her with the boarding house any number of times, but she knows she has no intention of ever taking him up on it. Doing so would send completely the wrong signal and confuse things even more. But that wasn’t the only reason that she is avoiding Mike’s calls; he also has a habit of asking her the question she can’t answer. Isabel thinks back to their last conversation.

“When are you coming back?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, just expectant.

“I don’t know, Mike. There’s still so much to sort out here.” Isabel had been in the middle of trying to figure out her mother’s booking system when he’d called and it felt like she was trying to understand Greek.

“You’re the best student in the class. I think this is pretty much the definition of extenuating circumstances. I bet if you asked the school, they’d let you repeat the year once you’re done in Chicago.” His tone was soft but it wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned her return as if it were a foregone conclusion.

“I don’t know when I’m going to be ‘done,’ Mike.” She’d raised her voice, the floodgates of her frustration, pain, and sadness over the previous few days had needed a release and he had been the nearest punching bag. “My mother is dead, Mike. She’s dead and I didn’t even know that she was sick! And now I have this house, this business. I have tenants and I have no idea what the hell it is that I’m doing! I’m fighting my way through the medical bills that have taken pretty much every last cent we had so right now I can’t even afford a plane ticket back to Dallas, even if I wanted one. So the answer is I don’t know, Mike. I don’t know when I’m going to be ‘done.’”

She paused for breath, sniffing hard against the inevitable onslaught of tears. Crying was something she’d become very good at since she’d lost her mom. She’d managed to keep it all in while her mother was dying in front of her in the hospital bed; she’d even managed to remain stoic and strong during the funeral. It was only once all the well-wishers had left and she was finally alone in the house with Jamie, the house that had always been filled with love and laughter and noise and the smell of her mother, that Isabel had allowed herself to cry. She had turned it into a rule, she wouldn’t cry in front of anyone, only when she was alone. It was the only way that she could stop herself from mourning her mother 24/7.

“Issy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.” The kindness in Mike’s voice made her feel like a complete bitch for letting rip at him. “I just miss you. I miss us.”

Isabel swallowed hard. She wasn’t sure that one night together constituted an ‘us’ but now wasn’t the time to have that particular debate.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bitten your head off like that. I know you were just trying to help.” She sighed deeply, rubbing her tired eyes as her mother’s scrawl swam in front of her. “You’re a good friend, Mike.”

“I hope I’m more than that.” He paused, as if he were expecting her to say something. “You know when you want to come back, whenever that is, I can get you a flight.”

“I know.” She smiled into her cellphone. Mike’s family was old money – Texas oil – and he had always been generous with his cash, but never flashy. He was handsome, rich, and sweet; most women would fall at his feet. But Isabel wasn’t most women. “And you know I don’t like to take favors from friends.”

Mike barked a laugh and she could almost hear him shaking his head at her. It was a discussion they’d had more than once. “Then don’t think of it as a favor; think of it as a loan. You can pay me back when you’re a rich and famous thoracic surgeon.”

Isabel smiled; he had said ‘when’ not ‘if’ she became a surgeon. His certainty was enviable, something she had once possessed. She had been so sure for pretty much all of her life she wanted to be a doctor. She’d studied hard and, despite thinking that they didn’t have the money for college, her mother had somehow found the cash. To this day Isabel still hadn’t been able to figure out where her mother had come up with it.

After college, Isabel had been accepted to medical school. She’d had her pick from Stanford to Columbia, but the only school that offered her what she needed – a full-ride scholarship – was Dallas, so in the end it had been a no-brainer. She’d worked so hard for so long and then when she got the call about her mom, it was as if everything had stopped. Her world had flipped on a dime. Now she didn’t know what she was going to do, if she would ever be able to go back to school, if she’d ever be a doctor.

“So how’s the sale going? Any interest yet?” Mike was filling the silence, knowing her mind was elsewhere. He knew her far too well.

Isabel chewed her bottom lip, not wanting to lie to him but knowing what his reaction would be to the truth. “Ummm…pretty slow actually.”

“Issy, I thought you were going to speak to realtors.” There was no judgment in Mike’s voice but it hurt just the same.

“I was, but the house isn’t in any fit state to sell at the moment. It needs a lot of work done before I would be able to get anything close to market value for it.” Isabel knew her point was a valid one, but it wasn’t the only reason she hadn’t called any of the realtors her mother’s lawyer had recommended to her.

In the past, Isabel had never understood why her mother hadn’t sold the house once her father had died. They could have downsized. Her mom wouldn’t have had to worry about mortgages or tenants or any of the stuff she knew must have kept her mother awake at night. It was only now, that her mother had left the house to her, that Isabel started to understand her reasoning. The house was inextricably linked to her mother. Aside from her clothes and her room, which Isabel hadn’t been able to bring herself to clear out yet, it was the only thing Isabel had left of her. Her mother had loved that house and selling it to a stranger to live in or, worse, knock down just seemed wrong.

Rationally, she knew her mother had never wanted her to leave medical school, that she had never thought Isabel would have to run the house. But Isabel couldn’t see any way around it, not at the moment, anyway. So many times Caroline Bishop had encouraged her to make something of herself, to follow her dreams, to have great adventures. Out of habit, her hand went to the pocket of her jeans where the letter her mother had written her now remained. She kept it with her at all times, as if it would make her feel just a little closer to the woman she had loved more than anything else in the world.

“You know I’m here if you need me, Issy.” Mike’s tone was soft, leaving Isabel under no illusion that he wasn’t just talking about help with selling the house.

“I know. Thanks, Mike. Talk later.” Isabel ended the conversation before they could go any deeper down a path she wasn’t ready for yet. She wondered if she ever would be.

Isabel had a habit of getting involved with guys where there was no hope of a relationship, she had always been so focused on school, on her goals for the future that men had taken a distant back seat. More than once, she’d slipped out of a guy’s bed in the early hours of the morning without leaving a note or a number. Her friends teased her, telling her she was as bad as the guys they had slept with only never to hear from again. She never denied it; it was just the way she was. She didn’t do relationships, didn’t need them. Finishing school and getting her career kick started were too important for anything else to get in the way.

The morning after their drunken sex, Isabel had expected Mike to be as embarrassed as she had been, but nothing could have been farther from the truth. But with Mike, it had been different. She knew him too well to be able to sneak out of his apartment before the sun was up, so she’d only made it as far as the kitchen. He’d found her there, on about her seventeenth cup of coffee. He’d wanted to have ‘the conversation’ and she had to physically stop herself from bolting for the door. She’d managed to distract him and avoid having a real discussion about what happened between them and now she was in Chicago and he was in Dallas. She’d managed to convince herself geography was enough of a reason to delay the inevitable. She didn’t want to break Mike’s heart, but she knew she was going to have to. She simply didn’t feel the same way about him as he so clearly did her.

The memory of their conversation makes her head hurt even more than the figures she’s staring at, as if looking at them alone would make any kind of a real difference. Isabel has no idea how her mother used to make it look so easy to run the boarding house. She can’t remember a time when the place hadn’t been full, when things hadn’t operated like clockwork. Caroline Bishop was warm organized and capable, no job too big or too small. That’s why her tenants kept coming back year after year. But when she died, the regulars started to dwindle away, too. Now, trying to get enough tenants just to make ends meet has been proving a challenge. That combined with the debilitating debt her mother’s illness left Isabel with isn’t exactly a winning combination.

Her mother hadn’t even had time to take out life insurance. Her illness had been quick and lethal, the former of which Isabel could at least be grateful for. She’d had a long talk with her mother’s oncologist. Caro – as he had called her – had only been diagnosed two months before she died. The tumors in her system had been there for years, lying in wait, intruders ready to pounce. Her symptoms had been easy to dismiss as tiredness or stress, until it was too late. Isabel had insisted on looking at the scans; to this day she’s not even really sure why. Perhaps it was a way of facing the silent killer that had attacked her mother from the inside. Whatever peace Isabel had thought the confrontation might give her, she had been sorely mistaken.

A buzz from her cell interrupts her train of thought.

Hope you’re not ugly crying, Bishop.

She smiles as she reads the message from Jamie, her best friend from home. Jamie and Isabel had grown up together, joined at the hip from kindergarten to the end of high school despite the fact the two couldn’t have been more different if they tried. Jamie was petite and blonde where Isabel was tall and dark with exotic looks that came from her father. But it wasn’t just the physical that made people question what they had in common. Where Isabel was academic and studious, Jamie was artistic and carefree. Isabel was valedictorian; Jamie was head cheerleader. Isabel had gone to college and is studying to become a doctor and Jamie had moved to New York to intern at a fashion magazine.

Through it all, they had remained the best of friends. Jamie had a way of making Isabel laugh like no one else. She was blunt and straight-talking, two traits Isabel appreciated even more in the wake of her mother’s death. Some people had been shocked at the way Jamie had treated Isabel during the funeral. Instead of commiserations and sad smiles, Jamie had told her not to cry because it would ruin her makeup and that the black dress she had chosen for the occasion was fashion suicide. Outsiders hadn’t understood that Jamie’s normalcy and her stalwart refusal to act as if anything had changed was exactly what Isabel needed. And when everyone had left the house and it was just Jamie and Isabel, Jamie had held her hand and rubbed her back when she finally broke down.

How rude! I am NOT an ugly crier. How you doing? Still busy trying to feed the models?

The glamour of Jamie’s job is completely in keeping with her personality, but she always sticks to her roots, trying to persuade the paper-thin models to eat chocolate bars she smuggled into the shoots every now and again.

Honey, don’t kid yourself. EVERYONE is an ugly crier! Now get back to work, slacker! Call you later. x

Isabel smiles before placing the cell carefully back down on the table. She will talk to Jamie about what to do. She’ll ask her advice about the house and about school. Jamie is the one person Isabel can rely on not to pull any punches and not to judge. She will tell Isabel exactly what she thinks and, as Isabel had learned over the many years they’d been friends, Jamie has an annoying habit of being right.

Isabel knows her friends back in Dallas, with the possible exception of Mike, haven’t really understood why she had left med school with no fixed plans of returning. They think she’s being dramatic. Jared – the aspiring Psychiatrist of the group – had suggested she was traumatized over the death of her mother and was acting out. The simple truth is that she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do anymore, or even really who she’s supposed to be. When she lost her mother, Isabel also lost a part of herself that she’d always taken for granted. Her mother had been her North, the one constant in her life, the one person outside of herself she could always depend on, that she dared to depend on. Now she is well and truly on her own.

“You’re all set there.” The plumber’s voice makes her jump out of her chair. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He gives her a curious look and makes a calming gesture with his hands. “Anyway, your pipe’s all patched and you’re good to go. But you really do need to get your plumbing redone. It’s not a pretty picture.” He shakes his head and hands over his card. “My fee is on the back.” He winks at her conspiratorially.

Isabel smiles back as she turns the card over before she feels her eyes bug out of her head. “Hey, umm…Bob…I thought you said you could work in a discount for me?” Isabel struggles to get the words out around the lump in her throat.

“That figure,” he points at the slip of paper he’s just handed her, “that’s with the discount. Call me when you want me to start and it’s fifty percent up front.” He saunters out of the room, leaving Isabel to blink blankly at the figure that’s so far over and above what she can afford she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Isabel remains with the business card in her hands for a good few minutes after she’s heard the door close. Now what the hell is she going to do? Where is she supposed to get that kind of money from?

CHAPTER TWO

A familiar bang wakes Isabel up from just sitting and staring at the figure the plumber has placed in front of her. She’s come to dread that noise and, not for the first time, she thinks about abdicating her responsibility of the boarding house and running back to Dallas as fast as her long legs will carry her. But today, like all the days before, will not be that day. Isabel Bishop may be many things but she isn’t a quitter.

She sighs heavily as she makes her way over to the cupboard under the stairs. When she was a kid she had been afraid of it, primarily because it was dark and dank and generally full of spiders. But also because of the strange banging noises that would emanate from it, usually in the middle of the night, which had convinced her that a poltergeist had made it his home.

It was only when Isabel was entering her teen years that she’d realized the ghostly sound actually came from the ancient house’s water boiler. Her mother would routinely emerge from the cupboard with her sleeves rolled up, wrench in hand, having solved the problem of the banging without even breaking a sweat. It was one of the many ways \ Caroline Bishop had run the boarding house with ease and grace. She had an infuriating habit of making everything look easy, something Isabel seriously doubted she would ever be able to manage.

Isabel yanks open the door of the cupboard, hands on her hips, gunslinger style. “So, old friend, we meet again.”

The banging is louder now that the door is open and Isabel can’t help but remember the plumber’s disgust at the state of their pipes. She wonders what he would say if he heard this racket. She fiddles with buttons and dials on the side of the monstrosity, not having any idea what she’s doing, only knowing it’s worked before. If anything, the banging gets even louder and Isabel starts to wonder if the machine might just explode and take her and the whole house with it and, in that moment, she’s not convinced it would be such a bad thing.

Isabel shakes her head, telling herself that line of thought isn’t going to help anyone. “Come on, Issy, you were training to be a surgeon for Christ’s sake! You were going to fix people’s hearts! You can figure out how this freakin’ ancient hunk of junk works.” She mutters to herself as she rolls up her shirtsleeves and bites her lip, putting on what Jamie refers to as her ‘concentration face.’

After a few minutes of fiddling with dials, Isabel is less convinced she’s up to the task of preventing the boiler from what seems to be an inevitable impending disaster. In that moment, the hunk of metal in front of her becomes the focus of all her frustrations, all of her anger and she finds herself all out of patience. “Come on, you piece of crap!” She levels a sharp kick to the side of the boiler, barely noticing the jolt of pain vibrating through her foot. “Work, goddam you, you stupid, crappy piece of trash!” Her language loses its imagination as her sense of frustration threatens to reach epic proportions.

She kicks the water heater again, but this time her anger doesn’t shield her from the pain of metal hitting her toes, which just makes her madder, as if the boiler had grown arms, reached out and hurt her. She starts hammering on the side of the boiler with her hands, her fists, her feet, letting out all the anger she feels on the immovable inanimate object in front of her. She only stops when she runs out of energy, pausing to breathe in heavily.

“You feel any better after that?” The low, husky voice from behind her makes her spin around, half-jumping out of her skin in shock.

Her mouth opens and closes, doing a pretty good impression of a codfish as she faces the man standing in front of her. Her throat goes dry as she takes in his dark eyes, dancing with amusement, the wry smile his mouth is forming, which makes her heart do a flip-flop in her chest. He’s tall, despite the fact that he’s leaning against the doorframe looking all relaxed and sexy in his perfectly-fitting jeans and black leather jacket. The look he’s giving her tells her he knows exactly what she’s thinking and she starts blushing like a schoolgirl.

When she finally recovers the power of speech she folds her arms over her chest and gives him a narrow-eyed look. “You know, it’s not polite to sneak up on people.”

He raises his eyebrows, making no move to wipe the amused smirk off of his face. “With all the racket that was going on, I thought someone was being attacked.” He looks between her and the boiler. “I hadn’t realized you were just going to town on a poor, defenseless, hunk of metal.”

Isabel feels herself blush again. Since when does she blush? She’s fully aware of how ridiculous she must look to this mystery man right now. “Trust me, that hunk of metal has a seriously bad attitude. He had it coming.” She rolls her eyes comically and is rewarded by a husky laugh that sets intimate parts of her tingling. To avoid staring again at the gorgeous man in front of her, as if she’d never seen a member of the opposite sex before, she tells herself to get a grip. “So, what can I do for you?”

He looks her over, from her converse, up her skinny jeans, wet and clingy from the basement, to the shapeless checked shirt, finally stopping at her face, which she’s sure is probably covered in grime. She shivers involuntarily under his gaze and the open carnality that flashes across his features so suddenly she thinks she must have imagined it.

“I’m here to rent a room.” The prosaic nature of his request is exactly the opposite of what his expression has told her and the surprise shocks her out of her daydreaming.

“Right.” Isabel gives herself a little mental shake. “Well, you’ve come to the right place, Mr…” She waits for him to fill in the blank and when he just stares at her she becomes acutely aware of how close they are. There’s not a lot of room in the cupboard, and this stranger’s proximity is suddenly overpowering. She moves to walk out, but has to squeeze past him as he still occupies the majority of the doorway.

He doesn’t move aside to make the moment less awkward and, as she passes him, she catches a smell of soap and something else, something undeniably male that makes her thighs clench involuntarily.

“If you’ll follow me, we can see what room is available.” Isabel leads the way, straight-backed to the corner of the entrance hall that serves as a basic front desk. She feels, rather than sees, him follow behind her, sensing his eyes on her in a way that makes her conscious of what a mess she must look. Not that it matters – she’s working, not having a wild night on the town.

She busies herself opening ‘the big black book’ as her mother had called it, the record of all the tenant bookings. In the months prior to Isabel taking over, there’s a steady stream of dates and corresponding names, but in the last few months they’ve been dwindling. She shakes her head. Now isn’t the time to dwell on that, especially not in front of a paying customer.

“So how long were you planning on staying?” She looks up as he shrugs.

“Not sure yet.” He folds his big arms over his broad chest. “At least a month, I reckon.”

“All right.” Isabel has to stop herself from doing a little fist pump. A month’s income from a room wasn’t a fortune but it would at least put a dent in some of the bills that were beginning to take up permanent residence in her office. He has the whole bad boy thing working for him and Isabel remembers her mother’s warnings about taking in shady characters. They weren’t worth the trouble. But beggars can’t be choosers, Mom.

The mystery man seems to sense her reticence. “I’ll pay cash, the whole month up front.”

And just like that, Isabel ignores her better judgment. “Well, you’re in luck. We have a few rooms available.” ‘A few’ is a bit of an understatement. “You can choose between a garden room or one of the larger rooms that face out to the street.” She looks up at him expectantly.

He just shrugs, looking around. “You got anything on the ground floor?”

Isabel frowns, wondering if this guy has any social skills at all. “Sure, but it’s a little on the small side -,”

“I’ll take it.” He doesn’t even let her finish before he’s digging into his pocket and peeling off notes from a wedge of cash.

“Don’t you want to see the room first?” She frowns up at him, trying to figure him out.

“Does it have a bed?” He looks at her, nonplussed, his dark eyes enigmatic.

She wonders if this guy is for real. “Yes, of course, but -,”

“Then I’ll take it.” He looks at the rate card, propped on the table and starts counting out bills.

Isabel blinks at his bluntness. The taciturn, cute-guy routine is starting to get old. He seems to take himself way too seriously and Isabel can’t resist having a little fun with him. Besides, he’s way too handsome to be straight. “And you’ll be staying with your girlfriend…or…boyfriend?” She covers a smile at the look on his face. Nope, definitely not gay, she thinks to herself and wonders why it should even matter to her. “Double occupancy is extra.” She shrugs and smiles at him sweetly.

“It’ll just be me.” His voice is flat and his expression is equally unsmiling.

“All right. So what name should I put your booking under, Mr…?” She locks eyes with him this time, challenging him.

“Wesley, just Wesley is fine.” He goes back to counting out the bills, but not before Isabel has seen the hardness settle over his eyes.

Isabel swallows, the alarm bells in her head ringing out again. This guy has trouble written all over him. But she thinks about the house’s leaky pipes, the crumbling front porch, the red numbers all over the bank balance and knows she doesn’t have the luxury of being as choosy as her mother had been about her tenants. Her financial issues have come to a head, but that doesn’t mean that she has to be stupid.

“Well, ‘Just Wesley,’ I need your last name or I can’t book you in.” Isabel taps on the desk impatiently with her pen. “It’s the law.” That wasn’t true strictly speaking, but Isabel had no intention of telling him she needs his full name to run a background check on him, just like she does with all her tenants.

Wesley turns on the charm, smiling at her rakishly and leaning a little closer. “And do you always do everything to the letter of the law?”

Isabel feels his magnetism pull her towards him, her body betraying her. She swallows in a vain attempt to stop her voice from coming out hoarse. “I do when it concerns my business.”

The way his eyes widen is almost comical. “This is your place?”

Isabel raises an eyebrow and makes a show of looking around them. “Do you see anyone else here?”

“No, it’s just, I mean you’re so young…I didn’t think…” He trails off, looking uncomfortable and Isabel gets the distinct impression that he’s not used to being caught on the back foot.

“Well, life’s just full of surprises, isn’t it?” She doesn’t manage to keep the bitterness out of her voice and Wesley clearly doesn’t miss it, but he keeps his questions to himself.

“This is the Bishop Boarding House, right?” He looks towards the door as if he might have walked into the wrong place.

“The one and only.” Isabel plasters a fake bright smile on her face, remembering her mother’s mantra of always being nice to the paying customers. “I’ll show you your room. Do you want to get your bag first?”

Wesley blinks at her as if he’d forgotten why he was there, but he recovers quickly. “I don’t have much. I’ll get it later.” He motions for her to lead the way, giving her a curious glance like she’s a puzzle he can’t quite figure out.

CHAPTER THREE

They’re both silent as she shows him to a room only a few steps away from her office. It’s a room that doesn’t get much use – most patrons prefer the views the other floors have to offer. This was what her mother had called an ‘overflow’ room; it was the one she’d use when all the others were taken or when one of her staff had made a mistake and double-booked. It was sparsely decorated: a wardrobe, a sink, a nightstand. But the bed was the focus of the room. Although not larger than a double it had an intricate wrought iron headboard that looked like it belonged in a much grander setting.

Isabel suddenly becomes aware that Wesley is staring at her in that enigmatic way of his. His gaze flicks between her and the impressive bed behind her. Unbidden, thoughts of what it would be like to be tangled in those sheets with him spring to mind. The look in his eyes makes it seem as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking and she blushes what she is sure is an unflattering beetroot color.

She starts talking to cover her embarrassment. “The bathroom’s just across the hall. You’ll have it all to yourself since there aren’t any other bedrooms on this floor. The window sticks a little but you just have to persevere with it. We serve breakfast from seven to nine and dinner from six to eight in the dining room. If you need anything else, just let me know. My office is just down the hall.” She takes a breath, realizing she’s been edging towards the door. It’s not that she’s afraid of Wesley, but there’s something about him that seems to want to draw her in, like a black hole, and her sense of self-preservation kicks in.

“What’s your name?” Wesley’s deep voice stops her in her tracks.

It shouldn’t be an intimate question; it was an everyday one, but there’s something about the way he asks that makes her feel nervous. “Isabel. Isabel Bishop.” She doesn’t turn around as she answers him although she couldn’t say why.

He makes a sound behind her as if to say that her answer explains everything. “Caroline Bishop was your mother.” It’s a statement not a question.

Isabel jerks around, looking at him sharply. “You knew my mother?” She doesn’t manage to keep the surprise from her tone; this guy didn’t look anything like the normal lodgers that her mother had attracted.

But Wesley was already shaking his head. “Not personally, no. A buddy of mine recommended this place. He told me Mrs. Bishop’s a good landlady and a great person.”

Isabel swallows hard against the rush of emotion that his kind words bring to the fore. “She was.” Her voice is little more than a whisper, but she doesn’t trust it not to wobble if she speaks any louder.

“Was?” He looks askance at her but seems to read her answer in her expression, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Isabel smiles bravely, refusing to allow the crushing sadness to weigh down on her chest. She becomes acutely aware of Wesley staring at her again. She puts it down to the fact that she probably looks like she’s taken a bath in her clothes after trudging through the flooded basement. “I’ll let you get settled in.”

“Isabel.”

The way he says her name sends a thrill through her body, but she puts the shiver down to her wet clothes. She turns to face him again and sees the play of emotions across his face. Whatever he’s about to tell her, it isn’t easy for him. She waits.

“You don’t have anything to worry about. I won’t be any trouble.”

The earnestness in his expression makes her heart melt a little. “That’s good to hear, Wesley…” She leaves her unasked question hanging, giving him a pointed look.

He laughs and Isabel is struck again by how much she likes the sound. “You don’t give up, do you?” He shakes his head implying mock despair and then sighs in surrender. “Raeburn. It’s Wesley Raeburn, but everyone calls me Wes.” He sticks his hand out, the manners Isabel had thought he was lacking suddenly out in force.

She clasps his hand in hers, returning his shake. “Pleased to meet you, Wes.” Isabel is impressed that her voice remains steady despite the turmoil she’s feeling. The heat of his skin seems to reach deep inside of her, into a part of her that makes her fingers tremble.

Wes seems to notice her reaction; Isabel watches his eyes soften. They look like melted chocolate, like a dark sea she could fall into and drown. Isabel pulls her hand away, a little faster than is strictly necessary and tells herself to stop behaving like a teenager. Sure, the man was more than easy on the eyes, but that doesn’t explain the way her brain seemed to have shifted down into Park around him. The moment is broken, but the tension remains in the room.

“There is one other thing I hoped you might be able to help me with.” Wesley’s voice is husky, like he’s just woken up.

“Whatever you need.” Isabel smiles, putting on her ‘perky’ tone and then blushes when she thinks exactly what ‘whatever’ might cover.

He cocks an eyebrow at her and Isabel goes even redder as it feels like he’s read her mind. He fights to keep his smile under control. “I was wondering if you have somewhere out of sight I could park my bike?”

Isabel blinks as she drags her mind out of the gutter and focuses on the question he’s just asked. “Somewhere out of sight?” She repeats his words as she stalls. She tries to figure out if he’s trying to keep the bike hidden because it’s stolen or because it’s been involved in a crime. That’s why you’re supposed to run the background check before you give them a key, Issy. She hears her mother’s voice in her head and frowns, knowing she’s right.

“It’s a collector’s item and I don’t want to risk it being stolen.” He spreads his hands, like a magician does to show he isn’t hiding any cards up his sleeves.

There’s no reason to think the worst of people, Issy. Another of her mother’s pieces of advice echoes in her ears as she takes in what Wesley has just told her. Isabel nods in understanding. “Of course, that makes sense.” She says the words more to herself than to him and there’s a beat of silence that passes between them.

“So do you have somewhere I can keep it?” That amused smile is back on his face again and Isabel has the distinct impression that he’s laughing at her. It’s disconcerting the way he seems to know what’s going on in her head without her saying anything.

“Sure, of course.” Isabel gives herself a little shake. His explanation sounds genuine enough. What reason would he have to lie? She frowns, refusing to allow the cautious side of her brain to answer her own question. “There’s a garage out back. It’s not much but it’s all we have.” She doesn’t wait for Wesley to answer before leading the way out through the back porch steps. Instinctively she takes a deep breath in, smelling the flowering wisteria tree her mother had taken care of as if it were a beloved pet. She shivers in spite of herself at the cold air; she was still acclimatizing to the Chicago spring again after the heat of Dallas.

“Here.” Wesley’s voice takes her out of her musings. She turns around and sees he’s shrugged off his leather jacket and is holding it out to her, exposing muscled arms under his t-shirt. “You’re cold.” He pushes the jacket towards her again when she remains staring dumbly at it.

“Thanks, but I’m fine.” She waves his concern away, surprised at the kindness of his offer.

Wesley rolls his eyes at her, making no secret of his frustration. “You’re cold, you’re wet. Take the damn jacket, Isabel.” There’s a commanding note in his voice that makes Isabel think that he’s used to being obeyed without question.

“Keep it. I’m fine.” She gives her head a little haughty shake and carries on down the path to the side of the house. She hears him sigh behind her but he seems to think better of saying anything else.

Get a grip, Bishop. It’s just a jacket. He was just being polite. Her inner voice berates her for her rudeness. She had always been touchy about people doing things for her, especially men. Isabel had been taught by her mother to be self-sufficient, to be able to change a tire, a light bulb, all the things the man of the house would normally do, because there was no man of the house, not anymore. Isabel had learned not to depend on anyone for anything. The only person she had really depended on was her mother. It was a source of contention with pretty much every guy she had dated. They always wanted her to need them and she never had. But that wasn’t what Wesley had done; he’d merely offered her something because he’d thought she needed it, and she’d responded like a bitch.

As they reach the back door of the garage, Isabel stops before she uses the chunk of keys she’s gotten used to carrying around with her, like a jailer, to open the rusty padlock. She takes a deep breath and looks up into his dark chocolate eyes. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Wesley shrugs noncommittally, his expression taking on the same guarded expression she’d seen from him. “Beautiful, if you want to freeze, it’s no skin off my nose.” He raises an eyebrow at her, giving her that amused look again that infuriates and heats her from the inside at the same time.

She was half hunched over the padlock, her brain still processing that he’d just called her ‘beautiful’. It had been a throwaway comment; rolled off of his tongue like it’s something he says to every girl he meets.

He looks at her expectantly. “So are you going to open that or are you just going to look at it?” He nods towards the lock in her motionless hands.

“Right, sorry.” Isabel blushes again, hating that this man has the ability to make her usually calm exterior wobble. She clears her throat as she pushes open the double doors. “This is it.”

Wesley steps past her, walking into the space as Isabel finds the switch on the wall. A solitary bulb in the center of the room bursts into light, exposing the boxes and workbench that Isabel hasn’t seen in years.

“The front door is street-side. I can give you a key so you can come and go as you please.” Isabel watches as Wesley walks around the space, seeming to take inventory of what he’s seeing.

The garage had always been her father’s space. It was where he would retreat when he had a long day at work or when he’d been working a difficult case. As a Homicide Detective, there were quite a few of those, or at least that’s what Isabel had gleaned from the stories her mother told her. There is a layer of dust over everything and Isabel wonders if, perhaps, she should have checked out the garage before offering it to Wesley. The place is like a shrine to her dad; his tools are still strewn haphazardly over the workbench next to what looked like a half-finished wooden bird feeder.

Everything has remained as if her father was going to turn up one sunny afternoon and walk back in, ready to finish the woodwork that had been his hobby since childhood. There’s no way for Isabel not to feel as if she were intruding, as if she doesn’t belong here. It is becoming abundantly clear that her mother hadn’t been able to bring herself to move anything after her father had died. Isabel wonders if, perhaps, she should have followed suit and left this space as her mother had, a memorial to a man she could barely remember instead of handing it over to a man she’s only just met.

“It’s perfect.” Wesley nods in satisfaction, his hands on his hips as he surveys the scene. He looks at her and catches something in her expression that makes his own features soften. “How long since you’ve been in here?”

“About nineteen years.” Isabel doesn’t even pause before replying. She swipes a finger over one of the boxes just inside the doors, watching it leave a trail in the dust behind, like a snowboard track down a snowy mountain.

Wesley nods in understanding. But how could he possibly understand? “How did he die?” There’s no hesitation in the question, no concern at dredging up old emotions or pain.

Isabel has become so used to people pussy-footing around her that it’s refreshing for someone to be so direct. “He was a cop, a detective. He was following up on a lead with his partner, the suspect ran, my dad gave chase. He was quick, a runner. He used to run marathons before I came along. Anyway, the perp got bored of running and decided to shoot his way out. My father took three to the gut. He’d left his vest in the car. It was just a routine visit; he hadn’t expected it to go down that way. His partner heard the shots and called it in, but my dad had lost too much blood. He bled out before the ambulance even arrived.” Her voice is monotonous, robotic almost, just repeating a story she had been told. She shrugs. “I don’t have all the details, just what my mother told me peppered with a few of the newspaper articles I managed to find when I was old enough to search the web.”

“I’m sorry.” The sincerity in Wesley’s voice is surprising, not just because he doesn’t seem to be the most sensitive type, but also because his sympathy doesn’t irritate her like everyone else’s does.

“You seem to be saying that a lot recently.” She smiles at him wryly, wanting to defuse the emotion of the moment. “Do you always apologize this much?”

The corners of his mouth quirk up in answering amusement. He shakes his head. “No, actually my friends would tell you it’s usually pretty much the opposite.”

“Well, I guess it must be my influence on you.” Isabel smiles at him and, in the back of her mind, awareness dawns that she’s flirting with this guy.

“I guess so.” He looks at her appreciatively and Isabel feels something warm inside her. He has a way of looking at her that makes her feel like he sees much more than she’s willing to share with him. He blinks hard, as if he’d just realized what he was doing and he breaks their eye contact. Isabel can’t help but feel like a light has gone out. “I’ll take care of the place. You don’t have to worry. I won’t disturb anything.” He makes a gesture to encompass the boxes and workbench.

Isabel dips her head so he doesn’t see the emotion pass over her features. It’s hard enough trusting this man with a space that had been so precious to her mother, a space she is only just beginning to realize the significance of. A fact that is made even harder as Wesley seems to understand exactly what she fears, exactly what she is feeling without her having to say a word. It’s not a sensation she’s ever experienced before; it’s disconcerting and leaves her feeling like the ground is moving underneath her.

There is no doubt about it. She should have trusted her instincts, her first impression of him had been right. This guy is dangerous and not just because of how little she knows about him. In the half hour she’s been in his company he’s managed to stir up emotions she hadn’t even been aware existed behind her staple veneer of calm collectedness. In high school she had been labeled ‘The Ice Maiden’ because she barely dated and never put out. Now she feels anything but icy cold, her body still pulsing from the heat that his proximity had stirred in her.

Pull yourself together, Bishop. He’s just a guy – a cute guy, but still just a guy. Well, that isn’t exactly accurate; she corrects the rational side of her brain. He’s not just a guy; he’s also a guest. Isabel is breaking a golden rule of the boarding house, one her mother had been insistent on whenever she hired a new employee – no fraternizing with the clients, no matter how handsome, kind, or charming. Absently, Isabel wonders what her mother would have thought of Wesley Raeburn and if she would have appreciated that he encapsulated all three of the threats that she’d warned her employees of. The triple threat was always a killer.

“I should get back to work.” Isabel starts backing out of the door, slowly, as if the man in front of her were a tiger about to pounce. “You can stick around, make yourself at home.” She waves vaguely at the dust-filled space. “If you need anything, you know where to find me!” She waves at him, cringing at how lame she must look before she turns on her heel and has to stop herself from running down the path, back up to the house.

When Isabel gets to the office, the room she still can’t stop thinking of as her mother’s room more than hers, she sprawls in the chair, breathing heavily as if she’s just run a mile. Her heart is pounding and her brain feels as if it’s firing in about a hundred different directions. She doesn’t need this, not now. A stupid crush on a guest isn’t going to help her get the boarding house out of the financial dire straits that it is in and that is her focus. That is the only thing that can matter to her now. She doesn’t need any distractions, especially none of the tall, dark, and handsome male variety.

She pulls out the wad of cash he’d given her, counting the money and, as she does so, she feels her heart rate slow a little. A measure of control returns. It is just a business transaction; there is nothing else that bound them together. She will do well to remember that. Isabel takes a look at the letters with angry red writing in front of her. She should really get down to paying some of those long-overdue bills. But, instead, she powers up her laptop, telling herself she shouldn’t waste any more time before running a background check on her newest house guest. It was the responsible thing to do and Isabel is nothing if not responsible. But that doesn’t explain the feelings of trepidation as she types in two words on her search bar: Wesley Raeburn.

Who are you? she thinks to herself.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Miss Isabel, you tell me the same thing last week!” Rosa’s soft, fleshy face, creases into a frown.

Isabel wants to shrink back into her chair, in front of the older woman’s accusation, but instead she remains straight-backed, confident. “I know this is hard, Rosa. But the boarding house isn’t making as much money as it used to.” She stifles a sigh at her understatement.

“This I know, Miss Isabel. But never before have I been paid late! In your mother’s time, God rest her soul, it would never have happened. It would be impossible!”

The Italian woman isn’t wrong and Isabel is well aware of the fact. Her mother’s seamless running of the boarding house has left her confused on more than one occasion. It is still a mystery how she had been able to keep the house turning over like a well-oiled machine. Isabel felt like she had a rusty junker on her hands.

“Rosa, I know this is hard, but we’re all having to tighten our belts. I promise you, you will get your money with interest next week.” Isabel keeps her tone as bright and positive as she can, despite having her own reservations.

“Your mother was a wonderful woman. For her, I would have worked for free!” Rosa opens her arms wide to demonstrate her expansiveness and Isabel has to bite her tongue from pointing out that Rose would be about as likely to volunteer at the boarding house as Isabel was of sprouting wings and flying away.

Rosa shakes her head at the tragedy of her situation. Isabel understands the woman’s shock, but, at the same time, she’s well aware that her mother had been paying Rosa over and above the going rate for a cleaning-lady for the past five years and she’d also thrown in heavy bonuses on birthdays, Christmases, and whenever the guest house was booming. A closer look at the finances had told Isabel that Caroline Bishop had taken care of Rosa even when the boarding house couldn’t afford it. Isabel figures it was time to get some of that good will back.

“It’s just this one time, Rosa. I promise.” Isabel smiles sweetly but it doesn’t seem to have any affect on the older woman.

“You know, I have been offered a job downtown in a big hotel. But I say no, because Mrs. Bishop was such a good friend and she treated me so well.” Rosa lets the sentence hang in the air and there’s no mistaking the threat in her words.

Isabel grinds her teeth at her employee’s blatant attempt to blackmail her. The problem is that Isabel needs Rosa and Rosa is all too aware of that. Rosa knows the workings of the boarding house inside and out. She is familiar with all the guests, the preferences of all of their repeat guests, as well as those of the couple of long-term guests Isabel had managed to keep hold of. She has to keep Rosa on board. There is just no other way for the boarding house to work; she can’t do it all on her own.

Isabel looks at the cash tin that sits on her desk. She knows exactly how much is in there because she’s been supplementing it for the last month with her own savings. She looks between the tin and Rosa’s unmoved expression. She knows she’s kidding herself if she thinks she has any other choice.

“I can give you half your money now and then the other half with interest at the end of next week. How does that sound, Rosa?” Isabel gives her a winning smile, a challenge when the woman huffs and sighs as if Isabel were bargaining for her first born.

“It sound better, Miss Isabel, not perfect but better.” The older woman shrugs, making it clear how unhappy she is with the situation.

Isabel doesn’t mention the fact that one call to immigration would probably make things very difficult for Rosa – who she knows, for a fact, has papers that are more than a little questionable. That’s not her style but the thought does occur to her in the dark moments when she feels more like Rosa’s employee than the other way round.

As Isabel counts out the dollars in cash she had so painstakingly saved by working in a bar during her entire college career, she bites her tongue. There would be no point in telling Rosa the money she was being given was Isabel’s own, that it was money she had planned to use to fix the run-down pipes and heating system in the boarding house. She doesn’t tell her it was the last of her savings. After all, what would be the point? Bishop’s Boarding House is a business, not a charity. Isabel knows she can’t expect people to work for free, but she had hoped for a little more loyalty.

Rosa nods in semi-satisfaction as she pockets the cash and makes her way towards the door. “Miss Isabel, if you don’t do something soon then all this,” she gestures around her at the house, “will be gone and that would have made your mother very sad.” She gives Isabel a look that would be warm if it weren’t so patronizing before striding out of the office and out the front door.

“Thanks for the insight.” Isabel plops down into the chair unceremoniously, frowning after the squat Italian woman. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Her gaze lands on the letter from the electric company, confirming the credit to their account and Isabel allows herself a half-smile. There’s an inordinate amount of pleasure in being able to stop worrying about the lights being cut off. But Isabel doesn’t have long to bask in the afterglow of that fact. There is still too much to do and not enough hours in the day to do it and too many bills to pay and not enough money to pay them. Wesley Raeburn’s up-front payment for his lease has gone some way to keeping the wolves from the door, but it was still only a start; Isabel would need much more than just a start to keep the boarding house afloat.

Isabel’s mind wanders to her new tenant, to the mysterious man who had appeared on her doorstep a week ago. She knows almost as little about him now as she did that first day. Despite her best efforts, the background check she had tried to run on him had proved pretty much fruitless. There is hardly any information about the man. The only facts she had been able to find were that he had been in the army, straight out of high school, that he’d become a Marine and then there was nothing. It was as if he had dropped off the map three years prior and there was nothing else she could find out about him. His past is as much of a mystery as the man himself and Isabel finds herself intrigued, more so than she can blame on her professional interest in his story.

Over the past week she has tried to glean some idea about who this man really is by the way he behaves, by the way he interacts – or doesn’t, as the case seems to be – with the other tenants. He tends to avoid more or less everyone; even she has barely seen him since he arrived. He keeps odd hours, going out at night, the roar of his motorbike echoing out into the darkness. Isabel doesn’t hear him come back, which, with her insomnia, is something of a feat. But those are nowhere near the most disconcerting aspect of his habits.

That morning, when she was sorting through the laundry – again, doing one of Rosa’s jobs – she had found what looked like dried blood on his clothes. She had explained it away. After all, there are a million different reasons why he might have blood on them; he could have had a terrible nosebleed or fallen over in the street and cut himself. But having seen him just that afternoon, he didn’t look like he had a scratch on him and, she knows from experience in a hospital, that amount of blood loss would leave a mark.

Perhaps he was a vigilante by night and he’d pulled a mother and her baby from the wreckage of a car accident. Isabel was able to invent any number of reasons why the blood had mysteriously found its way onto his clothes, each more implausible than the last. But her mother had always said the most obvious answer was, usually, also the right one and Isabel had worked in a hospital long enough to know that whosever the blood was, it wasn’t his and that person was probably in a pretty sorry state.

With the other guests, he’s polite but nothing more. One of her only long-term guests had tried to engage him in conversation a couple of days prior, only to be stonewalled at every turn. The older man, Lionel, was intrinsically curious and the presence of the mystery man in what Lionel considered his home was too much of a temptation. After a morning of waiting for the new arrival at the breakfast table, to no avail, Lionel had realized his prey was no early bird and had managed to corner him in the hallway. “So what brings you to our humble home, Wesley?”

Wesley had shrugged. “This and that.”

He made a move as if to walk past Lionel to his room, but the older man wasn’t about to give up so easily. “You been to Chicago before?” Lionel edged around Wesley so he was now between the newcomer and his means of escape, his bedroom door.

Wesley’s shoulders sank a little as if he was resigning himself to the fact that the other man clearly wasn’t going to let him just brush him off. “A few times.”

The light in Lionel’s eyes shined with the little victory he had achieved. “But never staying here before. I’m very good at faces and I would remember you.” He waggled a finger at Wesley and Isabel had read the sign. She’d seen it before; Lionel was just warming up. “So what kind of business are you in, Wes? May I call you Wes?”

Wesley shrugged again, nonplussed. “Sure, everyone else does.” It wasn’t lost on Isabel that he had deliberately avoided the real question and Lionel was no fool either.

“Excellent, so what was it you said that you did for work?” Lionel had leaned in a little to the other man, as if he were afraid he might miss anything Wesley was about to say.

“I didn’t.” Wesley’s voice was flat, not inviting any further interrogations.

From her vantage point, Isabel saw Lionel blink hard, his shock at the open evasion evident.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to do.” He stepped forward, not threateningly, but making his size and his strength known. From where Isabel was hiding or – as she preferred to think of it – observing, she couldn’t see Wesley’s face, only Lionel’s and whatever she had missed was clearly worthy of note.

Isabel watched Lionel shrink back involuntarily and step aside to let Wesley pass to his door. “I can see you’re a busy man, Wes. So I’ll leave you to it.” Lionel hurried away without waiting for any kind of a response from the other man. He’d looked scared, as if he had seen something on Wesley’s face that had spooked him.

She had remained still, not wanting to give her position away so late in the game when it would become quite clear she had been eavesdropping. Wesley put the key in his bedroom door and turned it, but stopped short of pushing it open. Instead, he paused with his hand on the doorframe and turned to look at the exact position where she was hiding on the porch.

CHAPTER FIVE

Isabel froze, holding her breath, willing herself to disappear. She watched a slow smile spread across Wesley’s face, a knowing, sexy smile that made her insides flutter. Then he pushed open the door and disappeared inside, closing it firmly behind him. Only then did Isabel allow herself the luxury of breathing, but she still waited a good few minutes before she risked walking out into the open.

What she had seen only served to fuel her curiosity about this man. He gives off a vibe that tells people he doesn’t want to be bothered, but that only piques her interest more. It’s purely a professional interest, she tells herself. It’s what any self-respecting businessperson would feel in her place.

Isabel shakes her head, realizing she’s daydreaming about the man again, a habit that was beginning to form with unsettling ease. Focus, Bishop, focus. She turns her attention back to the bills and accounting books in front of her. What a mess, she thinks to herself. She was supposed to be a doctor, not an accountant or a landlady. This wasn’t what she’d planned and every day she feels like she is more and more in over her head. Every day she had expected to feel a little more comfortable with the responsibility weighing down on her, but that ease hasn’t come. Things are just as hard today as they had been the first time she’d sat down in her mother’s chair and tried to make sense of what the hell she was doing.

Her cell starts buzzing angrily on her table and she moves to silence it but stops herself, a smile lighting up her face as she reads the caller ID.

“About time! I was about to send out a search party!” Jamie’s voice is loud in her ear and, from the background traffic noise, Isabel imagines her walking down a busy New York street, looking fabulous as always.

“I know. We keep missing each other. We work on slightly different schedules, I guess, Little Miss Fashionista.” Isabel smiles into her cell, knowing Jamie loves the moniker.

“So how’re things going?” Jamie has never been one for small talk; she tends to just cut to the chase, which makes Isabel wonder how she deals with the prickly members of her notoriously shallow industry.

“Fine.” Isabel manages to say the word as brightly as she can, but Jamie has known her for too long to be fobbed off with a ‘fine.’

“Like hell!” Jamie doesn’t bother to hide her disbelief in her snort. Isabel hears a horn blaring in the background so loud she has to hold the phone away from her ear. “Hey, pal, watch where you’re going!”

“Do me a favor, Jamie. Don’t get run over. I don’t want to go to two funerals this year. I wouldn’t have the first clue what to wear to yours without you there to advise me!” Isabel does what she always has; she covers her concern for her best friend with humor. Jamie has always been the wild one, the one who lived large. She stayed out late, partied hard, and had relationships with wholly inappropriate men. Isabel is the sensible one, the one who had worried about her friend’s safety, even more than Jamie’s own mother.

“Good point. God only knows what hideous outfit you’d end up in!” Jamie relaxes easily into their banter. It’s her way of telling Isabel not to worry, that she’ll take care of herself. “So, tell me what’s got you sounding so down in the dumps, my Amazonian friend?”

Isabel’s first instinct is to avoid talking about what’s been occupying her mind for the better part of a week, but Jamie is probably the only person she can really talk to about it, the only person who won’t judge her. She huffs out a sigh, prepared to tell all, but Jamie gets there before she does.

“Isabel Eliza Bishop!” Jamie’s voice is shrill in her ear. “Is this about a guy?” Her tone is wheedling, knowing. “Please don’t tell me Mike’s asked you to marry him!” Her unabashed horror at the possibility makes Isabel laugh out loud.

“Mike?” She feels a moment of remorse as she realizes she’s been dodging his calls for the past few days and she’s barely thought of him, despite the intimacy they had shared before she left Dallas. “I don’t think one night together is enough to prompt speculations of marriage, Jamie!”

“Well thank Christ for that!” Jamie has never made it a secret that she thinks Mike is about as interesting as a rainy day. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s nice and all that but he’s not for you, Issy.” Her tone tells Isabel Jamie has made her mind up about that fact and no amount of time would persuade her otherwise. “So who’s the guy? Don’t keep me in suspense. You know I hate that!”

Isabel shakes her head at her friend’s zeal. Jamie is like a dog with a bone; if she wants to find out something, she won’t rest until she has. Isabel knows this from experience. “Not a guy, a tenant.” Her voice is prim but Jamie can see right through her.

Jamie lets out a low whistle. “Breaking the rules, Issy. That’s not like you!” Her voice is only mock-stern. “He must be pretty cute, then!”

“Jamie, stop!” Isabel feels her cheeks heat at her friend’s words. What is it about the mere mention of Wesley and her blushing? It is as if the two are inextricably linked now. He doesn’t even have to be in the same room as her anymore, giving her that knowing smile for her to get all hot and bothered.

“Don’t get all shy on me, Issy. Spill.” Jamie’s voice is serious, not brooking any kind of argument. “What’s he like?”

Isabel casts around for a way to describe Wesley and finds that all words seem to come up short. “He’s ummm…tall.”

She can almost hear Jamie roll her eyes at the other end of the line. “Tall? Tall? You’re going to have to do better than that! What does he do? What does he like? What does he do for work?” Jamie fires off the questions rapidly like she’s ticking off a checklist.

Isabel swallows hard. “Umm, I don’t really know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Which part?” Jamie’s voice is confused.

You have no idea, Isabel thinks to herself. “Pretty much any of it.” Isabel looks up at the ceiling, knowing how ridiculous this all sounds.

“Spill it, Issy.” Jamie’s tone brooks no argument.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Jamie. I don’t really know anything about him other than he’s called Wesley, used to be in the Marines, drives a motorcycle, is about as talkative as a brick wall, and he’s sexy as all hell.” Isabel sighs as she says the words out loud that she’s only entertained in her head.

Jamie is silent for a moment. “Well that’s a good start.” Her voice is serious and Isabel can’t help but laugh at her friend’s priorities. “And I’m guessing he makes you feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest and you get all hot and cold at the same time?”

Isabel pauses, surprised at how accurate her friend’s description is. But then she shouldn’t be, Jamie has a habit of falling in lust with men. There was only one man she’d loved and that hadn’t ended well.

“That about sums it up.” Isabel sighs, accepting the fact is easier than trying to run away from it. No matter how hard she tries, she is irresistibly attracted to this man she knows nothing about. It’s a dangerous state of affairs.

“And what about the background check? Didn’t that come up with anything?” Isabel can almost hear the cogs turning in Jamie’s mind over the phone.

“Nada, nothing. The guy is about as mysterious as it gets.” Isabel doesn’t add that it almost makes him that much more exciting. “And I’m not sure if he might be just a little…dangerous.”

“Then you know what you have to do.” It’s not a question.

“Ask him?” Isabel shakes her head. “He’s not exactly the chatty, I’m-going-to-spill-my-guts type.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that. And no. Asking him isn’t going to get you anywhere. You tried it that way. Now you have to try a different tactic. You have to snoop.” Jamie says the words as if it is self-evident there are no other options at all.

“I’m assuming you don’t mean I have to dress up like a white dog and make friends with a kid called Charlie Brown.” Isabel’s tone is flat, not even wanting to entertain the idea of what Jamie is suggesting.

“Ha ha. Did I ever tell you that you were wasting your talents at med school? You should go to Clown College.” Jamie’s eye roll is loud enough to be transmitted all the way to Chicago. “You’ve tried to do it the right way, asking him questions and then doing the background check. The guy hasn’t exactly left you with a whole lot of choices. It’s not just about you wanting to find out what this guy’s deal is for your own libidinous reasons. It’s about the safety of your business! If this guy is a serial killer and he’s hiding bodies in his bedroom wardrobe then you want to know about it!” Jamie’s voice is eminently reasonable.

Isabel considers her friend’s argument, knowing she’s right but also knowing that what she’s suggesting is more than a little immoral. “I can’t invade his privacy like that, Jamie. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Issy, the boarding house isn’t exactly about to put you at the top of the Forbes list, right?” Jamie doesn’t wait for her friend to answer because there’s no need. They both already know the truth. “You can’t afford someone to mess up the leases you have with tenants or someone to do something that would affect your reputation.”

Isabel nods in agreement, knowing Jamie is speaking the truth, no matter how harsh it may be. She sits in silence, debating between giving up her morals or jeopardizing the future of the boarding house, the only thing she really has left of her mother. It’s a no brainer.

Jamie stays on the line, letting Isabel have her quiet musings until she asks the question that she’s been holding in. “So, is he a good kisser?”

“Jamie, if I don’t know anything about the guy, why would you think I would know that?” Isabel laughs down the phone.

“Okay, well when you find out, make sure to let me know.” Jamie has never been one to shy away from details.

“Well, if I find that out, I’ll keep you in the loop.” Isabel feels her cheeks heat at the thought of kissing that luscious mouth of him.

“When, Isabel. When not if.” Jamie’s certainty is obvious. “Now go and snoop, before he comes back and remember -,”

“I know, I know; ‘report back’!” Isabel finishes her friend’s sentence for her.

“Exactly!” Jamie sounds pleased with herself, or at least even more so than usual. Her tone changes abruptly. “I miss you, Issy.”

Isabel clutches the cell in her hand tightly. “I miss you too, honey.”

“You know that if you need me, I’ll get on a plane faster than you can say ‘hot biker dude.’” Jamie is serious.

Isabel knows she means it because she would do exactly the same thing for her best friend. In fact, she had. When Jamie’s heart had been broken by the only guy she’d ever loved, Isabel had jumped on a plane from Dallas at a moment’s notice and spent the weekend with her friend, commiserating, drinking cocktails, and telling her she was well rid of him and he didn’t deserve her, not by a country mile.

“I know, Jamie. But I’m fine, really I am.” Isabel almost has to force the words out but she’s impressed that she manages to come off as breezy. The truth is she misses her friend like crazy and would love nothing more than to have her here. But Isabel also knows that if she doesn’t make her life work now, on her own, then she will just spend the next few years relying on other people to make it better. She has to get through this on her own, no matter how hard it may be.

“All right, enough of this crap before I ruin my makeup.” Jamie’s signature sense of humor is back in full force. “I’ve got to go, honey. I’ll call you tomorrow.” With that, Jamie hangs up, no goodbye no nothing. It’s her signature move. She’d always told Isabel she hates goodbyes, so she refuses to say the word.

Isabel sits for a few moments longer, trying to figure out another way to get the peace of mind that Wesley isn’t about to ruin her business some other way that doesn’t involve snooping around like a suspicious mother. It doesn’t take her long to realize that there really aren’t a whole heap of options open to her and, besides, her curiosity about the gorgeous biker is proving too strong to resist. She’s already made up her mind.

CHAPTER SIX

Armed with a feather duster to use as her cover for ‘cleaning’ Wesley’s bedroom while he isn’t there, Isabel gives herself one last chance to change her mind and get the hell out of there, never to think about what she’s about to do again. Her hand is on the doorknob, the spare key, as she keeps for all of the rooms, is in her hand. She silently wonders if she’s more worried about the morality of the actual act or the possibility of getting caught. But the latter is more than unlikely. Wesley had been out of sight since just after dinner. As was customary he’d slipped out the back door without anyone really noticing, anyone apart from her, that is.

I’ll be in and out within a few minutes; it won’t take any time at all, she tells herself. Man up, Bishop, she thinks to herself before she turns the key in the look and pushes open the door. The room is much as it was when she showed him in, nearly a week ago, but if anything it’s even neater. The bed is made, military style, the sheets so tight Isabel is left in no doubt you could bounce a penny off of them. There aren’t any of the trademarks of a man– no clothes strewn on the floor, no empty pizza boxes or chip bags piled by the wastebasket. She’s pretty sure that if she wiped her finger over the desk it would come away spotless, despite the fact that Raeburn had told Rosa she needn’t bother cleaning his room.

Isabel takes a look at the nightstand; it’s empty. She starts opening drawers to the small desk by the window, looking for something, anything that would give her some insight into the man that she’d open her house to without even a second thought. A passport, a driving license, a diary full of his deepest darkest secrets, Isabel will settle for anything. But there is nothing. The whole room is empty; the only sign of anyone living there are the clothes hanging in the ancient wardrobe. Instinctively, she runs her hand over the leather jacket she finds hanging there. It’s soft and inviting and, without thinking twice about it, she lifts the sleeve and smells it. It smells warm and spicy and unmistakably of Wesley Raeburn.

“Something I can do for you, Isabel?” His deep voice makes her yelp and whirl around to face him where he stands inside the door that he’s closed behind him.

“Jeez, what are you, some kind of jungle cat? Don’t you make any noise at all?” She holds a hand over her heart, feeling it hammering against her ribs and not just at the way he’s made her jump. She’s been caught red-handed rifling through his things, not only that but sniffing his damn jacket. This is bad.

He stares at her, nonplussed. “You’re one to talk about creeping around. I thought you valued your lodgers’ privacy. Isn’t that what you told me when I signed the lease?” He folds his muscled arms over his broad chest, looking at her with eyes that feel as if they can see right down to her soul.

“I was just…cleaning.” She holds up the feather duster in her hand, lamely.

But it’s clear from Wesley’s expression that he doesn’t buy it. “Inside my closet?”

He raises an eyebrow at her and she feels herself blushing, caught out in the obvious lie she’s just told. “All right, fine. I wasn’t cleaning, I was…checking.” At least that is closer to the truth.

Wesley remains staring at her in that impassive way of his. “Checking. Checking what?” His voice is calm but there’s no mistaking the fire lurking beneath the surface of the cool demeanor.

Isabel senses the heat coming off of him in waves from where she’s standing across the room and she can’t help but be drawn to it. “Checking that you weren’t hiding any bodies in there.” The words are out of her mouth before she’s had a chance to temper them and she feels herself flush again like a little kid.

He waits a beat, processing what she’s saying. “So, now I’m a serial killer, stashing women’s bodies in my closet?” If anything, he looks amused.

Isabel tries to shake off her embarrassment, reminding herself that she’s not a child; she’s an adult woman with a real reason for looking deeper into this man. “I don’t know what you are! The only things I know about you are that you have a motorbike and you pay in cash.” Wisely, she doesn’t include the fact that she knows about his past as a Marine. This doesn’t seem to be the right time to bring up the fact that she’s already looked into his background without his knowledge.

“So you’re saying you want to get to know me better.” It’s a statement rather than a question and it’s laden with innuendo. “Hell, Isabel, you could have just asked me out for a drink like a normal girl.”

“Well maybe I’m not a normal girl.” She cringes as she says the words, aware they’re not exactly the smoothest comeback she’s ever come up with.

“I can see that.”

Those four words combined with the way he’s looking at her speak volumes and Isabel feels herself swallow hard around the lump of anticipation that has suddenly formed in her throat. She gathers herself together. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not interested in you in that way.” Her voice barely stumbles over the lie despite his disbelieving raised eyebrow. “Something I’m sure you’re not used to hearing.” Her words are pointed, but they come out a little more bitter than she had intended. “My concern is purely professional, not personal. I want to figure out if you’re going to cause any trouble here. This is about my business, nothing else.” No matter that you make my insides do somersaults and my skin tingle, she silently adds.

Wesley opens his mouth to respond, the side of his mouth still lifted in a half smile that makes him look like the cat that got the cream, when her cell rings in her pocket. “You should get that. It could be important.” He leans back against the door, looking effortlessly cool and completely relaxed, something that just makes Isabel more aware of the tension radiating through her body.

For the lack of anything else to do, Isabel slips the phone out of her jean pocket and accepts the call without even looking at the Caller ID. “Yes.” Her voice is louder and sharper than she had intended and when she’s met by silence her frustration only increases. “Hello?”

There’s a pause at the other end of the line before a confused, familiar voice pipes up. “Isabel?”

“Mike!” Isabel blushes as she meets Wesley’s eyes and sees something more than just an idle curiosity there. “Sorry, I…umm…I didn’t realize it was you.” Great, she thinks to herself, I’ve been dodging his calls for days and the one time I picks up is in front of the worst person possible.

“So you haven’t forgotten my name!” His good-natured chuckle makes her smile, just like it always does. “When you didn’t return my calls I got a little worried. You sound a little…funny. Is everything all right?” The concern in his voice makes her feel terrible for having avoided him. After all, no matter what had happened between them, he is still her friend.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve just been really busy.” She bites her bottom lip, turning away from the scrutiny of Wesley’s gaze and finding herself face to face with the leather jacket hanging in his closet that she had been inhaling so unceremoniously when he walked in. She blushes again like a teenager.

“Issy?” Mike had clearly been talking while she had zoned out.

“Sorry, Mike, the connection is really bad. It must be where I am in the house. Can I call you back a little later?” Isabel lies through her gritted teeth, wincing at her own deceit.

“Issy, we both know you won’t call me back.” The resignation in his tone makes her feel like a heel. “I want to talk and you keep ducking and diving. I know this is hard for you, with everything that happened with your mom and going back to Chicago, but we need to talk about us.”

“Us. Right.” Isabel nods in agreement, feeling Wesley’s gaze burning through her. Her own eyes are now trained on the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow her.

“So can we talk or not?” It’s the first time Isabel has heard Mike’s patience start to wear thin. A lesser man would have given up on her a long time ago.

“Mike, I’m really sorry, but now isn’t a great time.” She starts pacing around the room, as is customary for her when she’s having a difficult conversation, only belatedly remembering she’s in Wesley’s bedroom, not her own. She puts on her best professional-sounding voice. “I’m just with a tenant. There are a few things we need to sort out.” She looks over at the door to find Wesley, unabashedly listening to her entire conversation, eyebrows raised, smirk firmly in place.

“Of course, you’re working. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Mike is all deference and good manners, just as he always is.

“I’ll call you later, Mike.” The promise sounds hollow even to her ears.

“No you won’t, Issy.” He huffs a sigh. “But I’ll try you again tomorrow. Take care of yourself.”

He hangs up without giving her the chance to respond, probably a good thing, as she doesn’t even know what she would say to him that she hasn’t already covered. Before she left Dallas she had told him, in detail, why he didn’t want to be with her, why she wasn’t a catch and why they were better off a friends. He hadn’t wanted to listen then or any of the times they’d spoken since. Today doesn’t seem to be any different.

She remains staring at the cell in her hand for a few seconds, feeling like a bad person for not being able to tell him what he wants to hear: that she wants him, that she wants to be with him and only him. But if she had told him any of those things, they would be lies and she doesn’t want to lie to him any more than she already had.

“So it looks like I’m not the only one with secrets.” Wesley gives her a meaningful look.

Isabel frowns, pocketing the cell, irritated now at his knowing smirk. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to listen to people’s private conversations?”

“You’re one to talk.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to nose around in people’s bedrooms?”

Isabel feels herself flush, partly from embarrassment, partly from anger and she takes another step towards him until they’re only a foot apart. “This is my place, Wesley. And I have a right to know if something’s going on that could drive me under because right now, I’m about this close to falling overboard.” She holds up her index finger and thumb indicating less than an inch. “I don’t have the luxury of turning a blind eye to whatever it is you’re doing every night that gets your clothes all bloody and torn.”

Finally, there’s a flicker of something in his dark eyes, something fiery and dangerous. She wonders at the wisdom of getting a man like this angry, but this conversation has become about more than just him. It’s as if all the emotions she’s been feeling since her mother died –  the panic that grips her every morning when she thinks of the impossible task she’s attempting on the boarding-house, her frustration at having let herself sleep with Mike, just because she was lonely and more than a little drunk – are being poured into this rage.

“I want to know what you’re hiding, Wes. And I intend to find out, one way or another.” She narrows her eyes at him, as she prods her index finger into his hard chest.

“Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it, Bel.” Her nickname on his lips is like a caress and he takes hold of her finger, pulling her closer to him so her green eyes are only inches away from his brown ones. “You know you have the most amazing eyes, Bel. Eyes like that can drive a man insane.”

In an instant his mouth is on hers, his tongue, probing at the seam of her lips, insistent, and, after a moment of surprise, she willingly opens to him. She moans as their tongues tangle and his hands move to either side of her face, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb. The kiss is long and deep and full of heat. But there’s something else she tastes, the promise of more and she feels an answering ache between her thighs. She bites his bottom lip gently, feeling a little thrill as he growls deep in his throat, pulling her even closer to him, so close that she’s left under no illusions that he wants her and, Lord, how she wants him.

The slamming of the front door down the hall brings her back to reality with a thump. Her eyes fly open and she takes a step back from him, watching as his hands drop slowly to his sides. He makes no move to reach out to bring her back to him. If anything, he looks as shell-shocked as she feels.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to -,”

“No, I’m sorry.” Isabel’s voice is a little stronger than she had feared but it’s husky as all hell. “I shouldn’t have come in here. That was…unprofessional. Can we just forget this ever happened?” She watches as his expression turns from contrition to something else – hurt.

“Sure.” He shrugs as if what had just passed between them was nothing different from a normal kiss he would share with anyone else.

That’s because it’s not different, Isabel. The rational side of her brain kicks the emotional side off of center stage. You’re not a fairy princess and he isn’t your prince. He’s just a guy who’s used to getting any woman he wants and you’re lonely and emotional. So get a goddam grip!

She nods to herself, taking on board the advice from her inner Jiminy Cricket. “Great.” Her voice sounds like it’s anything but. “So, I’ll just be going then.” She sidles around him to get to the door. She grabs the handle, feeling like she can’t get out of there fast enough.

“Isabel.” His velvety voice makes her freeze and turn around. He locks eyes with her, communicating more than he ever could with his words. “The next time you want to know something, just ask me.”

She nods quickly before dashing out of the door, closing it softly behind her. She races up to her bedroom and locks herself in the en-suite bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her lips are swollen from the intensity of the kiss, her eyes bright and shiny like emeralds, her cheeks flushed, and there’s an ache of need inside of her that won’t quit. It had been more than a kiss, or, at least, more than any kiss she’d ever had before. There was something there, a connection, something that terrified her, but, at the same time, she knew she wanted more.

She leans her head against the cool glass, hoping it will do something to quell the fire raging inside of her. It would be so easy to fall into bed with Wesley, far too easy. And where would that leave her? Nowhere. It is clear he wants her, but he’s probably used to getting exactly what and whom he wanted, whenever he wanted them. The thought brings an unpleasant spike of jealousy along with it.

“You cannot fall for this guy, Isabel,” she tells her reflection in the mirror. “Not this one. Out of all the guys you’ve been with, you cannot choose the one who has trouble written all over him.” Her voice is stern as she gives herself the telling off that she needs. She will not fall for this man, this man she knows next to nothing about. It makes no sense.

Mike is a good, kind, dependable guy and he is crazy about her. Wesley is…well, that is exactly the problem. She doesn’t know what he is and her little mission only stirred up more questions without providing any answers. But, right now, the biggest question of all is how the hell is she going to face him after what had just happened?

CHAPTER SEVEN

That night, insomnia grips her just like it has, like clockwork, for the past few months. It has gotten to the point that Isabel has almost forgotten what it is like to be able to sleep through to morning. She laughs at the irony of it. When she was at med school, she would have given anything to be able to survive on the few hours of sleep she was getting a night. She could have used that time for much-needed studying; there had never seemed to be enough hours in the day to cover everything she had needed to. She feels a burst of sadness, a sliver of regret, as she thinks about the textbooks that remain in the bag she hasn’t yet unpacked.

She hasn’t even looked at them since she arrived back in Chicago. They seem to belong to another time, a time when her mother was still alive, a time when life had been simpler, easier, when she hadn’t felt so out of control of her future. It’s strange to think that only a few months ago, she had been so sure of exactly what she was going to do. It all seemed so clear to her then. She would finish med school, move back to Chicago to do her residency and work her way through the ranks until she became a thoracic surgeon, fixing people’s hearts, their lungs, the parts that kept them alive. Now, that seems like a pipe dream, like a future and a life that belongs to someone else.

1:37. The digital clock next to her bed blinks at her and no matter how much she stares at it, she knows this is all the sleep she’s going to get, at least until four when she’ll stumble back into bed again and sleep for another two hours. But that’s only if she’s really lucky.

She throws off the bed covers and throws a University of Dallas sweatshirt over her skimpy nightdress before padding quietly downstairs, careful not to wake her lodgers. She unlocks the office and tells herself that the one perk of insomnia is that she gets a head start on her long to do list for the day.

But, right now, in the eerie pre-dawn silence, her focus isn’t on the bills in front of her or on the checklist of things she has to do. Instead, her eyes are drawn to the drawer of the desk, where she keeps the letter her mother had written to her when she’d found out how sick she was. The kindly attorney who had dealt with Caroline Bishop’s will had given it to her. Isabel had carried the letter around with her, read it over and over again, to the point where she knew it by heart. But she still took it out to read it, because it was written in her mother’s hands and because, for those few brief minutes she has the letter in front of her, it’s as if her mother isn’t really gone, not forever anyway.

Carefully, she pulls the letter out of the envelope that bears her name and carries it to the kitchen, filling the kettle and boiling it and setting up the teapot. It had become her little routine: waking up, reading the letter, drinking tea at the kitchen table like she used to do with her mother. She’s pretty sure a psychiatrist would tell her she’s avoiding dealing with the fact that her mother is dead, that she is holding on to patterns of behavior that wouldn’t benefit her in the long run.

But she doesn’t care about any of that, not by a long shot. All she cares about is trying to understand, trying to get her head around why her mother had kept her illness from her for so long, why she had chosen to deal with it alone, why she had given Isabel so little time to say goodbye.

She unfolds the letter, rereading the words she already knows. Her mom had told her to sell the boarding house, to get rid of it because she had never been able to. It turns out that Caroline Bishop had been tied to this place, tied to it with memories of the man she had loved and the life they had shared together before he died. She didn’t want Isabel to be locked down in the same way she had been. In the letter she’d told her daughter to use the sale money for tuition fees, to make something of herself so, in her mother’s words, she ‘didn’t end up like her.’

Isabel feels a single tear fall over her cheeks, just as she always does when she reads that line because the truth is she can’t think of anyone she’d rather be. She wishes so much she had told her mother that before it had been too late. There is so much she still wants to say that is never going to be said.

She folds the letter back up carefully, placing it in the envelope gently, as if she’s afraid it might break. Before she can pour the just-boiled water into the teapot, though, she hears a noise that makes her freeze. The front door opens and then closes. It’s followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps walking down the hall. In her rational mind, she knows an intruder wouldn’t bother to rob the Bishop Boarding House, not when there are so many more appealing properties to choose from nearby, but a rational mind doesn’t work so well at almost two in the morning. So she grabs the first thing to hand, which happens to be a kitchen knife, and pads quietly towards the entrance, careful not to step on any of the creaky floorboards.

She gasps when she sees the outline of a man in the darkness, coming towards her. “Is this how you greet all your guests, Isabel?” The voice is immediately familiar and the fear twisting her stomach relaxes into a completely different kind of tension.

“Do you always sneak around in the early hours of the morning?” Her voice is steady as she flicks on the light-switch but she almost drops the knife in her hand when she sets eyes on Wesley.

He’s busted up and bleeding, with a particular nasty looking cut above his eye. “Jesus, what happened to you?”

Wesley smiles wryly. “It’s nothing. I had a little accident; that’s all.”

“Did that accident involve someone’s fist and your face?” Isabel raises an eyebrow, already switching into doctor mode and looking him over, mentally cataloguing his injuries.

“You should see the other guy.” He smiles again at her and Isabel wonders how it’s possible to look so devastatingly handsome when it seems like he can barely stand up.

“Well if he’s in worse shape than you, he should be in the hospital.” Isabel’s voice is flat, but it does nothing to hide her concern.

“This is nothing. I’m just going to take a hot shower and hit the sack.” He moves to walk past her and Isabel catches a slight limp as he moves and notices there’s blood on his jeans around his thigh.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You need more than a shower. Let me take a look at you.” She motions towards the kitchen, leading the way and pulling a chair out for him before grabbing the well-stocked first aid kit she knows her mother kept in one of the cupboards.

He looks at her doubtfully. “Trust me, I’m just a little bruised. It’s nothing.” He tries to brush off her concern and takes another step towards his bedroom before her voice stops him.

“Come in here and sit down before you fall down.” When he doesn’t move, she crosses her arms and taps her foot impatiently. “If you bleed all over my house, I’ll be seriously pissed. Now stop the macho bullshit and sit the hell down.”

Wesley blinks at her, clearly surprised at her bossiness, but, as always, amused. He shrugs, as if he’s doing her a favor, before hobbling into the kitchen and sitting in the chair she’s set out for him.

“Good.” Isabel nods, satisfied, before taking the seat in front of him. “I’m not going to lie. This is going to hurt.” She dabs some iodine onto the cut above his eye and, to his credit, he barely reacts but she hears him breathe in sharply. Once she’s cleaned the cut, she can see that it’ll need a couple of stitches, but there are more injuries to inventory first. Gently, she picks up his right hand, taking in the ripped skin on the knuckles and the bruising that’s just starting to come out. She probes it gently with her thumbs. “It doesn’t feel like there’s anything broken.” She lays his hand gently on the table and moves to the freezer, wrapping ice in one of her kitchen towels. She rests the cold compress over his hand. “This should bring down some of the swelling. Now, take off your pants.”

Wesley looks at her with a knowing smirk. “I appreciate the offer, Isabel, but I thought you didn’t mix business with pleasure.”

Isabel feels herself flush, but pushes her embarrassment away. She has something more important to focus on. “Don’t flatter yourself, Wesley. From the blood on your jeans it looks like you’ve got a pretty impressive cut on your leg. Take off your pants and let me take a look.” When he doesn’t make a move she sighs heavily, rolling her eyes. “Come on, slick. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He raises an eyebrow at her, but he doesn’t protest. Slowly he stands up, unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall to the ground, not taking his eyes off of her at any point. He stands in front of her, his black Calvins not doing much to hide the fact that the man is incredibly well endowed. Isabel swallows hard, battling against the dryness in her throat that seems to have come upon her suddenly.

“Take a seat.” Her voice comes out quietly and she busies herself focusing on the gash on his leg. It’s not deep, and it doesn’t look as if it’s just happened either. It’s ragged and there’s some scarring around it that looks like burn marks. She cleans it with the iodine solution and wraps his thigh in gauze. Isabel can feel his eyes on her, but she keeps her attention focused on the task at hand. “It looks like you’ve opened an old wound.”

He waits a beat before he responds, as if he’s weighing each word. “You seem to know what you’re doing. You patch up a lot of your tenants before?”

Isabel looks up at him, smiling then. “No, I can honestly say that you’re the first.” She tilts her head, assessing the cut above his eye and deciding what to do with it. Her line of sight drops down to take in his dark chocolate irises that feel like they’re pulling her into his orbit. She feels herself leaning in closer to him without even meaning to. She clears her throat and looks away, breaking the connection between them. “I’m going to need to stitch that.” She nods towards his eyebrow as she rifles in the extensive first aid kit for a needle. When she finds one, she takes the kettle and runs some boiling water over it to sterilize it. It’s a good excuse to step away from him, even if it’s only for a minute. When she’s around him she feels like she can’t quite catch her breath, everything feels more intense, louder, brighter. Being around him is an overload to her senses.

“Blood doesn’t bother you.” It’s a statement but the question is implicit.

Isabel shakes her head, dipping the needle into the boiling water a second time for luck. “It never has, really.”

He doesn’t push the point and Isabel feels grateful that he’s not quizzing her, despite the fact that he’s obviously curious. She takes her seat in front of him again and focuses on his eye that she sews up in a less than a minute. He doesn’t flinch when the needle meets his skin and Isabel wonders how many times he’s been stitched up before. He catches her eye as she lowers the needle, pinning her with his gaze. She feels herself drawn into him again and it’s a physical pull she has to actively resist.

“Well, you’re all set. Although I wouldn’t do any of you signature eyebrow raises for a while if you don’t want to risk pulling out your stitches.” She watches as his face breaks out in a grin. If he’s handsome when he’s serious, then when he smiles, really smiles, he’s heartbreaking.

“My signature eyebrow raises?” He gives her a knowing look that makes her blush.

“It’s your move.” She teases him, smiling broadly. “Bet it works like a charm on the ladies.”

“Some, not all.” He stares at her with those deep, dark eyes of his that seem to speak volumes and only to her.

Isabel feels herself redden again and busies herself packing up the first aid kit and avoiding eye contact. This man has the power to reduce her to a quivering wreck with just one look, a fact that he’s probably all too aware of. She looks at his pants that are still sitting in a rumpled pile on the floor. “You can put your jeans back on now.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the silence is weighty as if he wants to, before he slides on his pants, making it just a little easier for her to breathe.

“You’re a long way from Dallas.” He nods to the sweatshirt she’s forgotten she is even wearing.

She shakes her head at just how true his statement is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, you have no idea.” Unconsciously, she crosses her arms over the emblem written across her chest and looks around for something to busy her hands. “I was making myself some tea before you arrived. Would you like some?”

Wesley doesn’t look like the kind of guy who sits around drinking tea but he nods once, even if it’s only because he can tell she needs to do something. They remain in silence while the pot brews and she pours out two cups, carrying them over to the table. Instead of sitting in the chair opposite him that she had occupied previously, she steps away, leaning her back against the kitchen counter.

“So why do you still wear the shirt if you don’t want to talk about it?” He takes a sip of his tea, the small cup looking like a toy in his big hand.

She remembers the feel of his hands around her waist, the warmth there, the way he had kissed her like he never wanted to stop. She blinks the image away, but the memory of it is still scorched on her mind. “I wear it to sleep in. You don’t usually expect the third degree when you’re in your pjs.” She tries to brush off the intensity of his stare and fails miserably. He sits there waiting patiently for her to actually answer the question.

Her immediate reaction when anyone asks her about college is to give them the standard spiel – that she’s just trying to get the boarding house straight before she goes back. But something about being here, with Wesley, in the darkness, which is more night than morning, she finds she doesn’t have the energy or even the inclination to lie. “I guess because I don’t want to admit it’s all over, that that part of my life is over and done with.”

“And why is it done with?” He looks at her, his expression neutral but his eyes full of a mix of interest coupled with caution – two feelings she’s become intimately familiar with since he turned up at her door.

“Because I’m here now, because I have to run this place.” She shrugs as if there is no more to it.

She’s surprised when he shakes his head. “I don’t buy it.”

Isabel feels her mouth fall open at the way he sounds so certain of himself. “You don’t buy it?”

“No.” He doesn’t back down from her sarcastic tone. “If you wanted to be in Dallas, you would be in Dallas. Using the boarding house is just an excuse. It doesn’t sound like you.”

Isabel narrows her eyes at him. “You don’t know anything about me!” She almost laughs at the situation – trying to persuade a man she’s barely spoken to that he doesn’t know her better than her most intimate friends.

“I know you’re not a quitter, and I know you’re stubborn as all hell. So if you wanted to do something, you would do it, no matter what stood in your way.” He shrugs as if it’s that simple.

“You got all that insight about me from all the deep conversations we’ve had since you got here?” Her tone is dripping with sarcasm but he doesn’t rise to it.

“Am I wrong?” His eyes throw out the challenge to her.

She breaks eye contact with him, hating the way he seems to be able to read her mind. She stares into the depths of the black tea, as if she might fin some answers there. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“So what gives? What are you doing here when you should be there?” He points to the five-letter word emblazoned across her chest. “What were you studying? Wait, let me guess!” He holds his hand up to her and taps his index finger on his chin, a habit that she’s noticed when he seems to be lost in thought. “Between the way you didn’t faint at the sight of blood, the fact you seem to know your way around a first aid kit, and you’re clearly smart as a whip, I’m guessing nursing.” He snaps his fingers as if he’s got it.

Isabel raises her eyebrows, ready to chew him out for his sexism. “Because, of course, women can only be nurses, right? We couldn’t hope to be doctors or dentists or heart surgeons?”

“A heart surgeon, wow.” He looks at her, clearly impressed.

“I didn’t say that’s what I was studying to be.” Her voice is tart, still smarting from the disappointment that he believes in all the macho bullshit she’s been dealing with since she decided to study medicine. She’s always surprised how many seemingly educated, smart men thought being a doctor was ‘too big a job’ for such a pretty girl. The first time she’d heard that point of view she’d wanted to smack the guy; the second time she’d decided she would beat him in all their tests, and the third time and the times after that she’d barely even registered the words. But something about Wesley thinking that way made her disappointed, as if she had expected better from him; something that was, of course, ridiculous as she knows less about him than she does about the Fed-Ex guy.

“You didn’t have to tell me. Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree when you said the words. You love it.” He leans forward, almost daring her to disagree. “And don’t try to make me out to be some macho asshole. I’m aware we’re in the twenty-first century, I get that women are pilots and doctors and whatever the hell else they want to be.”

“So why the surprise, then, Mr. Raeburn?” She puts her cup down, abandoning all pretense of drinking the tea.

“Because a lot of girls like you would trade on their looks instead of their brains.” He says the words as if they are a universal truth.

“Girls like me?” She crosses her arms over her chest, feeling her irritation levels rise yet again. Who the hell does this guy think he is, anyway?

“Beautiful girls, Isabel.” His voice is soft, but there’s no mistaking what he’s just said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

In the space of a few seconds, Isabel feels all her anger dissipate into the ether. “Oh.” She shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, unsure of what to do now that he’s paid her a compliment rather than proven himself to be some knuckle-dragging Neanderthal. “Thanks.” The word comes out more begrudging than grateful and Wesley hoots with laughter.

“You don’t use that word a lot, do you, Bel?” He shakes his head, as if he’s answered his own question. “So who’s Mike anyway?”

The change in conversation is swift and random enough to make her pause. “What?”

“Mike, the guy you were trying to get off the phone earlier.” He prompts her but doesn’t push any further, looking at her expectantly, one eyebrow raised in his trademark expression.

“What about him? He’s a friend.” She shrugs, not wanting to get into this with Wesley. Bringing Mike into this conversation just makes her feel even guiltier over the way she has been treating him.

“It sounded like he was more than a friend to me.”

Isabel catches something in his voice and her eyes widen in surprise. “Are you jealous?” She can barely get the words out, they sound so ridiculous to her. After all, how can a man like Wesley, who she’s known for all of five minutes, be jealous of a guy he knows nothing about?

“Should I be?” The way he looks at her is loaded with meaning and she swallows hard under the intensity of his gaze.

“Mike and I are friends, that’s all.” She doesn’t add the more salient details of their relationship or the fact that Mike is doing his very best to make sure she sees him as more than just a friend. It isn’t the moment to get into that and, besides, what business is it of Wes’s anyway? He isn’t exactly giving her the lowdown on his relationship history.

Wesley looks like he’s about to argue with her, or to push her for more information that she’s not willing to part with, but, instead, he changes tack again. “So what’s the deal? Why aren’t you back at college already?” He leans forward, assessing her, as if he knows all of her tells.

“For a guy who doesn’t like to answer questions, you sure do ask a lot!” She runs her hand through her hair, a nervous habit she’s never quite been able to shake. “What do you want me to say?” She throws her hands up in surrender. “My mom died and, after that, everything seemed pointless. I mean, what’s the point in spending all these years studying so hard to become a doctor when it will never save her? No one could save her. I will never be able to save her. So tell me, Wesley, what’s the point?”

Her voice has started to wobble and she turns away from him, scrubbing at the tears that seem to be rising up behind her eyes. She’s mortified, not only that she’s about to cry in front of a guy who’s more or less a stranger to her, but that she’s been so vulnerable around him. The feelings she’s just exposed are more intimate than the kiss they’d shared, rawer, more painful.

All of a sudden, without even having heard him approach, she feels him behind her. He doesn’t touch her, but she knows that he’s there, can feel the heat radiating off of him and she looks down to find that her hands are trembling.

“I’m sorry.” The way he says the words, completely sincere but without a hint of pity, is almost her undoing. “I know what it’s like when things don’t seem to make any sense, when your life gets turned upside down and everything you thought you wanted just seems so…unimportant.”

The sadness in his voice makes her heart ache for him. Perhaps that’s what the connection is between them, that they have both lost their way. Any other day, with any other person, she might have asked what happened, what had turned his world topsy-turvy, but instinctively she knows now is not the time for him to confide that particular story in her. She can’t help but hope, though,\ that one day he’ll be ready to tell her the whole thing.

They stand in silence, only inches away from each other, but neither touching the other. The room seems to fill with an unbearable weight of tension.

“You haven’t pushed me about how it happened.” He gestures to his battered face, his voice holding a mixture of confusion and admiration.

Isabel sighs, turning around to look at him, finally meeting his eyes and feeling like she may be carried away on them. “That’s because, truthfully, Wes, I’m smart enough to know I probably don’t want to know.” She looks at the expression on his face. “That surprises you.”

He nods slowly, almost begrudgingly. “You seem to do that a lot, Isabel Bishop.”

“What?” She tilts her head, weighing him up.

“Surprise me.” His voice is husky and he looks at her the same way he had in his bedroom moments before they had kissed.

“And is that a good or a bad thing?” She licks her lips, watching as his eyes flare at the action and feeling an answering flame in her belly. Without giving herself time to change her mind, she takes a step towards him, closing the short distance between them.

Wesley doesn’t move. Instead he balls his hands into fists, standing straight-backed and rigid as if he doesn’t trust himself not to reach out and touch her. “I’m not sure yet.”

Isabel smiles at him and reaches out to lay her palm flat against his hard chest. “That sounds familiar.”

“Isabel.” His voice comes out through gritted teeth, his knuckles turning white as he bunches them even harder. “If we start this, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

The feeling between her thighs becomes an inescapable ache. “If we start this, I won’t want you to.” She leans into him, watching as his pupils dilate.

“Bel, tell me you want this.” His voice comes out strangled and Isabel gives herself a little high five over the fact that she’s managed to wrap this gorgeous man up in need.

She doesn’t even have to think twice about it; her body has taken over from her brain. There would be time afterwards for her to regret her decision, but, for now, there is nothing more important. It isn’t just a desire; it’s a need. “I want this.”

The words are barely out of her mouth before Wesley has grabbed hold of her hand with a growl and is pulling her out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” She has to virtually run to keep from getting dragged along behind him into his bedroom.

“Like I said, when I start this I won’t be able to stop and I don’t want an audience.” He closes the door behind them and pulls her closer to him, running his hands through her hair and looking at her as if it’s the first time he’s really seeing her. “Jesus, Isabel, you’re beautiful.”

She feels herself blush. She’s not used to being looked like he looks at her. She’s had n-strings-attached sex, but the way he makes her feel makes her know this is different. So she takes the lead, kissing him hungrily, like she can’t get enough of him. He responds in kind, his tongue slipping between the seam of her lips and tangling with hers, tasting her. It’s more than just a kiss; it’s an answer to a question she hadn’t even known she had asked. She needs to be closer to him. Frustrated, she scrambles to pull off her college sweatshirt, dumping it unceremoniously on the ground before diving in to his kiss again.

Her nipples harden against the silky material of her nightdress and there’s a rush of wetness between her thighs. Her need for him intensifies as he deepens the kiss. When they come up for air, panting, a wild look in their eyes, she traces her finger along his jawline, brushing her fingertips over the dark stubble along his cheeks.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you.” Isabel’s voice is barely a whisper when it makes it past her lips.

The heat in his dark eyes makes her feel like she’s about to burn up from the inside out. “There’s a lot that I’ve been wanting to do since I first saw you kicking the crap out of that water heater.”

She laughs softly and gives him a gentle nudge. “Wow, such a romantic.”

Amusement dances in his eyes and, for a few seconds, he looks lighter, like he’s not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Romance, huh? I can do romance.” He schools his face into a more serious expression. “How about this? I’ve been dreaming about this, this moment, having you in my bedroom, looking at me like you’re looking at me right now.”

Isabel locks eyes with him, feeling the gravitational pull that he seems to exert on her without even trying. “Pretty good.” Her voice cracks. “So what happens in the dream?” She looks up at him, her green eyes dark with lust.

“I thought you’d never ask.” His mouth covers hers again and she lets out a low moan as his hands cup her breasts through the soft silk of her nightdress.

Her nipples stand to attention and she feels a rush of heat to her lower lips. He guides her backwards until she feels the bump of the bed on the back of her thighs. In one, smooth motion, he has pulled off her nightgown and laid her down on the bed, spread out before him. He looks at her as if she is a present he can’t wait to unwrap, but she still shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. It’s partly to do with the fact that she’s naked as the day is long, completely exposed and partly to do with the unrelenting throbbing between her thighs that makes it hard for her to remain still.

She reaches out to him, but he shakes his head, looking at her wolfishly. “You’re so beautiful, Bel.” His eyes roam over her olive-skinned body, taking in every part of her.

“Wes, please.” She wriggles impatiently, needing something to curb the desire flushing through her body.

He doesn’t need for her to ask him again. He settles himself on top of her, opening her thighs with his knee and kisses her fully, deeply. His hand traces a line from the hollow of her neck, over the mounds of her full breasts and flat belly until it reaches the mound of tightly wound dark curls between her thighs. She lifts her hips, urging him on, needing him there more than she’s needed anything before. His fingers open her slick folds and Isabel almost comes at that, the lightest of touches.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet.” His words come out strangled, like touching her is testing his level of control.

She feels a little surge of triumph that she’s not the only one to feel carried away by lust. She raises her hips, wanting him deeper, needing him to touch her before the ache becomes unbearable. Reading her mind, he slips a finger inside of her, making her gasp, while he gently thumbs her clit, expertly building up the pressure until she can’t stand it any more. He looks down at her, an expression of awe on his face as he watches her come hard against his hand, exploding around him.

She’s still breathing heavily, her muscles feeling heavy, but she needs more. She pushes his t-shirt up needing to feel his skin against hers. His chest is all hard muscle and written across it in black cursive script are the words ‘Semper Fidelis USMC’. Always Faithful US Marine Corps. Her fingers trace the tattoo, marveling at how beautiful it is, not just aesthetically, but the meaning behind it. She looks up into his eyes and knows now isn’t the time to talk about it; there would be time enough later.

His mouth on her nipple pushes all rational thought away. He suckles at one and then the other while his clever fingers stroke the soft folds between her thighs. She needs more. Her fingers tear at his pants, pushing them down and reaching inside his shorts to free the hard length she finds there. Her hand wraps around him, running her thumb over the soft tip and she watches as his eyes darken with lust and he grits his teeth for control.

“I need you inside of me.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, full of need. She guides his swollen tip to her wetness and rubs it over her clit, making them both moan with pent-up desire.

As if he can’t stand it anymore, Wes grabs hold of her hips and plunges into her, burying his length inside of her. His mouth covers her cry of pleasure and he starts to move inside of her, setting a rhythm with his hips. Isabel wraps her legs around him, pulling him even deeper inside of her, and following him thrust for thrust.

“Wes, I’m close.” She barely recognizes her own voice; it’s so wound up in lust. “Come with me.”

He shakes his head, thrusting into her, harder this time, making her cry out and arch her back. “Not yet. I want to see you come again for me.” He watches her as he reaches between them, thumbing her clit as he plunges into her and Isabel can do nothing but oblige, coming hard and loudly, his name on her lips as she does.

Boneless, she drifts back to earth and opens her eyes to see Wes watching her intensely. She wants to make him feel as out of control as she does. She wants him to unravel inside of her just as she has done around him. She smiles coquettishly and catching him off guard, she bucks her hips and flips him over so she’s now straddling him as he lies back on the bed. His hands are on her hips where they’re still joined.

“So someone likes to be on top. I’ll remember that.” His eyes glint with amusement but his voice tells her he’s wound as tightly as she is.

In reply she lifts her hips, sliding up and down on his cock and watching as his eyes fill with heat and he grits his teeth together. She throws her head back, exulting in the feeling of having this gorgeous man completely at her mercy. But as he reaches between them, finding the sweet spot between her legs, flicking the nub so deliciously, she knows she’s just as much at his mercy as he is at hers – perhaps even more so.

“Wes, come with me. Please.”

The plea on her lips is all he needs to hear. With a growl, he flips her over onto her back again, shattering the illusion that she had actually been able to overpower him. He thrusts into her again and again, licking and sucking at her nipples, first one and then the other, building the heat inside of her until she feels like she might explode.

“Make it loud, Bel. I wanna hear you.” His order comes out breathlessly, as he struggles to hold on for those final moments, until he’s sure she’s close.

His words coupled with his deep thrusts inside of her are enough to send her over the edge. She cries out his name as her whole body is rocked with ecstasy, his growl of release joining her as he reaches his shuddering end.

Their eyes connect and they both know something has shifted. Isabel feels her eyes widen and she catches a similar realization in Wes’s dark eyes. This wasn’t just sex. He dips his head down and brushes a soft kiss over her mouth, a tender, gentle kiss that, for some unknown reason, makes her feel like she might be about to cry. Conscious that his weight is probably making it difficult for her to breathe, he moves onto his side, maneuvering her so her back is to him and they’re spooning, his arm draped over her waist.

Neither says a word, but the air is charged with things that are left unsaid. She pushes the thought away, trying to focus on the luxurious feeling of being completely satisfied, sated even. Her breath becomes deep and even, feeling more relaxed than she has in a long time, possibly ever. But just before sleep overtakes her, she can’t avoid the sense that everything is about to change for her again and she’s not sure if she’s going to be ready for it.

CHAPTER NINE

Consciousness slowly returns and with it, the realization that Isabel is alone in the bed. She reaches her hand out, but the warm body she had been sleeping beside, the warm body that had been entwined with hers for much of the night is no longer there. A noise alerts her to the fact that she’s not alone in the room and she turns to see Wesley, fully dressed and pulling on his biker boots.

“Where are you going?” Her voice is husky from sleep, but there’s something else in it, too, a vulnerability she’d promised she would never display, not for any man. Seeing him, hurrying to leave her after the night they had spent together makes her chest tighten.

Wesley looks up from his task. She wonders if it’s her imagination or if he doesn’t look a little guilty, like he’s been caught doing something wrong, like sneaking out after a night of mind-blowing sex. “I didn’t want to wake you.” His response doesn’t really do anything to put Isabel’s mind at ease or to make her feel like less of an afterthought.

“You mean you didn’t want to wake me before you could make your escape, is that it?” She gathers the sheets closer around her, suddenly very aware of the fact that she’s naked whereas he is fully clothed.

Wesley shakes his head, looking at her with something like pain in his eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“So tell me what it is like, then, Wes.” She looks at him imploringly. “Tell me something.” At this point she knows she will be content with anything at all, or at least that’s what she tells herself.

He sighs heavily, looking up at the ceiling as if he’ll find some help there. “You don’t know anything about me, Isabel. I’m no good for you.”

Drawing the sheet even closer around her to stave off the icy thread of fear that has radiated down her back at his words, she shakes her head. “I don’t believe that.”

Wesley laughs and it’s not the easy, warm laugh that makes her insides flip over. It’s a cruel laugh, one that chills her to the bone. “Come on, Isabel. You saw me come back here last night, all bloody and bruised. I’m guessing you know I’m not an insurance salesman!”

She feels herself bristle at the implication. “No, Wes, I’m not naïve. I’d figured that much out already. And I know enough not to ask.” She sighs heavily. “I suppose I hoped you’d tell me in your own time, when you trusted me enough.” She laughs bitterly. “But I guess today is not that day.”

She casts around on the floor by the bed until she finds her nightdress where they had discarded it in a fit of passion only a few hours earlier. She pulls it over her head, feeling a little more in control now that she’s not naked. Isabel was usually the one to sneak out in the earlier hours of the morning; she’d never been the one left behind and the truth is that it sucks. Knowing that what she had shared with Wes had been of so little importance to him that he doesn’t even want to face her is painful as all hell. His embarrassment at having spent the night with her is worse than his indifference could ever have been.

“Look, this is your room. You shouldn’t be the one who leaves. I’ll go.” She grabs her Dallas sweatshirt from the floor and stands, giving him a wide berth as she heads towards the door.

“Isabel, stop!” His hand reaches out and takes hold of her wrist. His grip isn’t hard but it’s firm.

She looks down at his strong hand on her arm. “What, Wes? Do you even know what you want to say to me?” She looks up into his brown eyes and sees he’s as conflicted as she had feared.

“I know I don’t want you to go, not like this.”

The certainty in his voice is the one thing that stops Isabel from shaking him off and marching to the door. “You were the one who was ready to sneak out while I was asleep, Wes, not me.” She forces him to meet her gaze. “What are you so scared of?”

“You.” The simplicity of his answer knocks the breath out of her.

“Me?” She smiles at him, wryly. “I’m not all that scary. You know I don’t bite, at least not hard.”

His expression softens and she watches the heat reach his eyes as he no doubt thinks about the night they just spent in his bed. She feels her own cheeks redden at the thought of the way their mouths and fingers had explored each other’s bodies as if there were no tomorrow.

“For the first time in a long time, I care about someone. I would never forgive myself if I were the reason something happened to you.” His jaw is set tight as he looks at her.

“Why would something happen to me?” Isabel feels a cold shiver run down her back, and it has nothing to do with her state of undress. She watches as he weighs up what he is about to confide in her. “Tell me, Wes. I have a right to know.”

He pulls her towards the bed and her feet follow mechanically. “Sit.”

She does so, without a word. That in itself is a minor miracle and her compliance isn’t lost on Wesley.

“I was in the Marines.” He starts pacing around the room in front of her, roaming like a caged tiger. “I enrolled straight out of high school. My old man had always told me I wouldn’t amount to anything, that the military would straighten me out or I’d get my head blown off. He wasn’t too worried about which of the two happened first.”

“He sounds like a peach.” Isabel’s voice drips with sarcasm.

Wesley barks a bitter laugh and shakes his head, like he’s remembering just what a bastard the man who had sired him really is. “The military, it was something I was good at. I became a Marine, ended up leading a platoon…” He trails off and Isabel knows there’s so much he isn’t saying but she lets him tell his story as he wants, at least for now. “Anyway, when I left the Corps, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do anymore. I’d been following orders for so long, fighting the good fight, that civilian life just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.” He looks at her as if to check that she’s still following, that she still wants to know what he’s about to tell her. She nods quickly, not wanting to give him any reason to back down from what he’s telling her. He rubs at the dark stubble along his cheeks, casting around for the right words. “Have you heard of the Devil Dogs?”

The name brings up some memory in the corner of her brain, but she can’t remember where she’s heard or seen it. Isabel shakes her head, frowning.

Wes looks a little surprised, but then nods in understanding. “Why should you know anything about them?” He shakes his head as he starts pacing again. “You’re not exactly moving in those kinds of circles and besides, we don’t operate in Dallas.”

The use of ‘we’ instead of ‘they’ isn’t lost on Isabel. “So who are the Devil Dogs?”

“It’s a motorcycle gang.” Wes says the words quickly, as if he’s afraid that if he doesn’t get them out, they’ll stick in his throat.

“Okay…” Isabel waits for the punch line; what he’s saying doesn’t seem so bad. “So you ride around on motorbikes, listen to ZZ Top and get into bar fights. What’s the big deal?” She frowns up at him, wondering why Wesley has found it so hard to tell her this.

He blinks at her, surprised at her reaction. “You really don’t know, do you?” There’s something close to wonder in his voice and he reaches out to her but then thinks better of it, pulling back his hand.

Isabel feels the change of heart like a slap in the face. “Know what, Wes?” She feels her frustration mounting. She’s never been a patient person and once she has her eyes set on something she has to know all about it. It’s what made her an excellent med student, but it doesn’t make it easy for her to just sit back and wait for Wesley to share his story.

He draws himself up, like he’s gathering himself together. “We don’t just ride on motorbikes and start bar fights. It’s a criminal gang.”

Isabel bites her lip, knowing she probably doesn’t want to hear the answer to the next question. “What do you do for them?”

“Whatever they need me to.” His voice is flat at the admission, as if there’s no emotion behind the words but Isabel knows differently.

“So what is it? Drugs? Guns? What do they deal in?” Isabel can’t bring herself to include Wesley; for her it’s still ‘they’ not ‘you.’

“All of it.” His voice is low and he avoids eye contact with her, looking down at the wooden floor.

“And what do you do for them?” She asks the question again because now she needs the answer, needs to know what she’s getting into with him. She needs to find out what kind of man she’s falling for. “Do you hurt people? Have you killed anyone?” Her voice is getting higher as his silence speaks volumes.

His eyes flash at that last question. “I haven’t taken a life since I left the Corps.” His voice is steady now, like he’s just giving her the facts. “But I know how to win a fight. I know how to cause pain and that’s how the Dogs found me.” He starts pacing again, a faraway look in his eyes as if he’s reliving his past as he talks. “In the Marines, they taught me how to fight, but they didn’t tell me how to stop. I was drifting, trying to figure out what my place was now that I wasn’t a Marine, now that I wasn’t anything at all. I guess I was looking for somewhere to belong. The Devil Dogs seemed to come along at the right time.” He shrugs as if it were that simple, but Isabel is no fool; she can see the haunted look in his eyes.

She takes a moment, trying to process all she’s heard. “So why would I be in danger? What does any of this have to do with me?”

“The less you know about the Dogs and what I do, the better.” He levels her with a serious look. “These guys are dangerous and they take their anonymity pretty damn seriously. The Feds, the ATF, they’ve been trying to penetrate the gang for years, but they’re always two steps behind. If the Dogs think someone outside knows what we’re doing, they’re prepared to shut them up, by any means necessary.”

Isabel shivers involuntarily at his words. Absently, she wonders when she’d earned a starring role in what sounded like something that could only happen in the movies.

In an instant, Wesley is by her side, his arms around her, holding her tight against his chest. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” His voice is firm as his fingers running through her hair are gentle. “I’ve been trying to keep you at arms length for your own safety. But I can’t, not anymore. I can’t stay away from you, Isabel.” He pulls away slightly to look at her, his fingers running over her the fullness of her cheek.

“I don’t want you to.” Her voice is quiet but there’s no mistaking the strength behind it.

Wesley’s eyes are conflicted. “But it’s not right. It’s not fair on you. It’s not safe for you to be with me. I should be telling you to stay as far away from me as possible. But I can’t, which makes me a selfish asshole.”

Isabel shakes her head firmly, resting her hands on either side of his rugged face. “I don’t want that kind of ‘safety.’ Not if it means being without you.” She looks at him seriously, communicating with her eyes that she has no intention of backing down. “Besides, there’s a lot you still don’t know about me; trust me, I can take care of myself.”

“But you don’t have to, not while I’m around.”

She doesn’t have long to ask herself the question that she’s been avoiding as he curls his fingers around the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him and kissing her deeply. She doesn’t have time to ask exactly how long he’s planning to be around before he pushes her gently back down onto the bed, nudging open her thighs with his knee.

Besides, it’s too soon for that. It’s too soon for any kind of sense of ownership. That’s what she tells herself, anyway. Never mind that the idea of him with anyone else makes her stomach turn. Never mind that she’s pulled towards him like a planet orbiting the sun. He’s told her he’s dangerous, that he’s not the kind of guy she should be with. So why is it so hard to believe him? Why is it impossible to imagine him being the villain of the piece rather than the hero? Why is it so hard to persuade herself she doesn’t need him?

Wesley’s mouth kisses a trail down her throat, suckling at her neck and she breathes in the scent of him, the feel of him, adding fuel to the flame of her overwhelming desire for him. The last thought she has before all rational thinking leaves her brain is a flashback to what he had said about the Dogs – that he had been looking for somewhere to belong when they found him. And she wonders if he is still searching, if, perhaps, he might find what he is looking for with her.

CHAPTER TEN

Isabel can’t help but start at every noise she hears, because any of them could herald the arrival of Wesley. She tries to distract herself with the accounts report in front of her. But no matter which way she works them, she can’t seem to make the incomings outweigh the outgoings. In other words, the boarding house is still losing more than it is making, month on month, and nothing she does seems to make any difference.

Feeling her mood darken, she shuts her laptop firmly, drumming the tips of her fingers impatiently on the lid. She looks at the time on her cell again, for about the hundredth time to find it’s only three minutes later than it had been when she’d last checked it. Where is he? He’s usually back by now.

Fear grips her, making her feel like her stomach is twisting and turning. She wonders if she’ll ever get used to the feeling or if she even wants to. The sensation of impending disaster isn’t one she would wish on anybody.

Wesley had told her what he is, the kind of people he is involved in. She hadn’t gotten into this, whatever this is, with her eyes closed. He’d made it very clear that he is dangerous, that she is in danger just by the virtue of being involved with him. She thought that was a little over-dramatic on his part, but she’d kept quiet as it had been clear he had believed it. But the fear that she is feeling wasn’t for herself. It’s for him.

Over the past week, they had lapsed into a kind of routine. Although ‘routine’ implies something boring, something you do over and over again to the point where it’s just an automatic reaction. She hasn’t reached that point with him; she wonders if she ever will. Everything about him is the opposite of routine and dull. When she is with him something comes alive inside of her that she hadn’t even realized had been dead before.

Their particular ritual involves her lying in bed next to Wesley while he gets a call from another member of the Devil Dogs, giving him instructions. He never tells her where he is going or exactly what those instructions are. The less she knows about it the better, he’d told her. She waits up for him until the early hours of the morning, her insomnia not allowing her much sleep at the best of times. He comes back bloody and bashed and she proceeds to patch him up, doing her best not to ask any questions about what he had done or why. Sometimes she is more successful than others at keeping her natural curiosity under lock and key.

She smiles to herself at the memory of the night before, the way Wesley had stopped her questions by kissing her thoroughly, in a way that made her pulse race and her knees go weak. She squirms in her seat, marveling at how she can be so turned on just by the thought of him and those lips of his and what he can do with them.

They haven’t put a label on what they are, but Isabel knows she’s in real danger with this man. He makes her feel things she never thought possible. He makes her want to wake up with his arms still wrapped around her, pulling her close, protecting her. Not once has she considered sneaking out of the bedroom before he wakes, as had been her MO before him. For the first time in her life, she doesn’t want an uncomplicated relationship. She wants more and that, in itself, is enough to worry her.

Her best friend Jamie had laughed when Isabel told her how she was feeling.

“You know, you’re the only woman I know who worries about wanting more than just a one night stand!” Isabel could hear her friend shaking her head all the way from New York.

“Remind me never to call you when I need advice.” Isabel’s grumbling was good-natured, as it always is with Jamie. She couldn’t remember them ever having an actual argument.

“Aww, come on now, Issy, you know I love you really.” Isabel could imagine the pout on Jamie’s pretty, angelic face as she said the words. “Besides, I know you better than anyone and I can tell you’re holding out on me. So what is it you’re not telling me?”

Isabel cursed her friend’s talent for seeking out truth like a missile. Jamie wasn’t wrong; there was something she hadn’t told her, the big breaking news that Wesley was involved in a criminal biker gang. Isabel wasn’t sure if she’d kept that particular nugget of information from her friend because Wesley had warned her of the dangers of sharing the information with anyone, not just for him but for whomever he shared it with, as well, or because she didn’t want to hear what Jamie’s inevitable reaction would be.

Despite the fact that Jamie is the wild one out of the two of them, she isn’t stupid. If she knew the truth, she would be telling her best friend exactly what Isabel knows to be right: she should stay away from Wesley, that it’s one thing to have a crush on a bad boy, but it’s a whole different kettle of fish to be dating a criminal.

Dating – is that even what they are doing? Their relationship hasn’t left the confines of the boarding house; in fact it has barely left the bedroom. In front of the other tenants they make sure to keep things as they always have been so nobody will suspect what goes on behind closed doors at night. Wesley is ferociously private, a fact she was finding more and more frustrating as time went on, so it isn’t a stretch for him to keep things secret. It is harder for her, because being around him, seeing him and not being able to touch him, to kiss him is about as difficult as keeping a starving man away from a feast.

“Nothing, Jamie, really it’s nothing.” She huffed a sigh, knowing full well Jamie wouldn’t let her evasion slide. “I guess I’m just wondering how long this thing can really last for. I mean, he’s a tenant. He’s not going to be around forever and when he decides to leave, what happens?” She didn’t voice the unspoken question that was on her lips, about what happens to her when he packs up his things and goes. But she didn’t need to say it; Jamie already knew Isabel’s fears.

“There’s no such thing as a sure thing, Issy.” Jamie sighed deeply as if she wished what she was saying wasn’t a universal truth despite all evidence to the contrary. “No one knows how long any relationship is going to last. All you can do is decide if you’re willing to run with it for as far as it’ll go and deal with the consequences when you get there.” Her friend’s logic was infuriatingly infallible as always. “You know, happy endings do exist – people fall in love, get married, have babies. It happens.”

“Really? Who does it happen to, Jamie?” Isabel didn’t even try to temper her frustration.

“It happens everyday, Issy. It could happen to you, too.” Jamie paused, a signal to Isabel that she was going to say something that was going to be hard to hear. “You deserve to be happy, Issy. Not everybody leaves.”

The words were harder to accept than they should have been. Isabel had waved Jamie’s concern away, telling her she knew that and she would call her soon. It was only after she hung up that Isabel drew in a shuddering breath. Not everybody leaves. But the two people who should have always been there – her mother and her father – they’d both gone and they’d left her all alone. It wasn’t a great batting average.

As if the very thought is enough to summon him, Isabel hears the sound of a key turning in the lock, followed by the stealthy padding of a man who is used to sneaking around. He needs to be able to keep himself off the radar to be able to do the bloody work the Dogs pay him for. Isabel pushes the thought out of her mind before she can dwell on it. The man had been a Marine, for Christ’s sake, she reminds herself. It’s not that strange that he should know how to be silent.

In just a few seconds she’s out of the office and facing him in the entrance hall. Her breath catches in her throat at the sight of him, and not just because of the way he makes her feel. Even though tonight he’s not in as bad shape as she’s seen him, he’s still a little hunched over, his hand clutched to his side in pain.

“Wes.” The word is barely a whisper on her lips but it’s full of longing and pain on his behalf.

He reaches his hand out to her and, in a moment, she’s in his arms. He holds her close, breathing in the scent of her hair and she buries her face in his shoulder, reassuring herself that he’s there, that he’s come back in one piece.

“I’m all right. I’m okay, Bel.” His nickname for her is soft on his lips. “But I may not be if you keep squeezing the life out of me.”

She hurriedly steps back, dropping her arms, giving him a worried look as he laughs at the seriousness on her face. “Ha ha. Very funny.” She crosses her arms, her green eyes narrowed in a way that tells him she thinks he’s anything but. “If you’ve broken a rib, you won’t be laughing so hard.” She moves to lead the way into the kitchen, which had become her triage center, but he catches hold of her hand, pulling her towards him again. She doesn’t resist him, doesn’t even try, as his hands find their way into her curly hair and his lips settle on hers, proprietorially, as if there is no other way things can be.

Isabel sighs as he deepens the kiss, his tongue thrusting insistently into her mouth, tasting her, suckling her lips until she feels like she might come right there and then, just from the exquisiteness of the kiss. Her palms run along his stubbled cheek, enjoying the scraping sensation in contrast with the softness of his lips.

They’re both breathless, their eyes filled with lust when the kiss ends. It takes a few moments for Isabel to recover her equanimity. She notices the way his hand has gone to his side again, almost involuntarily as soon as he’s released her.

“Come inside so I can take a look.” She leads him into the kitchen and it’s not lost on her the way he sits down so gingerly. There’s no doubt in her mind he’s in pain.

“It’s not broken.” His voice comes out through gritted teeth as she lifts his shirt up, exposing what is already turning into a pretty impressive-looking bruise.

She gives him a withering look that would have a lesser man quaking in his boots. “And you would know that from your previous experience as a doctor?”

“I’ve broken ribs before. It hurt a hell of a lot more than this.” His words coming from anyone else would sound like pure bravado, but Isabel knows that from his time in the Corps he has taken more than a few hard knocks.

Isabel ignores him, resuming her gentle exploration of the injury with her fingers, noting the way he seems to be trying to make his breathing as shallow as possible. When she’s satisfied with her inspection she motions for him take his shirt off. “It’s not broken.” She hates to admit he was right but that’s preferable to him being seriously hurt. “But you’ll have a helluva bruise there tomorrow. I’ll wrap it to stop you moving too much.”

Wesley lifts his shirt over his head, wincing as he discards it on the floor. Isabel feels her heart rate quicken, licking her lips at the thought of his body on top of hers. Their eyes meet and Wesley smiles, knowingly. She can tell from the way his pupils are dilated that his thoughts are running along the same lines as hers.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Bel, we’re going to be in danger of christening the kitchen floor.” His husky voice sends a shiver down her spine and she has to force herself to snap out of it.

“You’re not that irresistible you know, Wesley Raeburn.” She gives him a look that’s probably made less effective by the way her thoughts have a habit of being plastered all over her face.

“No, but you are.” His voice is a low growl and, in a heartbeat, he has grabbed her waist and is pulling her down to sit on his lap.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

She lets out an excited giggle. He nuzzles at her neck, his hand, skating over her breasts through her thin camisole top. She relaxes into his touch for a few moments before reason comes flooding back and her eyes fly open. “Not here, Wes. We can’t.”

Wes raises an eyebrow, looking down at her as if he doesn’t believe her. Her voice is husky but there’s no mistaking her tone, she’s not kidding around. He releases her, holding his hands up in surrender. “All right, but you’re going to have to make this quick if you don’t expect me to try to persuade you differently.”

Isabel shakes her head at the wicked gleam in his dark eyes, busying herself with her first aid kit and proceeding to wrap his chest in the last of the bandages. They’ve gotten through almost all of her mother’s extensive first aid supplies in a week and she doesn’t even say what it is he is doing every night to need medical attention more often than not. That should be enough to tell her there is something that isn’t right about this whole situation between them. It isn’t that she doesn’t see it; it’s more like she doesn’t want to.

“Seems like tonight was tough.” She avoids looking at the expression on his face as she broaches the subject she’s not supposed to talk about. “But I guess I should count myself lucky that you didn’t come back with a gunshot wound for me to sew up.” Wes remains silent, impassive, and the fact that he’s not willing to take the bait riles her. “So how many were you up against this time? Five? Ten? Twenty?”

Wes holds up his hand, motioning for her to stop. “Isabel.” The warning tone in his voice is clear but it’s not enough to stop her; she’s on a roll now.

“What will it take? Are you just not going to be satisfied until you’re in such a state that I can’t take care of you? What happens if you end up in a coma or worse?” She doesn’t say the word, she can’t. ‘Dead’ seems so final and such a poor descriptor of the absence that it creates.

He stands up, suddenly seeming to take up all the space in the room. “Isabel, that’s enough.” His voice is commanding and she can see he’s angry. She’d poked the bear and the bear had finally poked back.

She looks up at him and, suddenly all the oxygen seems to have been sucked out of the room. She looks into his eyes and feels all the energy and anger seep out of her. “It’s just…” She pauses until she feels like she’s got her emotions more under control. “It’s just it’s hard to see you do this to yourself night after night.”

Wes’s expression softens and, wordlessly, he holds his arms open to her and she walks into them, burying her head against his chest as he strokes her hair, murmuring words of comfort. She relaxes into him, letting the sense of security she feels whenever she’s in his arms wash over her. For a few moments, nothing can hurt her. She feels like, together, they can face anything.

Gently, he pushes her back so he can take a good look at her face. His thumb runs over the apple of her cheek as he squints are her, critically. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

She shrugs, noncommittally, which tells him all he needs to know. Wesley knows about her insomnia. He doesn’t have to be a genius to have noticed, bearing in mind they’ve spent every night since that first one together. He doesn’t give her the useless advice she’s had before from well-intentioned tenants: that she should count sheep or drink hot milk before bed. It would be pointless if he had anyway; she’s tried them all, nothing works. Well, almost nothing.

It doesn’t take long for him to squirrel out of her the reason for her lack of sleep since her mother had died. “You been cooking the books again?” He nods vaguely towards her office.

“I wish there was enough in them to be able to cook!” She strives for humor but neither of them laughs. Isabel had told Wesley about the financial trouble the boarding house is in; there didn’t seem to be any reason not to tell him. After all, they share things that are far more intimate than their bank balances.

But what he doesn’t know is that her sleeplessness has gotten even worse recently, that the circles under her eyes are darkening. And it’s not just because of the unpaid bills and the general state of disrepair of the house, although that would be enough to keep most people awake night after night. It is because of him. Every night she worries it will be the night he doesn’t come back. But she can’t tell him that, not only because she doesn’t have any intention of sharing exactly how she feels about him, but because no matter how much she worries it’s not going to change anything. He will still be who he is, doing the work he does, putting himself in dangerous situations night after night.

Wesley takes a deep breath, as if he’s steeling himself for something he knows is going to be tough. Isabel looks up at him, hoping this isn’t going to be the moment when he tells her he’s leaving.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” He takes a small step away from her and motions for her to sit down.

Isabel throws him a suspicious look but does as he’s directed. “That sounds ominous.” She keeps her tone light, but it does nothing to allay the choked up feeling she’s starting to get in her throat. The ‘we need to talk’ opener was never a good sign in her experience. But usually she isn’t the one on the receiving end; this is a whole new world for her.

Instead of taking the seat next to her, Wesley starts to pace up and down, wearing a hole in the kitchen’s original Victorian oak wood flooring.

“I know things haven’t been easy for you since your mom died, and I know that, at the moment, pretty much every cent counts.” He looks to her for verification and she nods mutely. This isn’t the way that she imagined the conversation going. Absently, he rubs at the dark stubble on his chin, a habit Isabel has come to learn is linked with frustration. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me. And in my line of work I make a pretty decent packet of extra money. So I’d like to say thank you.”

He buries his hand in his back pocket. Isabel looks up at him quizzically, but he studiously avoids eye contact with her. He pulls out rolls of bills and holds them out for her to take. She blinks, hard, trying to figure out what it is she’s looking at. It doesn’t take more than a quick glance for her to realize he’s probably holding close to a thousand dollars in cash in his hands.

“This is my way of saying thank you.” His voice is gruff, but his eyes are gentle. He actually looks nervous and it would be adorable if Isabel didn’t feel her anger already starting to rise. “Take it.”

Poor guy, he really couldn’t look more uncomfortable, but it’s too late, Isabel has already slid out of her chair and is standing toe to toe with him. She pushes the money he’s still holding in his hand away, letting it fall onto the kitchen table, a disgusted expression on her face. “You want to pay me for…” She can’t even bring herself to say the word, she’s so mad. “I don’t know who you think I am, Wes, but I can tell you that I’m most definitely not a whore who charges by the hour. Now that may be the only kind of woman that you’re familiar with, but that’s not me.”

She spins on her heel, needing to get as far away from him as possible before she actually becomes physically violent. Her mind is reeling from what’s just happened. Her entire perception of Wesley has changed in the space of a minute. How could she have been so wrong about him? How could she be hung up on a guy who thinks it is normal and okay to offer to pay her for sex? The heat of her anger does something to temper the bitter taste of disappointment in her mouth, but it’s nowhere near enough to stop the hurting.

“Hold on a damn second.” Wesley’s hand is on her arm before she’s even stepped two feet away and he turns her around, gently but firmly.

“Let go of me, Wes. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say to me. I think you’ve done enough for one night, don’t you?” Her green eyes flash at him and she tries to yank her arm away from his grip, but to no avail.

Of all the expressions she expects to see from him in the face of her anger, amusement is not one of them. “You know, you really are beautiful when you’re mad, Bel.”

“This is funny to you?” Her mouth gapes at him in shock, wondering if an alien has come down from space and replaced the Wesley she thought she knew with someone completely different. “What is your malfunction?” He shakes his head at her, looking down at his feet, but not fast enough for her to miss the smile he tries to hide. “Well, I’m glad to provide you with some light entertainment after your evening’s activities, but I really do have better things to do, so if you’ll just let me go.”

She struggles, snatching her arm away when she feels him relax his grip. He makes a calming gesture with his hands. His whole posture is much the same as if you were calming a wild horse. “Just settle down now, Bel. You may be beautiful when you’re angry, but I’ve had a long night and I’m not going to chase you all over the house.” He looks at her pointedly and motions towards the chair that she had vacated. “Sit.”

Her eyebrows go up so high it’s a wonder they don’t end up as part of her hairline. “Sit? So I’m a dog now?” She crosses her arms over her chest, shaking her head in disbelief at the audacity of the man in front of her. If this is the real Wesley, he must be one hell of an actor. She isn’t exactly the naïve, trusting type but he’s still managed to fool her into thinking he really cares.

“Would you sit down in the damn, chair, Isabel, and shut your mouth for just a minute?” The thinly veiled frustration in his voice is enough to have her behind hitting the seat without even realizing what she is doing. “Thank you.” He nods in satisfaction, starting to pace in front of her yet again.

“Why would you think I see you as a whore?” The way he has cut straight to the chase leaves Isabel groping for words. “Have I ever made you feel like that? Have I ever given you any indication I think of you in that way?”

His dark eyes are full of sincerity and, behind the frustration on his face, Isabel sees something else, something that makes her doubt herself; she sees hurt. “No.” Her response is quiet, but the volume doesn’t make it any less true. He has only ever treated her with the utmost respect. She has no evidence to say otherwise.

“Well, I guess at least that’s something.” Wesley seems to be talking more to himself than her. He sighs heavily, looking over at the wad of bills that he’d let fall onto the kitchen table. “The money wasn’t for sex, Isabel. Whatever you may think of me, I can promise I’ve never had to pay for it.”

Isabel feels her chest tighten at the mere thought of him in bed with someone else, but she pushes that emotion away. “Why pay when you can get it for free, right?” She shrugs as if to show how little she’s bothered, but she’s never been all that good at bluffing.

Wesley looks like he’s chewing on a load of nails as he looks at her. “No one likes a smart Alec, Isabel. You’re lucky I don’t take you over my knee and spank that out of you.”

Isabel feels her insides clench at the thought, her body betraying her with him as it always does. “I’d like to see you try.” Her voice doesn’t hold any of the venom that she had been shooting for. Instead it sounds husky, almost like an invitation.

“I bet you would.” He grins wickedly at her and Isabel’s silky pajama top does nothing to hide the way her nipples have hardened almost on his command.

“If the money isn’t for sex, what are you thanking me for, exactly? As far as I remember, you are paying me rent for the pleasure of staying here.” She motions expansively at the house.

“It’s for patching me up.” His words knock the smart responses out of her. “It’s for being here every night when I come back, bleeding and bruised. It’s for helping me, when you don’t have to.”

Isabel can’t feel more stupid about the way she had reacted to him offering her the money. She’d behaved like a child, jumping to the worst possible conclusion she could come up with. But that doesn’t change what she was going to do. She makes her way over to the table, picks up the cash and holds it out towards him. “It’s a sweet gesture, Wes. But I can’t take your money.” She shakes her head, knowing she’s passing up the opportunity to give herself a couple more decent nights’ sleep without having to worry about the pile of bills sitting on her desk. But she knows she can’t take it.

“Why?” His arms remain crossed over his chest. He stares at her, his eyes seeing down into the depths of her soul, but he makes no move to take the bills from her.

“Because money is never just money. It comes with attachments and compromises. It’s never just a thank you; there’s always more to it than that.” She shrugs, as if it is that simple. “Besides, things aren’t so bad that I have to take charity. I don’t need to depend on the kindness of strangers quite yet.” Her stab at humor doesn’t do anything to change the amazed expression on his face.

“It’s not charity.” He shakes his head at her, as if he can’t believe what it is he’s hearing. “And if it were, so what? Do you think the power company gives two shits if the money you pay them is a gift or not?” He paces up and down, but his eyes don’t leave her face. “You know what your problem is, Bel?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Please, I’m desperate to know. Tell me, Wes, what is my problem?” She crosses her arms, feeling the fire of her anger return.

“You’re too damn proud.” He throws the words like an accusation. “You’re too proud to let anyone help you, because you want to be able to say you did it all yourself. You’re not happy unless you’re proving something to someone. Why can’t you just let someone help you?”

Isabel feels a prick of sadness come into her voice, despite her best efforts to quash it. “Because the more they give you, the more you rely on them and then what happens when they’re gone?”

A flash of understanding falls across Wesley’s features and he lowers his tone, making his voice gentle as he steps closer to her, closing the distance between them in two strides. He hooks this index finger underneath her chin and lifts it up so he can look into her emerald-green eyes and she can look into his bottomless dark ones. “Why are you so determined to see the worst in everyone? Does that just make it easier for you to push everybody away?”

Isabel’s mouth works wordlessly, but it’s hard to bring herself to say anything around the lump in her throat. “You’ve known me for all of five minutes, Wes. You can’t possibly know who I am or the way I behave.” She waves away his comment, despite the fact that he’s managed to hit the nail directly on the head.

“I know you better than you think, Bel. You can fool a lot of people, but you can’t fool me.” He leans towards her, invading her space and it’s all she can do not to lean into him, not to let him get to her. “You’re scared, Isabel.”

She scoffs, shaking her head, sending her curly dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. “I’m not scared of anything, Wes, and least of all of you.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans in farther, scrutinizing her expression, his face only inches from her. “Because I think you’re terrified, terrified that you feel something when you’re with me that you can’t control, something that doesn’t fit into the nice, safe little life you’ve made for yourself.”

“Don’t act like you know more about me than you do, Wes.” The fire is in her words but there’s nothing matching in her tone. His observations about her have hit far too close to home. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.” She makes a move towards the door, but his hand shoots out to her arm, holding her in place.

He tugs her gently, spinning her around and pulling her close to him so she’s right up against his chest. She’s plastered against him and there’s no mistaking the hardness pushing on her hip. They’re both breathing heavily from their battle of wills and when Isabel looks up at him she sees his eyes are hooded with lust. Her body responds to him instantly; she feels her nipples harden and the heat between her legs spread.

“Let me go, Wes.” Her voice is husky, with none of the anger that had been filling it before. She twists weakly in his arms, but it’s more for show; she doesn’t really want to get away from him. If anything she wants to be even closer.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” The challenge in his tone is clear and the way he’s looking at her leaves her in no doubt as to what ‘this’ entails.

She swallows hard, unable to form the words because the thought of his naked body against hers is almost too much to handle.

“Bel.” His voice is strained and Isabel can tell that he’s as turned on as she is. He’s holding on to his last vestiges of control.

But she doesn’t want to give in to her desires. There’s something about what he’s said to her, the way he seems to know her so well without even having to try. It’s disconcerting and, more than that, it’s dangerous. Isabel is all too aware that one day he is going to up and leave the boarding house. There is no scenario in which he is going to stay forever and they are going to live happily ever after. The realization makes her heart ache a little and that just bolsters her certainty over what she has to do. She has known she’ll have to start pushing him away sooner or later; she had just hoped that it would be later. She can’t deny the way she feels about him is growing each day and the power he seems to wield over her is like nothing she’s ever experienced before. Her self-preservation instincts are kicking in and she knows what she has to do.

“I don’t want this.” She holds her breath, her eyes looking up at him defiantly as her mouth forms the words that are almost impossible to say.

Wesley raises his eyebrows at her, surprised at her reaction and then he looks deeper into her eyes as if he’s searching for some kind of meaning there. “Liar.” That one word is enough to topple her defenses, but she stands tall, refusing to let him see. He releases her from his hold and steps away from her, looking at her in a way that tells her he’s reading her mind again. “When you’re ready to tell the truth, you know where to find me.” He turns away from her, leaving the kitchen, padding quietly away from her.

It’s not until she hears the door of his bedroom close behind him that she allows herself to sink down into one of the chairs. She looks down at the table that’s covered in bits of bloody gauze and bandages. It looks like there had been a war in this room and she supposes it’s not all that far from the truth.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Isabel tosses and turns, unable to sleep. The first fingers of dawn are still a while away from spreading across the sky. She plays her argument with Wesley over and over again in her head until she can’t stand it anymore. She throws off her bed covers, not stopping to grab her sweatshirt to ward off against the cold of the house and pads downstairs quietly, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards.

Before she has time to second guess her decision or re-think what she’s about to do, she opens the door and makes her way inside. The room is dark, but she still knows it like the back of her hand. It’s only as she approaches the bed and she sees the half-naked body underneath it that she stops to wonder what the hell she’s doing. Creeping into a guy’s room at night, ready to jump him because she can’t think about anything else other than him, really isn’t her style. Not to mention the fact that it goes against everything she had said to him only a few short hours before.

She’d told him she didn’t want him when the opposite was true. What stung was that he had been right: she pushes people away because it is too hard to depend on someone only for them to let you down or disappear forever. But no matter what her reservations are, what her fears are, Isabel knows what she wants. There seems to be a force stronger than anything she’s ever felt before that draws her towards him. She’s powerless to escape it, no matter how much she tries. It’s as undeniable as gravity.

“Are you going to stand there staring at me all night or are you going to come to bed?” His voice is clear as a bell, not even partly shrouded in sleep, telling her he’s been awake since their fight, too.

“With an offer like that, how could a girl refuse?” She spars with him out of habit, but the undercurrent of nerves is evident in her voice. This feels like their first time again, except that first time she didn’t remember feeling so much like she was about to fall off of a precipice. She slips into bed with him and he pulls her close, his body warming hers through and it’s only then that she realizes how cold she was without him.

“You’re shivering.” He pulls her even tighter up against him, wrapping himself around her, his searing heat invading her senses and body.

She takes a deep breath, figuring that the best way to do this is fast and all at once. “I’m sorry for getting mad. The drama queen bit has never really been my thing but you seem to bring it out in me.” She shakes her head at the memory of how hot-tempered she had been with him when she had always prided herself on how cool and calm and collected she could be. “Anyway, you were right. I did lie to you.” She listens to the regularity of his heartbeat, her head resting against his chest.

“I know.” He says the words so full of confidence that Isabel looks up at him, not a little indignant.

“You’re pretty confident in yourself, aren’t you?” She smiles wryly up at him and he shrugs expansively.

“I have my moments.” His mouth quirks up as amusement dances in his dark eyes. He leans down and kisses her gently on the forehead, a gesture of tenderness, something more than the, admittedly, deeply-satisfying sex they’ve been enjoying. “So, tell me. What exactly was it that I was so right about? You may need to refresh my memory.”

“Oh, really?” Her voice is coquettish as she wriggles against him, her hand sneaking down his belly, resting over the hard shaft straining against his boxers. “Well, we’ll just have to see what we can do about that.”

Her hands reach inside his boxers, stroking the length of him as she leans up and kisses him teasingly on the mouth, her tongue darting against the seam of his lips. She’s rewarded by a deep groan as he pulls her even closer to him, but he lets her take the lead, holding himself back, as if he knows she needs this, this feeling of control.

Isabel wants to fill her senses with him, wants to feel him all around her, inside her. The very thought warms her through and sparks a wetness between her thighs. She positions herself over him, straddling his hips as she continues to kiss him thoroughly, tenderly, deeply. He moans as she wriggles her hips, feeling the answering jump of his cock underneath her. He reaches up to pull of her top, but she catches his hands with her own, pushing them back down onto the bed, above his head.

“Patience.” She breathes the word out, smiling teasingly and she takes a moment just to take in the sight of this beautiful man laid out beneath her. The muscles of his arms and his chest are taut and hard. His face, framed by sexily mussed dark hair and eyes that are even darker is kick-in-the-gut gorgeous. She leans down, kissing him again, letting her chest rest against his, so he can feel the hardness of her nipples through the soft material of her top.

She slides down his body, looking up at him occasionally to find him watching her slow progress down to his hips. Slowly, she pulls his boxers down, freeing his shaft that has been straining for release. She takes hold of him, tugging gently on his length.

“Isabel.” Her voice is a groaned whisper on his lips and hearing it bolsters her confidence. She leans down and takes him into her mouth, not gently, but all at once. He sits up in the bed, the force his pleasure pulsing through him. She licks his tip, tasting his saltiness, twisting his shaft and feeling it swell even more in her mouth.

She licks and sucks the tip hard and, in that moment, Isabel loses all control. He pulls her up so they’re face to face before flipping her over so she’s underneath him, his hips pinning her where she lies. His fingers find their way underneath her top and he pulls it over her head, impatiently. She looks down to see desire written all over his face and she feels the answering hunger within her. He cups her breast with his hand, dragging his thumb over her nipples that are already so sensitive they’re almost painful.

She leans into his touch, powerless to do anything but feel. He rolls her nipples gently, between his fingers, first one and then the other; she arches her back surrendering to the feeling. He leans into her, taking his nipples in his mouth, licking them, suckling them, first softly, then harder, making her feel all the nerve endings scream with pleasure.

Her hands are in his hair, encouraging him, willing him on. His fingers move farther down, skimming her belly, making her moan with anticipation. He slips inside her silky shorts, finding the heat between her legs.

“Oh, Bel. You’re so wet for me. You’re so ready.” His fingers part her slick folds, finding her clit and rubbing it gently, making her feel like she’s about to dissolve into a puddle of need right there and then.

“You are lovely.” He says the words reverently as he touches her, his clever fingers skimming the soft skin inside of her. “I want to taste you.”

For a split second, Isabel moves to stop him. There are only a handful of men she’d ever let go down on her, partly because for some it had seemed like a chore they felt was necessary to get what they wanted. “You don’t have to.” Her voice is raw with need and she can’t help but lift her hips as he strokes her insistently, inserting a finger inside of her and making her cry out, his name on her lips.

“I know. But I want to.” Wesley clearly isn’t taking no for answer. But he waits for her permission, watching her as he takes her to the edge of pleasure with his clever fingers, but leaves her dangling.

She nods quickly, having lost the ability to speak and she watches the satisfied smile form on his lips. He scoots down her body, pulling off her silk shorts that are now sodden with her own desire. Before she has time to think, his mouth is on her, licking and tasting her most intimate parts. She bites her lip, trying to hold onto some semblance of control, but it’s an impossible task. Already, she knows when it comes to Wesley, she has no hope of keeping her desire under wraps. She lifts her hips and he takes the invitation, his fingers moving inside of her as his tongue stimulates her clit, turning her body into a ball of sensation. Her hands grab hold of his shoulders, just as her orgasm rocks her and she comes hard against his mouth, bucking and moaning loudly.

“I love to watch you come, Bel. So beautiful.” His voice reaches her through the fog of her pleasure. She smiles up at him, lazily, through thickly lashed eyes.

He leans down to kiss her and the taste of herself on him is enough to stir her senses again, making her ready for more, more of him, as if she could ever get enough. She slips her hand between them, encircling him with her fingers and opening her legs to him.

They lock eyes as she guides him to her entrance, her legs moving to wrap around his hips as he hovers, pausing just for a moment before he plunges into her. The heat between her thighs builds with every thrust he takes and her hips rise up to meet him each time.

“Look at me, Bel. I want to see you.” Her eyes fly open at his command, as if she is powerless against him. He could ask her anything in this moment and she knows she would do it, so consumed is she with desire for him.

They watch each other as he moves inside of her, filling her up with every plunge. Their rhythm quickened and just as she feels like she can’t take any more, her climax wracks her body. She cries out his name, his own guttural roar signaling he has found his tumultuous release.

They hold onto each other, as if they are going down on a sinking ship. Her embrace is nearly fierce, so intent is she on having his body as close as is physically possible to hers. They lie in bed, wrapped around each other, their rapid breathing coming back to normal as they fall back to Earth. She loves the feel of being in his arms; she can’t help but wish that she never had to leave.

“So, I’ve been thinking about the conversation we had earlier, the one where you threw about a thousand dollars in my face.” He says the words mildly, coolly, as if her behavior had no effect on him whatsoever.

“Okay…” Isabel holds her breath, hoping he’s not going to renew his offer. Much as she now understands that it comes from a good place, that he just wants to help her, there’s something that just doesn’t sit right with her about taking cold, hard cash from him. The rent he’d paid as a tenant was different, a business transaction – pure and simple and had all happened before they’d started sleeping together. This is something else entirely.

“Well, as that conversation went so well,” his voice is heavy with sarcasm, “I thought we could try something different.” He doesn’t give her time to interrupt him, yet another signal that he knows her better than she thought. “I’m pretty good with my hands.”

“I had noticed that.” She nods, seriously at him, shivering as he puts them to good use, stroking the soft skin of her back, rhythmically.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The humor in his voice makes her smile. “Anyway, I figured I could help some with this old place.” He says the words fondly, as if he had a soft spot for the rundown Victorian building. “There are a good few jobs that need doing that would make all the difference – some painting, fixing up that back porch before It falls onto the garden, stuff like that.” He shrugs as if it what he is offering is no big deal.

Isabel blinks the tears away that come to her eyes, unbidden. Her emotions really are all over the place when it comes to Wesley. She opens her mouth to tell him that as much as she appreciates the offer, she can’t accept it. But he places his index finger over her lips, stopping her protests before she can utter them.

“Don’t say no yet. Just think about it.” His words are soft but firm and she complies, keeping her mouth closed and edging closer towards him as he pulls her even tighter into his arms. “But now, it’s late. Try to get some sleep, Bel.”

She doesn’t tell him she knows she’ll have no problem falling asleep, that the only place she feels truly at peace is with him, in his arms.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It’s the first really warm day of the spring and Isabel feels an answering lift in her frame of mind. She even hums as she mixes the fresh lemonade she’s just made.

“Someone’s in a good mood.” Rosa doesn’t make the observation kindly, but it’s still not enough to irritate Isabel. She’s resolved to be positive today and nothing is going to spoil it.

“Well, Rosa, it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” She busies herself placing two glasses on a tray along with the jug of fresh lemonade.

“Nothing to do with the handsome man in the garden, I bet.” This time, Rosa’s voice is knowing and Isabel turns around to see the older woman giving her a look. Isabel feels her face flame, which only makes Rosa even more curious. “He your…boyfriend now?”

Isabel shakes her head quickly, too quickly, she thinks bearing in mind everything they’ve shared in the past week. “No, he’s just a helpful tenant, Rosa. He’s good with his hands.” She blushes again, unable to control it. “So he offered to do some odd jobs around the place. Besides, it’s not like we can’t use the help.” She shrugs as if it were that simple.

Rosa nods in agreement, but when Isabel prepares to make her escape, carrying the tray out of the kitchen, the older woman steps into her path, giving her a warning look. “Just be careful, Isabel.” The woman looks genuinely concerned. “I not sure about this man.” She shakes her head, like she’s trying to get an image out of her mind.

Isabel feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Rosa has always claimed to have some kind of sixth sense or intuition for things. She can guess the sexes of unborn babies, tell when it is going to rain, that sort of thing. Rosa had said that generations before, the women in her family in Italy had been witches. Her ‘gift,’ as she refers to it, stemmed from there.

Isabel isn’t sure about the veracity of that particular assertion, but it is true that Rosa has been proven right more times than wrong. So her concern over Wesley is enough for Isabel to put down the tray and give Rosa her full attention. It’s not that Isabel is suspicious. In fact, quite the opposite; she prides herself on being pragmatic, a realist. She doesn’t believe in ghosts or spirits or magic, but she had seen Rosa’s ‘gift’ firsthand and that is enough to hear the woman out.

“What aren’t you sure about, Rosa?” Isabel waits patiently as Rosa heaves a sigh, as if she doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, when, in reality, Isabel knows Rosa quite enjoys putting in her two cents just as much as the next person.

“There’s something about him, a dark cloud around his head.” Isabel has to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the imagery Rosa is creating. “I think this man is dangerous. I don’t think he’s good for you, not at all.” Rosa shakes her head, looking meaningfully at Isabel. “He bring trouble to you; he bring trouble to this house.”

Isabel doesn’t tell Rosa that she’s already figured out that much. Wesley had trusted her with the secret that he is part of the Devil Dogs; she wouldn’t betray his trust. She lays a hand on Rosa’s shoulder, seeing that the older woman still looks troubled. “Thanks for your concern, Rosa. I really do appreciate it. But there’s nothing for you to worry about. Wesley is just a tenant, that’s all.” She pats the sturdy Italian woman on the shoulder and lifts the cumbersome tray up again to take it out to Wesley.

“Step carefully, Miss Isabel. You wouldn’t want to fall.” Rosa’s words are laced with meaning beyond the tray she’s carrying. But before Isabel can call her out on it, the woman has disappeared into another room with a speed that doesn’t seem possible taking into account her wide girth.

Isabel shakes off the ominous feeling that Rosa’s words have left her with, but they hang around, like the dark shadow she had described. She lays the tray down on the steps of the porch, taking a few moments to stare at Wesley as he hammers some nails into the wooden decking he’s repairing. She watches the way his muscles tense and bunch as he works and she feels a flutter of need pass through her. There’s something primal about a hot man working with his hands that can’t fail to turn a woman on, and Isabel wasn’t above that particular effect.

His head snaps up, as if he’s aware that he’s being watched and his expression turns from primed readiness, as if he is preparing himself for a fight, to a sexy smile that makes her insides doe somersaults. She realizes she’s been caught staring and sends him an answering grin. “Time for a break, don’t you think?”

“Sounds like a good plan.” He walks up the stairs, slowly and as he approaches Isabel sees the drops of sweat forming on his broad chest. He looks around to see if anyone is watching and dips his head to nuzzle her neck gently.

Isabel leans in to him, feeling like she might melt away right there and then, breathing in the manly scent of him that’s enough to drive her insane.

An unknown noise has him stepping away from her and she misses his nearness instantly. But she knows the rules as well as he does. They’re to keep their relationship a secret. That said, she can’t help feeling like she wants to throw her arms around him and kiss the living daylights out of him every time she sees him. Now, it takes a supreme effort of will for her to sit down on the porch stairs instead of doing just that.

“Don’t worry. It’s just the cat.” She smiles at him reassuringly at the same time making sounds of encouragement to the kitten that is trying to find its way up onto the deck.

“If you keep feeding him, he’ll just keep coming back, you know. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Wesley gives the cat a dismissive look but Isabel isn’t fooled; she’s seen him pet the kitten when he thinks she isn’t looking.

“I don’t mind him. It’s nice to have the company. Besides, he looks like he could use a little fattening up.” She strokes the kitten that has jumped onto her lap, as if it is his rightful place. She picks up the bowl of milk she’d set out on the tray expressly for that purpose and sets it down for him to drink. He jumps off her lap and starts lapping at the milk as if it is the first meal he’s had in weeks.

All of a sudden, Isabel becomes aware of Wesley staring at her and the heat in his gaze makes her feel like she wants to jump him again. To give her something else to focus on, she pours out two glasses of the ice-cold lemonade and hands him one. She watches him take a sip and let out a contented sigh before picking up her own. She takes a look at the work he’s been doing, rebuilding the porch and decking, and she can’t help but be impressed. He’s done a lot in the space of only a few hours and even the searing heat doesn’t seem to be bothering him.

“So how’d you get to be so handy, anyway?” Isabel looks out over the garden, aware that Wes is leaning back against the wooden frame of the porch stairs, studying her.

He waits a beat before replying, probably trying to gauge if this is something he can share with her or not. She’s learned that Wesley has a lot of secrets, not because there’s any need to keep them to himself, but more because he is fiercely private. He’s not someone who likes to lay himself bare so any nugget of information Isabel can eke out of him feels like a solid victory.

Then, just as she’s expecting him to fob her off with a non-answer, as she’s become accustomed to, he starts talking. “My dad was a carpenter. He used to take me out onto jobs with him. I was holding a hammer before I learned to walk.” He smiles warmly at the memory.

“Your mom didn’t mind that your dad had you on a building site when you were just a baby?” Isabel takes a sip of her lemonade, the taste of it reminding her of her own mother who had taught her how to make it just like she had.

“I doubt it. She didn’t stick around long enough to see it so I guess she couldn’t have cared less.” His expression remains deadpan but there’s something behind the coldness of his tone.

“I’m sorry.” Without thinking about who might be watching, Isabel reaches out and covers his hand with hers. It’s a light touch and she feels his hand curl around hers.

“Don’t be. I figure it’s good riddance to bad rubbish. She didn’t want a kid, didn’t want a husband. It was worse for my dad. Shit, I don’t even remember what she looked like.” He shrugs as if to show he doesn’t care, but Isabel knows what it’s like to lose someone. Even if that someone was a crushing disappointment, it still hurt like hell.

Instead of pressing him to talk about something he so clearly wants to steer away from, Isabel tries another tack, making the most of the fact that she seems to have caught him in a slightly more loquacious mood.

“So you know how to fix things. Construction sites are like a second home to you, but you didn’t want to make a career out of it?” She turns her attention back to the overgrown garden, knowing he’ll be more relaxed if she’s not studying his reactions.

“The carpentry stuff – that was just a hobby, to help my dad out. I’d always wanted to be in the Marines. I can’t tell you why. It was just something I always knew I would do.” He takes a long breath and Isabel prepares herself for him to clam up, but he surprises her yet again. “After the Marines, I did a lot of things to make ends meet. Working with my hands came easy and the money was good. It made sense to me. I couldn’t imagine working in an office nine to five. I need to be doing something, making something, not just sitting around watching my life pass me by.” The passion in his voice lifts her spirits. It’s good to hear.

“No, I can’t really see you as an accountant or anything else, for that matter, that would require you to wear a suit.” She smiles at the thought of it. Emboldened by his openness, Isabel asks the question she’s been wanting to since she found out he used to be a Marine before he seemed to drop off of the face of the planet. “So if you loved it so much, why did you leave?”

“I could ask you the same question.” His rapid-fire response catches her off-guard. She shrugs, accepting the fact she’d walked right into that particular retort.

“You could, but we’re talking about you now, not me.” She waits, sipping her lemonade, looking at the plant beds that need weeding and the rose bushes that need trimming. Those roses had been her mother’s pride and joy; she would probably be horrified if she saw them now and she’d have a few choice words to say to Isabel about letting them run so wild.

Isabel has all but given up hope of Wesley actually giving her an answer when, slowly but surely, he starts talking. “I was injured.” He clears his throat, as if it’s something that’s hard for him to talk about. “I was on a mission in Afghanistan. It was my third tour. I guess third time isn’t always lucky.

His eyes have that faraway look about them that tells Isabel he’s no longer just recounting what happened; he’s reliving it. “My platoon and I were tasked with locating a threat and neutralizing it.”

It isn’t much of a stretch for Isabel to figure out that ‘neutralizing’ is just a euphemism for killing.

“We were first on the scene in pursuit of the threat. It was a routine mission, nothing different from what we’d done a hundred times before. But we were all a little tired, a little on edge; we’d been tracking him for about thirty-six hours without sleep. We were going through a town where we knew there were Taliban sympathizers.

“We had our guards up, alert, aware.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “But it wasn’t enough. There was this little kid, he had a yo-yo he’d made himself and he was all excited, wanting to show the American troops what he’d done.

“He was just a kid, couldn’t have been more than six or seven. It hardly took any time at all and before I realized what was happening it was too late. He wasn’t just any kid; he was a kid with a bomb strapped to his chest under his clothes. I saw him looking back towards an outcrop of rocks in the distance; that’s when I saw the riflescope.

“I shouted at the guys to hit the dirt but it was too late. The kid was already close enough to the platoon to do some real damage. I still don’t know if he’d been convinced to detonate the bomb himself or if the guy behind the rock had a remote transmitter. I guess it doesn’t really matter. The outcome is the same. The whole platoon was wiped out, except for me. I was the lucky one, apparently.”

The way he says it tells Isabel he doesn’t think he was lucky at all. She barely breathes, not wanting to halt his words, knowing he needs to tell the story as hard as it is for him to do it.

“There was nothing I could do. They were all gone. It was over in an instant. It took me a little while to realize I’d been hit.” He motions towards his leg. “You saw the scar that first night you patched me up.”

“It was a burn.” Isabel says the words quietly, nodding.

“A piece of burning shrapnel had lodged in my thigh. The doc told me it was less than an inch away from severing my femoral artery, that I would have bled out in seconds if it had even nicked it.” He rests his hand, almost absently on his thigh where the scar bears testament to the horror of that day. “That was just before he told me told they hadn’t been able to get all the shrapnel out.” Isabel’s head whips up at this. “He said there were tiny fragments, so small it would have been impossible to get them all out, that my body would expel them.” He shakes his had at the memory.

Isabel bites her bottom lip as she considers the pain he must have been in. An injury like that would have been agonizing, not to mention the after-effects. “It never really heals, does it?”

Wesley shakes his head slowly. “There are bits of metal still trying to find their way out, they rip me open from the inside. I couldn’t go back to active duty like that. I was a liability; that injury could have come back at any time and that would have put my entire team at risk. They offered me some bullshit desk job, but there was no way I was going to sit in an office while and push pens around while men that I’d trained with were fighting and dying. So I was out. I guess it’s no more than I deserve.” He leans his head back against the wooden railing, looking up at the clear blue sky.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Isabel looks at him without bothering to conceal her indignation at his words. “Why do you deserve to have the thing you cared about most in the world just taken away from you?” She stares into his eyes and the haunted look about them tells her everything she needed to know. “You blame yourself for what happened to your team, don’t you?”

“It was my fault. I was their leader; I was the one who should have seen what was about to happen. I let my guard down and they all paid for it.” He slams his fist down on the wooden floor, making Isabel jump.

“How could you have seen something like that? How could you have prepared for a little kid wiping out a whole platoon?” Isabel feels the volume of her voice rise with her frustration over Wesley’s feelings of guilt.

“I should have known. That’s what we’re trained for: to see a threat before it even becomes one, to always be alert. I failed them. Do you have any idea how hard it is to know you’re responsible for the death of men you see as family?” He shakes his head, looking down at the spot on his thigh where Isabel is pretty sure his injury must still throb. “They deserved better than that. They deserved better than me.”

On impulse, Isabel takes hold of the hand that’s settled over his thigh and squeezes it, hard, making him look at her and not at whatever horrors he’s going over and over again in his mind. “You listen to me, Wesley Raeburn.” She locks eyes with him, not letting him look away. “You did the best you could. You said yourself that you were all tired, exhausted from trekking halfway across the desert. None of you could have foreseen what was about to happen. You didn’t kill them, Wes. The bomb and whoever built it and whoever set it off, they’re the ones responsible, not you. And no matter how much you want to convince yourself otherwise, their deaths are not on you.” She squeezes his hand hard and feels an answering tug from him. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you; you have to believe that.”

He smiles at her sadly. “It’s not as easy as that, beautiful.” His voice is low and growly and full of emotion. “You should know that.” He looks at her meaningfully before he drops his head back to look up at the sky, but he keeps hold of her hand, even when she tries to slip it out of his grasp.

“What do you mean?” She looks down at the stair where she’s rested her drink, tracing patterns into the condensation from the cool glass.

“You must think I’m blind, deaf, stupid or maybe all three to not see what’s plainly written all over you.” He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable now that he’s not the one that’s under the microscope.

“And what’s that, Wes?” She raises an eyebrow at him, but he either doesn’t see or pretends not to.

Instead of answering her, he throws her for a loop, something he seems to enjoy doing. “So are you ever planning on opening up those textbooks that are just siting up there, collecting dust?”

Isabel’s mouth falls open. “You went into my room? You snooped through my stuff?”

He still doesn’t open his eyes, looking like he’s having the most relaxing time of his life. “Yeah. It sucks, doesn’t it, when people invade your private space to find out more about you?”

Isabel bites back the speech she is about to let fly over invasion of privacy. After Wes had caught her red-handed looking through his stuff and smelling his leather jacket, she really doesn’t have a leg to stand on where private property is concerned.

“So? Are you ever going to go back to med school?” There’s no judgment in his voice; it’s just pure curiosity, as if the answer doesn’t matter one way or the other, as if he is just making conversation. But Isabel isn’t naïve enough to believe that. She knows he’s just trying to make her feel safe and secure so she opens up to him and tells him all her deepest darkest thoughts and feelings. It’s Armchair Psychology 101. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t work, though.

She lets out a deep sigh, letting go of something she’d been nursing alone. “The truth is, Wes, I don’t know.” She shakes her head, wishing she had a more definite answer than that. Her mind has always had a scientific bent; her mother had been the artistic one. Isabel is comfortable with definite answers, with things she can quantify and prove. Since college ‘I don’t know’ has been a phrase she had jettisoned from her vocabulary, but since her mother had died, it had come sneaking back in like an unwelcome visitor who just refuses to get the message.

Wes remains silent, sensing that she’ll clam up if he says anything to interrupt the flow of words from her heart to her mouth.

“She’d been riddled with the cancer. It started in her lungs, even though she’d never smoked a day in her life.” Isabel shakes her head at the irony of that particular fact. “And then it just spread all through her body. There were no major organs that weren’t affected.”

“How do you know that?” The quiet urgency in Wes’s voice tells her he’s already hazarded a guess.

“I studied the autopsy report.” She knows how crazy it sounds, how macabre, how sinister, but it had been an automatic reaction to ask for it. She is wired to try to figure out what made people tick from the inside out. It had made complete sense to her to try to understand what had happened to her mother to make her body give out so thoroughly at such a young age.

“Jesus, Bel.” Wes’s hold on her hand tightens reflexively and he tries to pull her towards him but she shakes her head, almost imperceptibly, reminding him they’re out in the open, not lying in the dark in his bedroom. She watches his jaw tighten as he reins his emotions in and Isabel warms inside at the realization that he’s hurting for her, that he cares about what happened to her.

“She didn’t tell me.” Isabel keeps her gaze focused on Wes, knowing if she looks anywhere else she won’t be able to get out what she needs to say. “I didn’t know she was even sick! We spoke pretty much every day and not once did she say anything. You know, ‘Hi, Issy, so you remember how last week I told you I was fine, well turns out that I’m not. I’m dying of cancer and there’s nothing anyone can do.’” Isabel shakes her head at her own poor stab at humor. “She never said anything. The nurses said it was because she didn’t want me to worry about her. But I know it was because she didn’t want me to leave school. She was so proud that her daughter was going to be a doctor; she didn’t want anything to get in the way of that, even her. She knew if she’d told me she was sick I would have dropped everything to be with her, for as long as it took to get her better.”

Wes’s thumb sweeping her cheeks tells her the tears have started to seep out of her eyes. It’s another rule she’s breaking with him. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry in front of anyone. But just like everything else, Wes is changing her.

“You couldn’t have made her well again, Bel. The doctors told you that themselves. There are some things that just can’t be fixed, no matter how much you want to.” The reason in his voice does nothing to allay the feelings of guilt that she’s been struggling with for months.

“You don’t know that.” She sniffs hard, doing what Jamie would label ‘ugly crying.’

Wes reaches out and cups her chin in his hands, as if he can make her hear him like that. “I do know that and so do you.”

“I still miss her so much.” Isabel isn’t crying anymore, but the tears are just sitting behind her eyes, waiting for the next prompt to let rip.

Flouting the rule they’d set themselves, not to show their relationship in public, Wesley pulls her into his embrace, stroking her hair and rocking her gently, as if she is a little girl. “I know, baby. I know.” He murmurs the words against her ear, so tenderly she feels like she might start to cry again.

A sound from inside the house brings Isabel crashing down to Earth and the responsibilities that they both have to protect. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

She feels Wes’s hold tighten around her for a fraction of a second, as if he is about to disagree and then he releases her. She scoots back to her side of the porch stairs, suddenly feeling a little silly for having given so much of herself away. She can’t even say why she had done it, only that she had been powerless to stop the wave of emotions from rushing out of her and along with it the words that she had been keeping locked up tight.

“Don’t start overthinking it.” Wes’s tone is weary, as if he knows it is already a foregone conclusion. “You don’t have to regret everything you share with me as soon as the words are out of your mouth.” He pushes himself up from the floor, looking down at her.

“I’m not! I mean, I don’t.” Isabel shakes her head to emphasize her point but there’s no mistaking the note of hesitation in her voice. She curses, for the umpteenth time, the fact that he knows her so well.

“Sure.” The flatness in his tone tells her exactly what he thinks about her back-pedaling.

“What’re you doing?” She looks after him as he picks up his tool belt and adjusts it around his hips.

“Time to get back to work, don’t you think? Break’s over and my boss is a real slave-driver.” He smiles at her cheekily, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“She’s not all bad, though, is she?” Isabel plays along with his banter, trying to get back to their easy sparring that’s way more comfortable than the deep and meaningful moments they’ve shared or the grey area they seem to find themselves in more often than not when they’re walking on eggshells around each other.

“She has her moments. And she’s easy on the eyes so I let her get away with a lot.” He raises an eyebrow and that time his smile does reach his eyes and Isabel feels a kick to the gut at just how gorgeous he is to look at. All of a sudden, his smile disappears and it’s replaced by a neutral expression she knows all too well. His attention is drawn to something next to her. “What?” She frowns, following his line of sight.

“You better get that.” He nods towards her cell that’s started buzzing on the lemonade tray where she’d set it down.

Mike’s name is flashing up on the screen coupled with a goofy photo they’d taken. In the photo their arms are wrapped around each other and Isabel is laughing so hard she can almost remember how it felt. She looks happy. From the look on Wes’s face, that fact clearly hasn’t been lost on him. He turns on his heel, stomping down the stairs with heavier-footed steps than necessary, studiously avoiding looking at her.

She snatches the phone up and schools her voice to something other than the irritable tone that she knows is going to spill out as soon as she opens her mouth. “Hey, Mike.”

Isabel turns away from Wes, but not before she sees the expression of resignation cross his face and it damn near breaks her heart. They haven’t spoken about Mike, not really, and Isabel knows it’s a subject she’s going to have to broach eventually, with both of them. She knows that Wes has been waiting for her to tell Mike she’s seeing someone, to take herself off of the proverbial table. But she just hasn’t been able to do it, not because she wants to be with Mike but because she doesn’t want to hurt him. If she’s honest with herself, it’s not only that, though. She’s afraid that if she admits to Mike she’s with someone else it somehow makes her relationship with Wes more real. And then, when it all goes to hell, as it inevitably would, where does that leave her?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“And what did you tell him?” Jamie’s voice is urgent in Isabel’s ear.

“I told him I thought we should just be friends.” Isabel grabs a quart of milk and virtually hurls it into the shopping cart.

Jamie lets out a low whistle. “Ouch, that’s gotta hurt! Didn’t he ask you why?”

Isabel nods though her friend can’t see her through the telephone line and rubs her temples, as if she can rub out the memory. “Yes, of course he did. You know Mike. He’s a man who gets what he wants. He’s not used to just taking the first explanation he’s given.”

“So you told him about Wes.” There’s no question in Jamie’s voice. Isabel pauses, just long enough to give herself away. “Issy! Why wouldn’t you just tell him?”

Isabel shakes her head; she’s been berating herself over that very same fact since the call the day before. “I don’t know. It just seemed a little…I don’t know, harsh? ‘Hey, I don’t want to be with you and by the way I’m sort of but not really dating someone else.’ Yeah, that would have gone really well.” She rolls her eyes at the thought.

“So what did you tell him?” The sound of panting in the background tells Isabel Jamie has sped up her walking, which can only mean that she’s running late, as always.

“I pretended there was static on the line, that I couldn’t hear him and then hung up.” Isabel squints her eyes, cringing at how pathetic she knows her behavior was. It had been the first thing that had come into her head and had seemed like a viable solution. Now it just seemed stupid. She’d acted like a teenager. “I’m pretty sure he knew I was faking it.”

“Duh, you think?” Jamie doesn’t even try to hide her exasperation at her friend. “And I’m guessing you haven’t been picking up his calls since.” Isabel remains silent but that in itself speaks volumes. “Jeez, it’s almost enough to make me feel sorry for the guy and I think he’s duller than ditchwater!”

“Jamie!” Isabel berates her friend.

“What? I don’t think you get to go defending him when you’re the one dodging his calls like they’re bullets.” Jamie’s reasoning, as always, is unmatched. “The next time you speak to Mike, you have to tell him, Issy, as much for your sake as for his. I know you and I know the guilt is eating you up inside. That shit is not healthy. So do we have a deal?”

“Deal.” Isabel sighs deeply, knowing that her friend is right, depressingly so.

“Now, tell me all about what’s going on with the delectable Wesley?” Jamie doesn’t bother to hide her glee.

“I don’t even know where to start with that one, Jamie. And anyway, how do you know he’s delectable?” Isabel flushes as an elderly woman in the fruit aisle gives her a disapproving look before wandering off.

“Because you get all breathless when you talk about him. I know all your tells, Bishop. So dish, what’s the latest?” Jamie is too damn intuitive for her own good, Isabel thinks to herself.

“Honestly, J, I don’t know.” There’s a lot of that going around lately, Isabel thinks to herself. “It’s not like there’s anything official. I don’t think you can really say we’re dating, we’re not in a relationship, and we’re not fuck buddies.” She lowers her voice as she says the curse, not wanting the whole market to know about her love life. She looks around her aisle and notices a guy staring at her curiously. She breaks eye contact with him and focuses back on her conversation with Jamie.

“But you like him.” Jamie has a way of cutting to the chase.

“Yes.” What would be the point in denying it?

“And you care about him.” Isabel imagines the hand gestures Jamie is making as a horn honks at her in the background.

“Yes and would you please stop jaywalking!” Isabel sighs heavily, grabbing the items off of the shelves as if she’s on autopilot.

“Chill, Issy, I’m still in one piece.” Her friend’s voice is reassuring but Isabel still can’t help but worry about her. “So do you L-O-V-E him?”

Isabel rolls her eyes, laughing at the singsong note in her friend’s voice. “You don’t have to spell it, Jamie. We’re not eight!” She turns around and sees the same guy that was staring at her before. At first, Isabel thought she was just imagining things, but now there’s no doubt about it; he’s looking at her fixedly. The expression on his face sets a shiver down her spine and it’s not just the long scar that runs from his temple to the corner of his mouth. Definitely a knife-wound, she tells herself.

“Issy, are you even listening to me?” Jamie’s insistent voice in her ear reminds Isabel that she is, in fact, not listening to her friend.

She spins on her heel and walks in the opposite direction of the mystery man. “Sorry, just some creepy guy.”

“What creepy guy?” The concern in her friend’s voice is clear.

“It’s nothing, Jamie. Don’t worry. I’m in the market, in the middle of the day with about thirty witnesses. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. All right?” Isabel feels in her back pocket for her mother’s letter. It had become a little security blanket for her and she instantly feels calmer, just knowing it’s there.

“Fine.” Jamie’s admission is begrudging. “So have you and Wes exchanged that little four letter word or not? The suspense is killing me, Issy!”

Isabel laughs at her drama queen friend. “No.” She shakes her head firmly. “It’s way too soon for that.”

“Too soon…right.” The disbelief in Jamie’s tone is crystal clear, despite the distance. “Well, you sound happier than I’ve heard you in ages, Issy. So something must be going right between the two of you.”

Isabel smiles to herself, her friend’s words echoing what she hadn’t quite been able to put her finger on until now. “Yeah, I guess so. Maybe I’m not doomed to be miserable for the rest of my life!”

“And you were getting so good at it, too!” Jamie joins her in the joke and they laugh easily together, making Isabel remember how she misses her friend.

“Well, there’s still time.” Isabel doesn’t add that there’s also the glaringly obvious fact that her mood seems to be linked to Wesley’s appearance in her life and she doesn’t want to think how she’s going to feel when he inevitably leaves. But, perhaps, he won’t leave. Perhaps there’s a chance he’ll stay, that things could work out between them. After the thoughts and feelings about his past that he’d shared with her the day before, perhaps he was seeing this as something more than just a passing thing.

“Earth to Isabel.” Jamie’s bored tone tells Isabel that she’s been absent from the call again. “Where do you keeping going to, girl?”

“Nowhere, just daydreaming, I guess.” Isabel heads towards the cashier, eager to get out of the market and away from the guy she can feel staring her in the back, as if his eyes are laser-beams.

“Well, sometimes daydreams come true, Issy. Remember that. Oh yeah and I’m home in a few days. You haven’t forgotten?” Jamie had been talking about her trip back nonstop for most of their recent conversations; Isabel would have to have dementia not to remember it.

“Can’t wait to see you!” It’s true; Isabel has missed her friend. Phone calls were all well and good but nothing beat the real thing.

“Me neither and can’t wait to meet the man who has stolen my friend’s heart! Love you, bye!” Before Isabel can argue that no one has robbed her of any part of her anatomy, Jamie has ended the call.

Isabel smiles at the cashier, thanking her as she pays for the groceries. There’s a little spring in her step as she walks out of the market. Just that morning she’d had two new tenants arrive and three more enquiries via the website. She was starting to believe that, perhaps, things were looking up for the boarding house and for her. Still, she can’t shake the feeling of nervousness that has been hanging around her since she’d caught the creepy guy staring at her. She’s never been prone to flapping, but there’s an inescapable feeling of disquiet that hovers around her as she hurries out of the store while simultaneously telling herself she has nothing to be afraid of.

Out in the sunshine she takes a breath of air, smiling ruefully at herself for being so silly. It’s only when she gets that prickly sensation on the back of her neck that she finds herself quickening her step along the busy street. It’s the lunch hour so there are people out on terraces at the cafés and restaurants, enjoying the fact that summer seems to have finally arrived in Chicago.

As she turns a corner, her arms piled high with grocery bags, she sneaks a look behind her. She has to stop herself from breaking out into a run when she sees the man from the market is behind her. In fact, not only is he behind her, but he’s making no bones about the fact that he’s following her. She tries to calm herself, to shorten her strides, to slow down before she trips and falls; that’s the last thing she needs. She reminds herself that she’s on a busy street, in the middle of the day, that there’s nothing he can do to her without a whole heap of witnesses. But what if he doesn’t care about witnesses, she asks herself? What if he’s just some psycho that likes to stalk women and kill them in horrendous and unthinkable ways? Get a grip, Bishop!

Her panic is starting to mount as she’s only a couple of blocks away from the boarding house and he’s clearly gaining on her. She has no intention of leading him to her house; that was surely one of the basic tenets of self-defense. She would know that if she hadn’t skipped those particular classes during college to spend more time studying. Great job, Isabel. She slows her pace, knowing she’s about to hit the end of the busy street and turn onto her more residential road. If she’s going to run into a store to call for help she’s about to run out of luck.

But instead of doing that, instead of doing the sensible thing, she does the opposite, the thing that every self-defense course and every after school special tells you not to do. She whirls around and confronts the guy who’s following her. The man’s eyes open wide as if she’s done the last thing he would have expected. He’s not alone in that; Isabel is pretty surprised herself.

Putting down her grocery bags so she can make a quick escape if she needs to, she crosses her arms in front of her chest so he can’t see her hands trembling. “Why are you following me?” She’s pleased that her voice doesn’t wobble, doesn’t give away the nervousness that’s making her spine tingle.

The man’s expression changes from surprise to one of open admiration. He looks her up and down from her sandal-clad feet up her shapely legs in their cut off shorts to the white shirt she’s wearing, which suddenly feels like it doesn’t leave anything to the imagination. He’s openly appraising her and it’s so different from the way Wesley looks at her. There’s something dark and disturbing in his gaze.

Seeing him up close, the scar on his face looks even nastier than she had thought. His blue eyes and blonde hair make him look like he’s an All-American boy gone wrong. His leather jacket catches her eye, but she puts it down to the fact that she’s so used to seeing Wes in his.

Angry at the way he’s looking at her, as if she is a piece of meat, she tosses her head and looks him square in the eyes. The coldness she sees there would be enough for her to think twice about engaging this man in conversation if she weren’t so mad. “What, you don’t speak?” She taps her foot, impatient for him to give her an answer instead of staring at her with that disconcerting expression on his face. “Why are you following me?”

Without saying a word, he holds out an envelope, one she recognizes immediately. It has her mother’s handwriting on the front; it’s the letter she carries around with her at all times. But that can’t be; it’s right there in her back pocket. Her hand flies to her pockets to verify that it’s exactly where she left it. But she comes up empty.

“You dropped it when you were in such a hurry to pay the cashier in the market. I was just trying to give it back to you, figured it was important.” He shrugs, holding out the letter, his eyes still fixed on her in a way that makes her uncomfortable.

She takes the letter, verifying with her own two hands that it is what she thinks it is. At the realization that this man wasn’t stalking her, that all the paranoid thoughts running through her mind were laughable in the extreme she is flooded with relief and also embarrassment. “Thank you. This really means a lot to me. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost it.” She tucks the letter safely back in her pocket, making sure it’s not going anywhere. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. I was just a little on edge, I guess.”

“That’s all right. I get it. Some strange guy you don’t know follows you down a street and you think the worse.” He shrugs, as if it makes perfect sense. “Took some balls to call me out, though.” The admiration in his voice doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Isabel is struck by the feeling that what comes out of his mouth is completely different to what he’s actually thinking. She nods, smiling, telling herself she’s being paranoid again. “Well, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do.” She knows it’s a pretty big understatement.

He shrugs, still showing his teeth, like a shark. “So, you live around here?”

Isabel nods, unsure why such a basic question puts her on high alert. “Not far.” She doesn’t offer anything else. “How about you? I don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round here before.” She keeps her tone light, but she doesn’t miss he flash of irritation that passes over his features before he schools them into something more neutral.

“No, I’m just…visiting a friend.” He chuckles lightly as if there is something funny she’s missed.

“Great, well, I guess they’re probably waiting for you and I should be getting back.” Isabel crouches down to pick up the grocery bags.

“No, it’s kind of a surprise. He doesn’t know I’m coming.” The steel in his voice makes her freeze, but when she looks up at him, there’s no hint of the coldness she’s just heard. “Hey, let me give you a hand with those.” He reaches out to take one of the bags before Isabel can tell him not to.

“Really, don’t worry. I can handle them. I’m used to it.” She shrugs and smiles at him, winningly, wondering how she can take the bag from him without seeming rude.

“Well, if you ask me, you shouldn’t have to be used to it. A pretty lady like you should have someone to help her.” His lecherous grin tells Isabel he’s trying to be charming, but it’s clearly not an art he’s used to practicing. “I bet you have a boyfriend who’d be more than happy to help you with whatever you need.” He says the words as if he knows something she doesn’t, and Isabel gets that sensation again that there’s something going on that runs deeper than idle chat.

She doesn’t say anything, just smiles politely.

“So does that mean your single?” He gives her a wink that’s a little too knowing for a guy she’s just met.

It wasn’t too knowing for Wesley, she reminds herself. But that was different, her internal voice counters. Why was it different? And the answer is simple: because it was Wes.

“Can I get your number?”

Isabel frowns, trying to figure out why a pickup line she’s heard a hundred times before is making her so uncomfortable. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t usually just give my number out to guys I’ve just met on the street.” She smiles to take the sting out of the rejection. “No matter how chivalrous!”

He blinks, as if he’s not used to hearing the word ‘no.’ But he rallies, smiling that predatory smile again. “That’s probably a good rule. You never know who you might be meeting.” His words seem to be laced with meaning and she shivers in spite of herself.

“Right.” She rocks on her heels wanting to get out of this conversation. “Well, it was good to meet you and thanks again for the letter. I really do appreciate it.” She holds her hand out for the grocery bag. “Now, I really should be going before I’m missed.” She lets the last phrase fall as if it were just a throwaway comment, but from the heated look in his eyes she knows he’s understood why she’s said it.

“Sure.” He hands over the grocery bag, stepping closer to her and drawing himself up to his full height and width. There’s no doubt he’s making a point, that he’s bigger and stronger than she is.

But Isabel refuses to be intimidated. She stands her ground, not moving an inch, not backing down.

He smiles patronizingly, before stepping away and giving her back her personal space. “You be careful now. You never know what sort of bad men could be lurking around, ready to do harm to a pretty girl like you.” He flashes white teeth, but it’s nowhere near warm enough to be taken as a smile.

“Don’t you worry about me. I can look after myself. Anyway, thanks again.” She turns around, taking a few steps away from him.

“I’ll be seeing you.” It’s not what he says, but the way he says it, as if it were a veiled threat.

She doesn’t respond the first thing that comes to her mind: that she has no intention of seeing him ever again. Instead, she waves vaguely behind her and strides purposefully down the road. She stops herself from hurrying, telling herself to be calm. She has to force herself not to look behind her as she does. The man’s words echo through her mind, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. I’ll be seeing you. All she can think of is getting back home and getting back to Wesley. She wonders when the two had become synonymous, but all she knows is that they have.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

As soon as Isabel walks through the front door of the boarding house, she drops her grocery bags unceremoniously onto the floor. She breathes a sigh of relief, leaning against the hard wood for a few seconds until her heartbeat regulates itself.

“What happened?” She opens her eyes to see Wesley staring at her, a concerned look on his face.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” She shakes her head, not wanting to get into it now with him. She picks up the bags and walks past him to the kitchen.

“Let me take them.” He tries to take the full bags out of her hand but she shrugs out of his reach.

“You don’t have to, really. It’s fine.” She wants to do something mindless and pretend that her encounter with the creep never happened. She starts packing the fruit away first, relishing that she has something to focus on other than how uncomfortable Scar Face had made her feel.

“You’ve said fine twice in the past minute. That’s never a good sign.” Wesley is leaning lazily against the refrigerator, making it impossible for her to unpack the rest of the bags. But his attention is completely focused on her.

“Wes, can you just drop it? I don’t want to talk about it.” She sighs, knowing she’s being a bitch. “Please?” She motions him away from the refrigerator but he doesn’t move.

“You used the ‘P’ word. This must be serious.” He’s only half-joking. He leans in closer to her, inspecting her face as if he were a doctor. “You’re pale, you won’t look me in the eye, and you’re acting all skittish. Something’s happened and we’re not leaving here until you tell me what it is.” His arms are folded across his broad chest, giving him the look of an immovable object.

The man just doesn’t know how to take no for an answer and Isabel’s encounter with the creepazoid has taken pretty much all of the fight out of her.

“It was just some guy. He freaked me out. I thought he was following me.” When she sees Wes’s face darken, she makes a calming gesture with her hands. “It was all just in my head, though. He was just trying to catch up with me. I dropped something and he returned it. End of.” She shrugs, hoping the perky smile she throws him will satisfy him. She nudges him gently out of the way of the refrigerator and he allows her to move him. She’s under no illusions that he’s not resisting her.

Wesley remains silent for a few beats, watching her as she packs away the groceries, not speaking until she’s finished what she’s doing and there’s nothing left to distract her.

“Start from the beginning.” He leans against the kitchen counter, looking at her expectantly.

“The beginning of what?” She frowns at him, bewildered. “There’s no beginning; there’s no story, Wes. Like I said, he was just being kind, returning my mom’s letter to me. There’s no more to it.” She shrugs, not voicing the weird feeling she had from him or the menacing vibe the stranger was giving off.

“Your mom’s letter?” Isabel can almost feel him buzzing at what she’s just said. “You’re always so careful with it, though. How would he have gotten hold of it?”

Isabel shrugs. That thought had crossed her mind. But there is a very simple explanation and, as her mother always used to say, the simplest explanation is usually the right one. “I was on the phone with Jamie. I guess I was distracted and it must have fallen out of my pocket without me realizing. He said it happened at the cashier’s desk.” The note of doubt has crept into her voice.

“But you didn’t believe him,” Wesley prompts.

Isabel sighs, knowing she’s not going to be able to avoid Wes’s questioning so she might as well tell him everything. “No.” She shakes her head. “I noticed him kind of staring at me before then.”

“That’s not strange, though. You’re a beautiful woman, Isabel.” Wes says the words as if they’re a statement of fact, not an opinion and she feels herself flush.

“It wasn’t like that.” She runs her hands through her hair, lifting it from the nape of her neck to cool off. “It was like he was trying to scare me.” She throws her hands up, not able to explain it any better than that.

“Go on.”

Isabel is bolstered by the fact that Wesley doesn’t seem to think that she’s being a paranoid freak. “I don’t know. He saw me notice that he was staring at me a couple of times. But he didn’t look away. It was almost like he wanted me to know he was watching me. Does that make any sense?” She looks up at him helplessly.

Wesley nods tightly. “He was trying to intimidate you. Then what happened?” His voice is tense, as if he’s trying to hold himself in check.

“I left the market and I saw he was following me so I got a little scared.” She can’t help but look embarrassed about that particular fact. “I didn’t want to lead him to the house, so I confronted him.”

Wesley looks like his eyes are about to pop out of his head. “You what?”

Isabel rolls her eyes at his reaction. “I confronted him. I asked him why he was following me. That’s when he gave me the letter.”

“Jesus, Isabel! What the hell were you thinking? What if he’d had a knife or a gun? What would you have done then?” Wesley looks so frustrated that he’s almost vibrating.

Isabel doesn’t tell him that those exact thoughts had already crossed her mind. Instead she stands tall, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m a grown woman, Wes. I can look after myself.”

“Apparently not.” The words are grumbled more to himself than to her, but she lets it go.

“Look, I don’t want to fight about this. Please can we just let it go?” She looks at him pleadingly but he just shakes his head slowly.

“Not until you tell me everything. What else has got you so spooked? Did he say something to you?” Wes looks primed to go after the guy if she answers in the affirmative, but she also knows that it’s useless to lie to him. The truth will out.

“He said ‘I’ll be seeing you.’” It sounds so stupid when she says it out loud. “But it wasn’t like a cheery, ‘see ya.’ It was more like ‘watch yourself because I’ll be back.’” She rubs her temples, thinking she must really be cracking up. “I’m just making a big deal out of nothing, really.” She waves away the underlying feeling of something not being quite right.

“Did he see what house you went into?” Wes is already walking towards to the front door, with Isabel hurtling after him.

“No, at least I don’t think so. I mean, I’m pretty sure, he didn’t.” Isabel curses herself for being too stubborn to look behind her when she was walking down the street. She hadn’t wanted to admit to him – or to herself – that she was nervous.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He levels a stern look at her, but her hand is on his shoulder before he can walk out the door.

“Where are you going?” From the look on her face, she already knows. “What are you going to do?”

Wesley is breathing heavily, as if the adrenaline is already racing around his system. He’s priming himself for a fight. “I’m going to find him and explain that he shouldn’t’ be stalking women.”

“From the way you say ‘explain,’ I’m guessing what you meant to say was ‘beat him into submission.’” Isabel is only half-joking. “And it’s not that I don’t appreciate the whole defending my honor thing, but he didn’t do anything wrong. He was just a guy who creeped me out a little. What are you going to do? Beat up everyone who’s a little weird?”

Wesley doesn’t even pause for breath. “If that’s what it takes to keep you safe.”

Isabel melts a little at his words, but now isn’t the time for swooning. The last thing she wants is for him to get into a fight because of her. It was bad enough seeing him bloody and bruised most nights. Knowing she was the one who caused it would be so much worse.

“Wes, please don’t do this. Nothing happened.” She keeps her voice calm, not wanting to give away the fact that the anger she sees coursing across his features is actually scaring her a little. She’s never seen him like this and already she knows she never wants to again.

“Nothing happened?” Wesley rounds on her, looking like he’s ready to throttle whoever gets in his way. “He could have done anything to you. These guys give off a threatening vibe for a reason, because they get off on scaring women, doing bad things to them. Believe me, I know men like him. I’ve seen them.”

Isabel places a hand gently on his shoulder and she feels the muscle jump under her touch. “How do you know men like him?”

Wes looks down at the floor, as if he can’t bear to look at her when he says the words. “In my line of work, you see a lot of scum, enough to make you lose your faith in humanity. That’s the kind of people they are. I can spot men like them from a mile away.”

“Wesley, I’m fine. Look at me.” She tips his head up so that his bottomless black eyes meet her green ones. “I’m fine. But if you walk out that door, I won’t be.”

He looks a question at her.

“I don’t want to be the reason you fight, Wes. I hate it enough already. If something happened to you because of me, I don’t know what I’d do.” She strokes her fingers along his stubbly jaw.

“Why do you think I’m so desperate to go out and pummel that guy? If he had hurt you…” He lets the rest of the sentence hang in the air, but he doesn’t need to say the words, his meaning is clear.

Isabel sighs, seeing the frustration written on his handsome face. “The way I see it, Wes, is you have two choices.” She counts them off on her hands. “One, you go out there, try to find the guy and if you do manage to find him, you get to pummel him and hope he doesn’t report you to the cops for assault and battery or that he doesn’t pull a knife or a gun, as you so astutely pointed out. Two, we find another outlet for all that energy you seem to have pent up.” She shrugs. “The choice is yours.”

Wes raises an eyebrow, his shoulders already relaxing a notch. “And what ‘outlet’ do you have in mind?”

“Oh, I’m sure we can think of something that’ll do the trick.” Isabel is smiling flirtatiously, all traces of nerves now gone.

They tumble into his bedroom, all arms and legs, as hungry for each other as ever. Wesley’s kisses are desperate, as if he’s trying to take in every part of her at the same time. She knows he’s still playing over what could have happened to her in his mind. She’s familiar with the feeling; it’s the same one she gets whenever he gets one of the phone calls that sends him out in the middle of the night. His hands are all over her, touching her, as if he’s trying to convince himself she’s really here and nothing has happened to her. Isabel knows he needs this reassurance, that she’s all right.

Within seconds he has pulled off her clothes and she feels the senses in her body explode as he kisses her deeply, communicating with his lips just how much he wants her. With a supreme effort of will, he holds her at arms length and for a moment, Isabel feels a sliver of doubt. Is he about to change his mind? But if anything, his expression tells her the opposite. He’s looking at her as if she is a present he can’t wait to unwrap. His eyes feast on her.

“You’re one beautiful woman, Bel.” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe his luck.

Isabel, impatient to have that skin-to-skin contact she so desperately desires, tugs him back towards her, skimming her fingers underneath his t-shirt, pulling the hem up and over his head. She pushes her chest against his, feeling her nipples harden as they meet.

Wesley dips his head down, kissing her right breast, then her left. He drags his tongue over her nipples, filling her with sensation. She looks down at him, at the way he gently suckles at her breasts while he cups the other with his big hand, raking his thumb over the nipple. In that moment, she knows she has never wanted any man as much as she wants him.

Isabel reaches for the zipper of his pants, matching his desperation with her own need for him to be inside of her. His pants drop to the floor and, suddenly, Isabel is aware she’s being carried. Wesley lifts her as if she doesn’t weigh anything, as if she is light as a feather. But he doesn’t take her to the bed; instead he backs her up against the wall, his hand on her ass, holding her up. Automatically her legs go around his waist, welcoming his hardness inside of her.

They’re both breathing heavily, their senses overflowing with the smell and taste of each other. His mouth covers hers, his tongue tangling with hers as he thrusts inside of her again and again.

He picks up the pace, moving inside of her urgently, making all her nerve endings stand to attention. She wriggles her hips, raising them up, allowing him even deeper. He moans against her mouth as he relishes the feel of being buried inside of her.

He moves faster and faster, the heat between undeniable. She clutches on to his shoulders, arching her back as the tightly wound ball of need is set to explode within her. As if he can sense how close she is, he rams into her, deeply, fully once, twice, three times, building the tempo so they both come together, their climaxes crashing into each other.

After a few moments Isabel becomes aware of sensation filling her body again. Wesley keeps hold of her and she’s grateful for that fact. He carries her over to the bed and she rests her head against his chest, letting him cradle her as if she is a child.

They remain in satisfied silence, neither wanting to break the spell of the moment. Absently, her fingers stroke the dark hair on his chest and she lifts her head to kiss him. She means for it to be a sweet, short kiss but it turns into something else, something that tells her neither have had their fill of the other.

She looks up at him and sees the desire she’s feeling matched in his eyes. As if to test her theory, she allows her hand to drift down over his hard abs and she blinks when she finds his erection there, hard as a rock. Her eyes widen in surprise. “Already?”

Wesley shrugs. “I don’t think there’s ever a time when I won’t want to jump you.”

She laughs as he says the words so matter-of-factly. “Well, that’s just what every girl wants to hear!”

He looks at her seriously then, flipping her over so she’s on her back and he’s supporting himself on his arms, leaning over her. He kisses her slowly, teasing her lips with his tongue until she opens her mouth with a moan, letting him invade her senses. All that matters is the two of them and the energy that pulses between them.

She feels him harden, his shaft throbbing against her thigh and she draws her knees up, ready for him. But he shakes his head, tracing a line down her cheek, stroking her tenderly, as if she were something precious.

“I want to make love to you.” His voice is husky and low as he looks down at her with something close to awe.

She nods mutely, knowing she doesn’t want anyone other than him. She doesn’t allow herself to think about the ramifications of what he’s said. After all, making love isn’t the same as being in love. But the way he is looking at her, it’s more than just a throwaway phrase. He stops all thoughts when he kisses her, her arms going up around his neck, wishing the kiss would never have to end.

***

Hours later, when Wesley’s cellphone rings on the nightstand, Isabel gets that familiar feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. The feeling makes her want to close her eyes and wish the world away. Grudgingly, he releases her from his grasp and grabs the cell, already far more awake than she is.

There’s no greeting, just the fewest of words are exchanged. Eventually Wesley signs off and leans over to kiss her tenderly on the forehead before slipping out of bed.

Isabel starts to reach out to stop him, to ask him to stay, but she knows she can’t do that. They’ve shared so much with each other but they haven’t shared the most important thing: how they feel. Giving her heart just feels so much harder than she ever thought it would.

She watches as he pulls on his clothes, buttoning his jeans, the same jeans he had peeled off only a few hours before. The memory of it makes her shiver; rekindling the desire she seems to always feel with Wesley. She wonders if there will ever be a time when she will have had her fill of him.

“I’ve got some work to do.” He doesn’t offer any more of an explanation and Isabel doesn’t ask for one. She knows better than that. She knows she probably doesn’t want to hear about what he’s doing at night. What she knows is enough: that he’ll be coming home beaten and bloody and she’ll patch him up. She doesn’t allow herself to dwell on the other option of how things could go.

Please let him come back safe, please let him come back safe. Isabel sends up a prayer to a God she’s not sure she believes in. She figures it’s better to hedge your bets when someone you care about is concerned. That said, the only other person she has prayed for had been her mother and that hadn’t done much good.

“Wes.” She’s about to tell him all the things she’s feeling. She’s about to tell him she doesn’t want him to go, that seeing him come back injured every night is slowly killing her, because she knows full well it’s only a matter of time before there will be something she won’t be able to fix.

He stops what he’s doing and looks at her, the question plain in his eyes despite the darkness of the room. But she doesn’t say any of the things that she’s feeling.

“Be careful out there.” Chicken, she says to herself.

Wes smiles warmly at her, bending down to kiss her slowly and deeply on the lips. “I’ve got a good reason to be. I have someone special to come home to.” His mouth is only inches away from hers and he looks at her as if to say she is it. He doesn’t wait for a response and he’s out the door before she’s even had time to respond.

She lies in the bed that still smells of him, staring up at the ceiling. It’s more than he’s ever said to her before, more than she was beginning to think she would ever hear him say. He cared about her; she knew that and if she had any doubt about it, his reaction to the story about the creep from the market would have removed all doubt. But what does it mean? Does it mean he will stay, that he won’t just up and leave at the end of the month when his rent runs out? And then what will happen? She won’t be able to go back to medical school. Is that even what she wants anymore?

Or, perhaps, Wes will just expect things to remain the same. He will carry on working for the Devil Dogs, doing whatever they need him to and she will keep patching him up. The problem is that, if he stays, she knows she’ll want things to change. She knows she won’t be able to carry on like this for much longer. She can’t live like this forever. It’s getting harder and harder to watch him leave, knowing he might never come back.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Isabel is awake again; the hours tick by as she keeps glancing nervously at the front door, waiting for it to open, waiting for Wesley to come back. She wonders if it will always be like this with them, if she will always have this knot of dread in the pit of her stomach.

He’s later than normal. It’s already past 2.two-thirty and there’s still no sign of him. She’s picked up her cell any number of times but so far she has managed to refrain from calling him. What would she say if he picked up? “I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice,” or maybe “I just wanted to check that you were still alive!” Either way she would feel like an idiot, but that is preferable to the paralyzing fear that she’s found herself gripped in.

Just as she picks her cell up again, deciding that this time she will make the call, she hears the sound of a key in the door. She springs out of her seat and hurries to the entrance hall, overpowered by the strongest need to see him. She barrels into him, throwing her arms around him and he grunts at the impact, but his hands snake around her, holding her back just as tightly.

“I told you I’d be careful.” He murmurs the words against her ear, stroking her hair, without releasing her from his grip.

Isabel nods, feeling too choked up with tears to say anything. Tonight has been the worst so far; she tries to put it down to the fact that the encounter with her friendly neighborhood stalker had put her on edge, but it is more than that. She’d had a bad feeling about where Wes was all night.

Gently, he disengages her from him, holding her out in front of him so he can see her. She ducks her head so he doesn’t see the single tear of relief slide down her cheek, but she’s not quick enough.

“Hey.” He chases the tear with his mouth, kissing its path down her cheek. “You must really have been hoping I wasn’t going to make it!” He smiles at her wryly as she balls her fist and punches him in the arm. He grunts at the impact. “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a helluva right hook, Bel?” He shakes his head. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Isabel throws him a withering look that does nothing to wipe the smile off his face and she finds herself responding with a goofy smile of her own. She shakes her head, clearing her thoughts and getting back down to business. She does a quick visual inventory of him. All things considered, she’s seen him in much worse shape. His hands needed attention, though.

“Come into the kitchen. I need to clean those before I wrap them. I’m assuming not all of that blood is yours.” She motions towards his red-stained knuckles. The shrug he gives her tells her all she needs to know.

Isabel sits down opposite him and, just like always, he watches her intently as she goes to work. Once she’s cleaned off the blood, she can see that his knuckles are just badly scraped; the bruising will come later. Other than that, he doesn’t have a scratch on him. But from the state of his hands and the knowledge that the majority of the blood isn’t his and the blood spatters on his shirt, it’s not hard to imagine that the person on the receiving end didn’t walk away with such superficial injuries.

For the first time, she feels the urgent need to know. It’s more than just idle curiosity. The man sitting in front of her, the man she shares a bed with, seems to be a totally different beast to the one who beats up other men for money. He’d called himself an enforcer, but how can he separate himself into the kind and tender man she knows him to be and the killing machine she’s only seen a glimpse of?

“Where were you tonight?” She concentrates on his hands, not looking at him, knowing she won’t want to see his face when he tells his story.

“You don’t want to know.” It is the way that Wesley has fobbed her off before whenever she’s gotten up the courage to ask. She always lets it go, secure in the knowledge that he was right, that she really didn’t want those images of him in her head, beating some guy into submission. But this time it is different.

“You’re right, I probably don’t want to know. But I need to.” She looks him in the eyes, so he can see just how serious she is. “If I’m going to keep patching you up, night after night, if I’m going to have to watch you walk out that door night after night, I need to know, Wes. Please.”

She watches as the stubbornness leaks out of his expression. His features relax and his shoulders slump a little in resignation. He mumbles something she doesn’t hear.

“What?” She leans closer to him, careful to keep her focus on wrapping his hands.

“I said, ‘I don’t want you to look at me differently.’”

The vulnerability in his voice makes her heart ache, but she doesn’t look at him. She knows he wouldn’t want her to see him laid bare like this. It’s hard enough for him to say the words out loud.

“Nothing you could say could make me feel differently about you.” Isabel bites her lip, knowing this is the closest she’s gotten to telling Wesley how she feels about him.

They sit in silence, Isabel barely breathing, hoping she’s said enough for him to confide in her.

“We were down by the docks.” He starts without preamble, speaking low and quiet as if he doesn’t really want to be reminded of what he’s done. “That’s Devil Dogs’ territory. But there’s another gang, the ‘Bleeding Hearts,’ that has been trying to muscle in on the drug trade the Dogs have going on with the ships. The Dogs don’t share and they don’t back down from a fight.”

“That’s where you come in.” Isabel keeps her voice muted, not wanting to interrupt him.

He nods tightly and she can see how hard it is for him to tell the story. It’s as if he can’t quite relate the man he turns into when he’s called to fight with the man he is. He was a Marine; he’s been trained to kill. It is in his blood. But the guilt that had driven him out of the Corps must have changed him. You don’t walk away from something like that without carrying more than just the physical scars.

“Yeah, that’s where I come in.” He shrugs, uncomfortably. “I jumped a couple of the Bleeding Hearts when they were about to make a deal with one of the boat captains. They won’t be doing business together again.”

“What did you do to them?” For some reason, Isabel feels like she needs all the details, all of the facts, laid out in front of her.

“Do you really want to know?” The look on her face tells him she really does. “I dislocated one guy’s shoulder, broke his leg, and he probably won’t be seeing too well out of one eye for a while. The other guy, I twisted his knee, broke a few ribs, messed up his face pretty well. It wasn’t like he was going to win any beauty contests before I touched him, anyway. The captain, he got let off with a warning, so I just roughed him up a little, made sure he knew he was lucky to be getting off so lightly when he was dealing behind the back of the Dogs.” He says it all so flatly, as if it is the most normal thing in the world to talk about the horrific injuries he’d inflicted on three men only a few hours before.

“So it was you against the three of them?” Wes nods. “Is it always just you?” He nods again. “Don’t they ever have weapons? I’m guessing bikers aren’t above carrying knives or God knows what else!” The thought turns Isabel’s mouth to sand. It’s bad enough having to imagine Wesley fighting with his bare hands, let alone being up against armed adversaries.

As if he senses her thoughts, Wesley leans closer and lays his hand on her bare thigh, reassuring her with his touch. “I’ve been trained for this, Bel. It’s what I’m good at.”

“It’s not the only thing you’re good at, Wes. You’re not just some mindless fighting machine!” Isabel turns away from him, busying herself with tidying up the first aid kit.

“It’s all I know, Isabel. It’s who I am.” There’s an edge to Wes’s voice, as if her obvious disapproval of what he does has irked him.

But Isabel is too emotional to care. She whirls around to face him. “No, Wes. It’s what you do, not who you are. There’s a difference. You can be anything you want to be. Don’t you see that? You have so much talent, so much potential. You don’t need the Dogs. You don’t need any of them.”

Wes shakes his head, a bitter smile twisting his beautiful mouth. “Are you talking to me or to yourself, Bel? At least I know who I am.” He beats his fist against his chest to emphasize the point.

“What and I don’t?” Anger flashes in her eyes, anger that he would go on the offensive just because she was trying to have a real conversation with him.

“You’re the one with six years of education that you’re about to throw down the tube because you’re scared, so don’t give me the ‘be all you can be’ speech!” He stands toe to toe with her, filling up the room with his presence just like he always does.

Isabel is reeling that he would strike such a low blow, especially when he knows how much her mother’s death had affected her. She had shared her deepest feelings in confidence with him and she can’t help but feel like he’s throwing that trust back in her face. Rationally, she knows he’s just reacting without really thinking about what he’s saying, but the attack still hurts.

Reading her mind again, he sighs deeply, rubbing his hands up and down his face, clearly exhausted. “I don’t want to fight with you, Bel. That’s the last thing I want.” He takes her hand and she lets him pull her to him.

She lays her head on his chest and listens to his heartbeat, feeling calmed just by being in his arms. “Let’s go to bed.” She has no desire to argue with Wesley and bed seems to be the only place where they don’t fight.

A noise at the back of the house, on the porch brings all the tension back into Wesley’s body and she feels him stiffen against her.

“Don’t get too excited, Wes. It’s just Jeffrey.” Isabel extricates herself from him, grabbing a can of food she’d bought at the market that day.

“Jeffrey?” He eyes her narrowly. “You named the cat.”

Isabel shrugs. “Well why not? The cat needed a name and Jeffrey is as good a name as any.”

Wesley chuckles warmly and she thinks how much she loves the dark chocolate of his eyes when he laughs. “You pretend you’re all serious and ‘don’t fuck with me, I can take care of myself.’” He does a pretty poor impression of her and she raises a warning eyebrow at him. “But really you’re just a big softie.”

“Well, this big softie is going to feed the cat.” She throws him a pointed look over her shoulder before unlocking and heading out of the porch door. “Here, Jeffrey, here kitty-cat. Food’s up.” She peers out into the gloom of the night, straining to hear the mewling cat. Out of the corner of her eye she catches movement, but it’s too big to be a cat. Realization hits her too late and she only has time to let out a quick yelp before a beefy hand has covered her mouth and she can feel the prick of steel at her throat.

“Told you I’d be seeing you, pretty girl.”

She recognizes the voice instantly and it sends a shiver down her spine. She struggles but he has one hand firmly clamped down over her mouth and nose, virtually cutting off her oxygen supply and the other is holding her tight against him, too tight for her to throw out an elbow or kick out. He pulls her in even tighter, so there’s no way she can’t feel his erection digging into her back. The awareness of his excitement makes her try to get away even harder. She tries to scream but it comes out more like a moan and she wriggles against him, trying to get free.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He just laughs at her. “Don’t worry, beautiful. You’ll get your chance to see what it’s like to be with a real man.” He strokes the side of her face, making her stomach turn. “So pretty, it’s a shame he had to have you first. But don’t worry, I bet he hasn’t had you here.” He thrusts his hips, digging his erection into her behind and driving her even more desperate to get away. He applies more pressure with the knife against her throat, just in case she had any illusions that he was just using it as a prop. “I wouldn’t want to cut such a pretty face, but I will if you make me.”

“What the fuck?” Wesley’s voice makes her knees go weak with relief. “Jimmy, what the hell are you doing here?”

Isabel’s eyes widen at the realization that Wesley knows this guy, the guy who followed her, the guy who only a few seconds ago threatening to rape her. She feels the man stiffen behind her, as if he’s bracing himself for whatever’s about to happen. However he knows Wesley, he’s clearly a little afraid of him.

“Let her go, Jimmy.” Wesley’s voice is a growl. Even in the gloom she can see he’s looking past her, at the man holding her.

Jimmy laughs patronizingly. “What are you going to say next, Raeburn? ‘It’s me you want, not her’!” He laughs again and loosens his hold on Isabel, giving her a little more room to breathe.

“Let her go, Jimmy, and I may decide not to kill you.” The coldness in Wesley’s voice leaves her in no doubt that it’s not an idle threat.

“So I was right.” Jimmy sounds more than pleased with himself at the revelation. “You have gone soft on us.” Isabel feels him shake his head. “And for what? For some pussy?” He leans his head down and licks her cheek, making her want to retch. “She’s top shelf pussy, I’ll give you that, but what are you thinking, man?”

Isabel sees Wesley tense his whole body, as if he’s about to strike. His voice is quivering with anger. “Is that what you think? That I’ve gone soft?”

Jimmy shrugs expansively. “Well why don’t you tell me, Wes? You haven’t been on your best game on these last couple of jobs, letting the scum we pay you to take care of off too lightly. You were supposed to cut that guy’s fucking hand off tonight and you barely left him with a scratch! The Devil Dogs can’t afford mistakes like that, Wes. We need people to know they can’t fuck with us!”

“What have you taken, Jimmy? How much? It must’ve been a lot to give you the balls to come after me.” Wesley’s voice is deceptively calm. The quick glance he gives Isabel tells her this little exchange is for her benefit. It’s only then that she realizes what he’s talking about. She had been too scared to take on board exactly what is going on, but the calmness of Wesley’s tone focuses her mind. Jimmy is high, and if he’s high it’ll be easier for her to overpower him.

“Oh, you know, Wes. A little bit of this, a little of that. We’re not all fucking dry as dogshit like you, Wes.” Jimmy laughs at his own joke, relaxing his grip on her even more.

Isabel uses the moment to her advantage, awareness coursing through her that she may not get another chance. She twists her body, pulling as far away from him as she can, spinning around to slam her knee into his crotch, hard. She feels the impact as she hits pay dirt and Jimmy goes down, clutching his groin with both hands, dropping the knife.

She breathes heavily, feeling strangely elated at the outburst of violence. She feels a hand on her shoulder and allows Wesley to pull her back and away from Jimmy. He moves her behind him, using his body as shield to protect her from this psycho.

“Are you all right?” Wesley doesn’t take his eyes off the other man, but his hand is still on her arm, as if he needs the physical touch to make sure she really is safe.

“I’m fine.” Isabel is proud that her voice doesn’t wobble.

“Good.” Wesley’s nod is curt, his attention fully on Jimmy who has stood up and is now advancing towards them. “Because he won’t be.”

Isabel sees the glint of steel in Jimmy’s hand and she tries to tell Wesley to stop, that the other man is armed, that she doesn’t want anything to happen to him. But her mouth seems to have lost the ability to form words, all she can do is watch what’s unfolding before her, a spectator.

Wesley doesn’t show any fear. Instead of dodging and feinting, he sprints towards the other man, catching him by surprise. He barrels into Jimmy, knocking him off balance and down onto the ground. Isabel hears the knife clatter as it hits the porch stairs and she breathes a sigh of relief that it’s been taken out of the equation. There’s a little bit of grappling on the ground, but Wesley easily overpowers the other man, pinning him underneath him on the ground as Wesley straddles his stomach.

“You want to see how soft I’ve gotten?” His words are delivered without emotion and without him pausing for breath, as if he hasn’t even broken a sweat during the scuffle with Jimmy.

He doesn’t wait for Jimmy to respond; instead he proceeds to show him just how dangerous he is. Wesley punches the man over and over again, delivering blows to his ribs and face. Isabel hears the sickening crunch of bone as he breaks the other man’s nose. But he doesn’t stop there. He carries on punching him, pulling his arm back and delivering blow after blow. Jimmy has long since stopped fighting back; it’s all he can do just to try to ward off the punches that Wesley is throwing.

“Wes.” Isabel’s voice is low and full of fear. She can see what’s about to happen and she knows that she can’t let it. If she doesn’t stop Wesley, he is going to kill Jimmy. “Wes. Stop it! It’s enough!” Her voice is stronger this time, but she’s rooted to the floor, frozen and unable to move, hypnotized by Wesley’s rhythmic pounding. “Wes! Stop!” She’s virtually screaming now and she finally seems to have broken through the haze of Wesley’s anger.

He’s breathing hard, but his arm has paused its downward trajectory towards Jimmy’s face. He seems to be struggling against himself.

“Wes, you’re not like him.” Isabel’s legs are finally obeying her and she places her hand gently on his shoulder, trying to will him into believing what she’s telling him.

Slowly he drops his hand and stands up, looking down at Jimmy as if it wouldn’t take much to change his mind and pummel the man to death right there and then. “Get up.” The hate in his voice is palpable.

Isabel is about to intervene, to say she doesn’t think Jimmy is able to stand on his own two feet when he proves her wrong. Slowly, groggily, he gets to his knees, clutching his face and his chest. Now that she’s closer, she can see the mess that was once his face. It doesn’t take a doctor to figure out he’s in bad shape.

“Get up.” Wesley’s patience is clearly running out. He grabs Jimmy by his arm and yanks him up to his feet. Jimmy looks like he’s about to collapse again, but Wesley is holding him up, leaning into his face to make sure nothing he’s about to say is lost.

“You get out of here now and tell the Dogs that if they’re worried about me going soft, they can find another enforcer.” He leans in even closer, not giving the other man any space to breathe or move away. “You don’t ever come back here. You leave Isabel alone. You don’t even say her name out loud. And you better pray that I never see you again, because if I do, there won’t be anyone on this Earth who’ll be able to stop me. I’ll kill you.” The expression on Wesley’s face clearly tells the other man this is not just an idle threat. He doesn’t say anything, just looks down at his feet, not wanting to provoke him any further. “Now get out of my sight.” Wesley gives him a shove, sending the man tumbling down the porch stairs.

He lies there sprawled out on the grass for a few moments before he somehow manages to pick himself up and half-run, half-limp out into the darkness. Isabel stares out after him, her mind still reeling by what’s just happened.

“Let’s get inside.” Wesley takes her hand in his and gently leads her back to his bedroom, setting her down on the bed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

She is in a state of shock at the rage and the violence Wesley is capable of. Of course she had known that he isn’t exactly a boy scout, but seeing it play out in real time, right in front of her, is a completely different thing.

He kneels down between her legs, his hands on her thighs, warming her through and it’s only then she realizes she’s shivering so hard her teeth are chattering.

“You’re in shock.” His voice is calm, as if he’s seen this reaction a million times before. “It’s all right, Bel. You’re all right.” He rubs her thighs, trying to get some heat back into her body.

Isabel nods dully, wondering if she is ever going to be all right again. A man had tried to rape her at knifepoint and then she’d seen Wesley unleash the fury he holds within him. If she hadn’t stopped him, there’s no doubt in her mind that he would have killed the other man.

“Isabel, look at me.” He lifts her chin so that she meets his eyes. “He won’t be coming back.” The certainty in his voice is enough to convince her. Besides, she’d seen the look on Jimmy’s face, it was clear that he isn’t going to try his luck with Wesley again. The man may have been psychotic but he didn’t seem to have a death wish.

She nods again, gathering herself together, focusing on him. He holds her face between his hands, looking up at her tenderly and in that instant, Isabel knows she’s not going to like what he’s about to say.

“I have to go.” The look in his eyes tells her that whatever decision he’s made, he’s made it without her.

“Where?” She bites her lip as she feels the tears rising at the back of her eyes.

“Anywhere but here.” The finality of his words makes her wish she hadn’t asked. He strokes her cheek and she leans into his touch, but before she can say anything he’s already up on his feet, grabbing his bag from the closet.

She watches him open drawers and fill the bag with the few possessions he’d brought with him and realization dawns. “You’re leaving now?” She had thought they would at least have some time together, that he wouldn’t just walk out immediately, after everything that had just happened.

His back is to her. He doesn’t turn around. “It has to be now, Isabel. The longer I stay here, the worse things will be for you. You’re a target now. The Dogs know who you are and they know they can get to me through you.” He shakes his head. “I can’t let anything like tonight happen again. If you had been hurt, I would never have forgiven myself. Never.”

“And don’t I get any kind of a say in this at all? Don’t I get to decide what I’m willing to sign up for?” Isabel walks up to stand behind him, within touching distance. “Aren’t you even going to look me in the eye?”

He sighs deeply and turns around, his gaze latching onto hers and the pain in his face makes her wish he hadn’t. “You think I want to leave? Do you think it’s easy for me to walk out on the best thing that’s ever happened to me?” He crosses the distance between them, pulling her close to him.

“Then stay.” Isabel’s voice is quiet as she leans her head against his chest, breathing in the scent of him, feeling the comforting warmth of his body against hers.

He holds onto her tightly and, for a moment, Isabel thinks she might have convinced him, that there might be a chance for them after all. But then he releases her, stepping back as if to separate himself from temptation. It’s just as hard for him to be near her without touching as it is for her.

“I can’t, Bel.” Frustrated, he rakes his fingers through his dark hair. “If I stay, you’ll just get wrapped up in all this again. I can’t have that. And it wouldn’t just be you; it would be this house, everything your mother worked for, everything you’ve been trying to keep afloat.” He gestures around vaguely. “All this would be at risk, Bel. They don’t stop until they get what they want; it doesn’t matter who or what gets destroyed in the process.”

Isabel shakes her head, wanting to tell him it doesn’t matter, that it’s just a house, that it’s not important, that she’s willing to run the risk for him, for them. But she can’t form the words because she knows he’s right and that’s what makes this all so much harder. She knows her mother’s legacy – that house – can’t be the target of anything, not if she has any hopes of keeping the place up and running. It’s the only thing she really has left of her mother; she can’t afford to lose it.

The rational side of her brain reminds her she had never expected this to work out. There are too many odds stacked against them, too many reasons they can’t be together. She had known there isn’t a future for them, not really. But if that is true, why does she feel such an aching sense of loss in her heart?

“Thank you.” Isabel’s voice cracks so she tries again. “Thank you for coming to save me.”

She watches as his shoulders slump at her words. He wipes the tears away that she hadn’t even realized are coursing down her face.

“I told you no one was going to hurt you and I meant it.” He lifts her chin so she looks up at him. “Your safety is the most important thing to me and, right now, the safest place for you is as far away from me as possible.” He looks down at her, his eyes filled with something that looks a lot like love.

“Why does this have to be so hard?” She bites her lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. The last thing she wants is for his last image of her to be of a quivering wreck.

Wesley looks up at the ceiling, as if he might find some kind of answer there. Eventually he looks back down at her. “You know how much I care about you, right? You know I’m crazy about you.” He looks at her intently, reverently, trying to communicate with his eyes all that he’s feeling.

“But it’s not enough, is it?” There’s no accusation in Isabel’s voice, just a realization of the facts of the case.

“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be so sure I have to leave, Bel. You understand that, don’t you?” He holds her head in between his hands, a man on the edge of despair.

She nods slowly. The logical, objective part of her brain knows that what he’s saying makes sense, but at the moment her heart is doing all the talking and it just wants him to stay.

He leans down, covering her lips with his, tasting every part of her mouth, exploring her as if it is their first kiss. She clutches him to her, matching his desperation with her own. It’s as if they’re trying to imprint the each other’s shape onto their own bodies, as if they’re trying to make it impossible to forget.

Eventually, they both come up for air. Wesley leans his forehead against hers. “You take care of yourself, Bel.”

She nods, afraid if she speaks, the pretense of calm she’s hanging onto by her fingernails will shatter. He steps away from her, picking up his bag. Before he opens the door, he turns around and looks at her as if he’s about to say something. She holds her breath, barely daring to breathe, hoping against hope that he’s going to say there’s no way he can leave her, that he can’t live without her. She opens her mouth to say the words to him, to tell him she’s never felt like this before, that she needs him. But he’s already gone, slipping out the door silently, as if he’s never been there at all.

Isabel sinks down onto the floor the moment that he’s out of sight, her legs no longer able to keep her upright. She gathers her knees to her chest, hugging herself, trying to get rid of the cold that seems to have invaded her from the inside. He hadn’t made any promises, hadn’t said anything about coming back. She has no idea if she will ever see him again.

Letting him go is the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. It is right up there with watching her mother fade away in a hospital bed and not being able to do a damn thing about it. He hadn’t broken any vows to her; he hadn’t lied or given her any false hope. She can’t accuse him of that. She had created her own illusions, her own fairytale ending for a story that was never going to have a happily ever after.

Her life will go on without him. She knows that. She will carry on her day to day, running the boarding house, trying to keep the place afloat. She will think about going back to medical school and maybe one day she even might actually do it. She isn’t going to die because he had walked out. Losing someone you care about isn’t terminal; she had learned that lesson the hard way. But the knowledge of that doesn’t do anything to assuage the choking hurt in her chest.

She can’t help but think that she’s destined for the people that she loves most to leave her.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Isabel waits, letting Jamie absorb what she’s just told her. It’s a bombshell, but she’s confident her friend will rally in a few moments to ask the hundreds of questions she probably has spinning around her head. As they sit drinking coffee in the sunshine at the new hip deli that has just opened down the street from the boarding house, Isabel can’t help but scan the crowd.

The old neighborhood is buzzing with all the young professionals, the hipsters who have moved in and are slowly turning the area into one of those places people actually want to move to. But her eyes skip over all of them. There’s only one person she’s looking for, only one person she wants to see and he’s not here.

“So, he’s a biker, like Sons of Anarchy, super hot guys on motorbikes?” Jamie has always had a way of reducing things to the lowest common denominator.

Isabel rolls her eyes at her friend and shakes her head. “Well, the super hot guy part is right. But the key point you’re missing here is that Wesley’s a criminal.” It had taken a while for her to get her own brain around that important fact. It still isn’t an easy thing to accept.

“Right.” Jamie nods, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against her lips in her ‘thinking’ pose.

Isabel looks down at her own hands, with their nails bitten down to the quick, and she can’t help but feel a little like the least feminine person in the world next to her best friend who is as vibrant and colorful as a peacock.

“But, everything has shades of grey, Issy. It’s not all just black and white.” Jamie looks at her pointedly, knowing that monochrome is exactly how Isabel tends to see the world. Her scientific mind won’t let it be any other way. “There are the mugging-old-lady type of criminals and then there are the stealing-a-loaf-of-bread-to-feed-their-family type and a whole lot in between.”

Isabel smiles at the way Jamie has of seeing the romance in everything. She’s missed having her best friend around. “I’m pretty sure he’s never mugged anyone’s grandma.” She shakes her head. “From the little he told me, he only deals with bad guys of one type or another – rival gangs, people mixed up in drug deals, that kind of thing.”

“So he only did bad stuff to people who deserved it!” Jamie lifts her spoon as if in victory. “That is definitely something I can get on board with.”

Isabel shakes her head at her friend who seems far too pleased with her conclusion. “It still doesn’t make it legal or right, Jamie. Besides, I’m pretty sure the people he works for are bad guys, too, so I don’t know where that leaves him. I shouldn’t have been okay with housing a criminal. I know that. Hell, I’m so by the book it’s not even funny.” Jamie nods in agreement. “I should have turned him in or at least thrown him out of the boarding house when I found out what he did. But I didn’t. I didn’t even come close.” She sighs deeply. “Anyway, it’s not like it matters anymore.”

Jamie sets her cappuccino back down. “And why doesn’t it matter? You’re clearly crazy about this guy, even if you refuse to admit it.”

Isabel rubs her eyes, feeling the familiar tiredness seep through her, despite the copious amounts of caffeine she’s been taking on board as if it is going out of fashion. Since Wesley walked out, her insomnia has worsened. She’s under no illusions that she must look like a wreck. Only sleeping a couple of hours a night will do that to you, apparently. It is time to tell Jamie the full story.

Isabel keeps her voice low, conscious that she doesn’t want the nearby tables to overhear their conversation. She tells Jamie about patching Wesley up every night when he came back from wreaking whatever havoc he was employed to do. She tells her about Jimmy, the member of the Devil Dogs who had threatened her with a knife. Finally she gets to the part of the story that gets her all choked up, but she gets through it as best she can, refusing to cry in public. That was one rule that she had no plans to break anytime soon.

“He left. That was three days ago.” She’s proud of herself for getting through the telling without shedding any tears.

“So that’s why you’ve been dodging my calls.” Jamie’s tone suggests that it all makes sense now.

Isabel nods. “I knew I’d end up telling you if we spoke and I didn’t want to worry you. Besides, I wasn’t quite ready to talk about it.” Her voice cracks and she takes another sip of her coffee as if the bitter taste will do something to soothe the ache in her heart.

Jamie’s hand covers hers and she squeezes it, offering comfort. “You don’t seem all that ready to talk about it now, either.” She looks her friend in the eye. “You look like shit, Issy.”

Isabel can’t help but laugh at Jamie’s directness. The normalcy of her friend’s reaction to Isabel’s obvious distraught state is the best medicine for the craziness that seems to have invaded her life since Wesley walked into it. “Well, I’ve been reliably informed that not sleeping will do that to you.” Isabel huffs a mirthless laugh, stirring her flat white to avoid Jamie’s assessing gaze.

“Yeah, that won’t help any. But it’s not just lack of sleep I’m seeing.” Jamie pauses, tilting her head as if she can get a better read on her friend’s emotions that way. “You know, I’ve never seen you like this.” Jamie’s expression is full of wonder, as if she never expected the day to come.

“Like what?” Isabel looks down at her checked shirt and cut-off shorts. “You’ve never been overly impressed with my wardrobe decisions.” Isabel smiles, remembering the shopping trip Jamie took her on just before they went their separate ways – Isabel to college and Jamie to New York to start her career in fashion. Jamie had pretty much vetoed all of Isabel’s clothes, consigning them to goodwill and she had started from scratch. Unfortunately, Jamie’s sense of style had never really rubbed off on Isabel, and it hadn’t taken long for her to revert back to her old style.

Jamie gives her outfit a once over with a flick of her eyes. “You’re lucky, Issy. You’ve got great hair, amazing eyes, fab skin, and a body to die for. You could be wearing a trash bag and you’d still stop traffic.” Jamie sighs deeply, as if the world isn’t fair. “Your outfit could use some work. I’m not going to lie. But at least you’re rocking the ‘lumberjack chic’ look, but only just.” Jamie holds up a warning finger to her friend as if to say she should tread carefully in her sartorial choices from now on.

“What would I do without you?” Isabel rolls her eyes and laughs at the sobriety on her best friend’s face. When it comes to fashion, there is nothing more serious in Jamie’s opinion.

“Lord only knows.” Jamie shakes her head as if it doesn’t even bear thinking about. “But your wardrobe issues aren’t what I am talking about and you know it.” She gives Isabel a pointed look. “I was talking about the fact that you look like someone’s just killed your dog.”

“I don’t have a dog.” Isabel’s morose response just underscores Jamie’s point.

“Did you tell him how you feel?” Jamie ignores her friend’s pathetic attempt at comedy.

“What do you mean?” Isabel tries to evade the question, although she knows Jamie won’t let her get away with it.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Issy. It doesn’t suit you.” Jamie levels her friend with her laser-focused baby blues.

Isabel squirms under the observation. “No,” she sighs eventually. “No, I didn’t tell him.”

“What didn’t you tell him, Issy? If you can’t say the words out loud to me, how are you ever going to say them to anyone else?” Jamie throws her hands up in despair at her friend’s lack of emotional intelligence.

“I didn’t tell him I love him, okay? And now he’s gone and I don’t know if I’m ever going to see him again!” Isabel’s voice is loud, loud enough to draw attention from a nearby table and she cringes in embarrassment.

Jamie breathes a sigh of relief and mimes wiping sweat from her brow. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t choke on the words! I was beginning to wonder if you were even able to say them.” She shakes her head at Isabel.

Isabel blinks at her friend in shock. “You baited me!” She scrunches up her paper napkin and throws it at Jamie’s head, pleased when it lands in the middle of her forehead.

“That was mature.” Jamie gives her a withering look. “I just wanted to figure out if you even knew how you feel about him. And mission accomplished, it looks like you do.”

“Yay for me.” Isabel raises her hand in a mock cheerleader pose.

“So what happens now?” Jamie looks at her expectantly.

“What do you mean what happens now? I’ve got some work to do back at the boarding house and you have to help your mom with her yard sale…” Isabel trails off at the serious amount of eye rolling she’s getting from her friend.

“I meant, what happens now between you and lover boy.” Jamie plants her elbows on the table and leans forward, as if Isabel is going to let her in on some kind of secret.

“Nothing happens, Jamie. What can happen?” Isabel looks up at the blue sky, sighing deeply. “He’s gone and he’s not coming back. He said he couldn’t put me in danger and that was that.” She shrugs, wishing her emotions could be locked away so easily.

“So call him! Tell him how you feel, that you miss him and all that other good stuff. The man is clearly crazy about you. He’d be an idiot to let you go!” Jamie snaps her fingers to illustrate the point.

Isabel shakes her head. “The problem, Jamie, is that he was right.” She holds her hand up to stop her friend from interrupting her. “I couldn’t have allowed him to bring his problems, the people he deals with, down on the boarding house. Wesley made it pretty clear that his biker friends would burn it to the ground without a second thought if they wanted to.” Jamie’s eyes widen in shock. “I couldn’t let that happen to my mom’s place. And what if the next time Jimmy or one of his friends decides to pay me a visit, Wes isn’t there to protect me? Then what?”

Jamie nods, looking down at the table as if she’s a little ashamed at herself for not realizing that point. “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.” Jamie bites her bottom lip, annoyed that she’d let her romantic notions override her sense for her friend’s safety.

“This is the way it was always going to play out.” Isabel shrugs, resignedly. “I knew what he did, that he led a dangerous life, but I didn’t care, because he made me feel like no one ever has before. I was this close,” she holds up her index and thumb denoting less than an inch, “this close from throwing everything away because it was getting to the point where I didn’t want to imagine my life without him.” She shakes her head, knowing she had been reckless. But, if she’s honest with herself, if she had to do it all over again, she’s not sure she would do it any differently.

“Jesus, Issy. You couldn’t have just picked a nice normal guy.” Jamie frowns at her friend.

“Oh yeah, as if those are the ones you ever go for.” Isabel narrows her eyes at her friend who has the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Fair point.” Jamie doesn’t even try to deny it.

“Besides, I can’t get in touch with him even if I want to.” Isabel continues her explanation when Jamie gives her a curious look. “I tried to call him a couple of days ago. I don’t know what I thought I was going to say. But it didn’t matter. The number had been disconnected. And it’s not like he left a forwarding address.”

“So, he’s just gone? Just disappeared? Who does that?” Jamie makes a face to highlight just how lost she would be without being surgically attached to her own cellphone.

“People who are running from the law, I guess.” Isabel says the phrase with such sanguine acceptance that anyone overhearing them would think she’d been accustomed to a life of crime.

“Good point.” Jamie takes another sip of her coffee, giving the street ahead of them a worried look as if she expects the cops to show up right there and then. Although Jamie had been a wild child, she’s never really gotten into any trouble. It’s pretty ironic that Isabel, the one who is always warning Jamie about her wild ways, is the one who ended up being involved with someone truly dangerous.

“You know what the worst part is though, Jay?” Isabel laughs a little at herself. “If I had it to do all over again, knowing then what I know now, I don’t think I would change anything.” She shakes her head, knowing how illogical that is. “As crappy and as heartbroken as I feel now, I don’t wish I never met him or that I hadn’t fallen for him. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it’s just how I feel.”

“Love doesn’t tend to make a whole lot of sense, babe.” The look in Jamie’s eye tells her she’s speaking from her own experience.

“Even though he was such a bastard and cheated on you?” Isabel doesn’t need to sugarcoat what happened. Jamie is all too aware the man she fell for had turned out to be a class A asshole.

“Even so.” Jamie shrugs, sighing as she thinks about the guy who broke her heart. “Because I was happy, Issy. Even though it turns out it was all a lie, I was in love with him and it’s the best feeling in the whole world.” She shakes her head, like she’s trying to dispel an image from her mind. “We’re kind of a pathetic pair, aren’t we?”

Isabel laughs. “At least we’re in it together!”

Jamie smiles at her friend, covering her hand with hers again. “Just like everything else. Now we both better get going, but tonight, I’m all yours and we are going to have some fun!”

“What do you mean?” Isabel looks at her friend suspiciously, knowing Jamie’s idea of a good time doesn’t normally involve a night in.

“Fun! F.U.N. You remember fun, right? We used to have it before we got all old and bitter?” Jamie scrunches up her face in a poor imitation of a little old lady. With her angelic features, the expression looks even more wicked and Isabel can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, I remember fun. Although I don’t think I’m quite ready yet for one of Jamie’s famous all-nighters!” Isabel shakes her head. Jamie has always been the party girl and she’s the party pooper; they are the roles they are destined to play until they both get old and grey.

“Oh ye of little faith!” Jamie wags her finger in Isabel’s face. “I wasn’t talking about an exercise in bar-hopping and flirting. I don’t think you’re quite at that stage of the grieving process yet.” She looks speculatively at Isabel as if to double check. “No, definitely not there yet. I was thinking more like pizza, ice cream, ‘Dawson’s Creek’ marathon, and a few bottles of wine?”

Isabel feels a smile spread across her face. It’s the exact recipe she had used to help Jamie out of her own morose funk when her heart had been broken. “That sounds perfect.”

“Great, I’ll see you at your place later.” Jamie digs in her purse and throws down enough bills to cover both their coffees.

“Hey, I’ll pay for my own, Jamie.” Isabel moves to take cash out of her own bag.

“Nope, this is my treat. Now that I’m earning more than a performing chimp, I figure I could spread the wealth a little!” She winks at Isabel.

“You got a raise! Oh my God, Jamie, that’s so great.” Isabel stands up and hugs her friend tightly. “I’m so proud of you!” Immediately she feels bad for monopolizing the conversation with her own problems when her friend had such exciting news.

Jamie makes a ‘settle down’ motion with her hand. “It’s not like I’m earning the Wall Street bucks yet. It’s still peanuts, but I’m doing what I love, so I don’t mind. I’d probably work for free if I could pay my landlord in smiles!” Jamie gives Isabel a serious look as they start walking down the busy street filled with Saturday morning shoppers.

“What, Jamie?” Isabel doesn’t even have to make eye contact with her friend. “What are you thinking? I can hear the little cogs turning around in your mind.” Isabel makes a motion like she’s winding up a wheel.

“Little cogs?” Jamie expertly tosses her mane of golden hair, catching the eye of every guy on the street. “I’m not sure if that’s not an insult to my intelligence. But we’re such good friends that I won’t get mad.” She gives Isabel a pointed look.

“All right, hit me with it. What are you about to say that I’m going to get mad about?” Isabel stops in her tracks, watching her friend cautiously.

“Nothing, because as I just pointed out, best friends don’t get mad at each other.” Jamie says the words so sweetly and innocently, someone who doesn’t know her would think she has both of those attributes in spades.

Isabel knew better; her friend was no stranger to the sneak attack. “Go on.” Isabel makes ‘continue’ gestures with her hands, eyeing her friend suspiciously at the same time.

“So when are you going to start doing what you love?” Jamie focuses her attention on Isabel, who just stands there looking nonplussed. “Med school. When are you going back? You can’t hide out here the rest of your life, Issy.”

“I’m not hiding!” Isabel bristles at the suggestion, though she’s not sure if it’s all that inaccurate anymore.

“Well, whatever you want to call it, then: mourning, grieving. I get that your mom left you the boarding house but you and I both know this was never your dream; it was hers. And she wouldn’t have wanted you to give up everything because of it.” Jamie places a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. Isabel remains silent, scuffing at the sidewalk with the toe of her converse, feeling like a teenager getting told off for teepeeing someone’s house. “Ever since we were little kids, Issy, a doctor is all you’ve ever wanted to be. That hasn’t changed, has it?”

Isabel shakes her head. “No. But it’s not that simple, Jamie. What am I supposed to do about the house?”

Jamie throws her hands up in frustration. “Do what your mom told you to do with it: sell it!”

“I can’t!” Isabel’s voice is rising in anger now.

“Why the hell not? People do it all the time.” Jamie spreads her hands as if to say that she doesn’t have any other way to say what she’s saying.

“Because it’s the only thing I have left of her, Jamie!” The words burst out of Isabel like she can’t hold them back. “And if I get rid of the house, she’s really gone.” The pleading look in her voice is matched in her eyes. You will not cry, Bishop, she tells herself.

Understanding dawns in Jamie’s face and she reaches out to hold Isabel’s hand. “I know, honey. I know that’s how you feel. But it’s not true. The house is just a thing. It’s not who your mom was.” She sighs, clearly seeing that she’s not getting anywhere with this conversation. “I didn’t want to say anything over the phone; it’s something I thought we should talk about face to face. But I’m not going to push you.” She backs off, hands held up in surrender as if to illustrate the point. “I just want you to think about it, to really think about it. Promise me you’ll at least do that.”

Isabel swallows her anger and her pain. She knows Jamie is just telling her this for her own good and the kick of it is that she’s not wrong. Since Wesley had left, Isabel’s been thinking more and more about going back to school, though she hasn’t quite figured out the ‘how’ part yet. She had given up on one thing that she loved; she doesn’t want to be two for two.

“I promise, oh wise one.” Her grumbly response is enough to tell Jamie there are no hard feelings, that she’s not mad at her for once again telling her the truth.

“Good, now I’ve got to run if I don’t want my mother to kill me!” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll catch you later.” Jamie gives her friend a bear hug before rushing off down the street, looking like a bright spot of color amongst the grey of the buildings.

Isabel bites back a sigh, knowing that now she’s alone, it’s going to be harder to keep her feelings under wraps. In the past few days she’s learned that when she’s on her own it’s nearly impossible not to think about Wesley. He’s invaded her heart and her mind and there’s absolutely nothing she can do to get him out of either.

Time heals all wounds. It was something her mother always used to say. She hopes it is true, but she can’t help but wonder how much time it’s going to take for her heart to be repaired.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Walking down the street in the direction of the boarding house, she wonders about him, asking herself what he’s doing, what he’s feeling, if he’s thinking about her. There’s no doubt in her mind that he’s still doing the dangerous work she had seen the evidence of every night when he came back beaten and bloody.

She hopes he’s found someone else to patch him up. She hopes it’s an obese man with a lazy eye and body odor. She smiles to herself at that. It’s easier to hope that than to believe he’s just moved on to the next woman who will open their door to him. No, he wouldn’t do that, her brain assures her. But, after all, how could she possibly know that? He had walked out on her as if there had been no other choice. His feelings hadn’t been strong enough to make him stay.

Isabel shakes her head, trying to rid herself of those thoughts. There’s nothing productive to come from going down that road; she’d spent too long there anyway. When she’s only a block away from the boarding house she hears the unmistakable sound of motorcycles. She turns around, searching for where the noise is coming from and for one brief, beautiful moment she thinks it’s Wesley – that he’s come back.

But when two weekend riders all dressed up in their gaudy leathers and helmets whizz past her on brand spanking new bikes, she feels her heart sink right down into her Converse sneakers again. Serves you right, Bishop. If you don’t expect to see him, you won’t be disappointed when you don’t – simple as that.

She nods her head in agreement, knowing the only way to get over him is to stop thinking about him, to stop hoping she’s going to see him round the next corner, leaning lazily against a wall, looking at her as if no time had passed.

“Where is he, darlin’?”

A voice behind her makes her jump and immediately reach for the mace on her key ring Rosa had given her the night after Jimmy’s appearance in her garden. She had told Rosa it had just been a prowler, skipping all the important details. Although it was evident that the older woman didn’t believe her and that she had already put the incident together with the sudden disappearance of Wesley, the man she had already labeled ‘dangerous.’ Rosa had given Isabel the key ring for her own protection. Isabel hasn’t had cause to use it yet, but she feels more secure knowing that it is there if she needs it.

She whirls around to face the man behind her, half-expecting to see Jimmy. But it’s not him; it’s a much older man, with a grey beard, wearing a leather vest. But that’s not what gets her attention; it’s the tattoos all up and down his exposed arms including the face of a black snarling dog with horns. There’s no doubt about it; the man in front of her is a Devil Dog.

Isabel swallows the fear that threatens to have her coffee making an unwelcome reappearance. The man in front of her couldn’t be more different from the one who attacked her. He doesn’t give off the same creepy vibe and he doesn’t look at her as if she were in danger of becoming his next meal.

“Where is who?” Her voice doesn’t tremble and she feels a little proud of herself.

“Don’t play around with me, Miss Bishop.” His use of her name makes her head snap to attention. “Yes, I know who you are.”

“Well if you’re here to threaten me or to follow up on what your friend Jimmy tried to pull, you’re out of luck! If you come near me or my place, I’ll call the cops so fast your head will spin.” The anger helps to bolster her courage.

“Easy there, tiger.” He makes a calm down gesture with his hands, looking around to see if Isabel’s raised voice has caught anyone’s attention. When he seems satisfied that there’s nothing for him to worry about, he continues. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just looking for some information.”

“Well I don’t have any.” Isabel crosses her arms, her patience starting to run out.

“All I want to know is where Wesley is. You tell me that and you’ll never have to see me again.” He holds up his hands as if to show what a stand-up guy he is.

“But if I don’t know where he is, how am I supposed to tell you? And, like I said, if I see you again, you’ll be telling your story to the cops.” She turns to walk away but halts at his next words.

“Beautiful, I own the cops.” He says the words as if he is just stating a fact. If he had been full of bombast and bravado, Isabel may not have believed him. But it’s clear from his expression he’s not kidding around.

“You’re the leader of the Devil Dogs, aren’t you?” She keeps her voice low, hoping the caution in it won’t be as audible if she’s quiet.

The man just nods and Isabel gulps audibly. “Like I said, I’m not here to hurt you. If I wanted you out of the picture, you’d be dead already.”

Isabel isn’t sure if that’s comforting or not. “I don’t know where he is. That’s the truth.”

The man assesses her for a few moments, as if he is a human lie detector and then takes a step away, backing off. “If you didn’t look so miserable, I might not have believed you.”

Great, now I’m getting pity from big hairy criminals.

“Well, if you do see Wes again, tell him I have another job for him.” He gives Isabel a pointed look, as if he’s expecting her to ask what kind of job that would be. It’s clear that she gets points for not following that particular line of questioning.

“All right, I will. If you promise that you and the rest of your merry men will leave me and my business alone.” Isabel holds her head high, her chin jutting out in what her mother used to call her ‘stubborn’ pose. She knows she’s not exactly in the best position to be making demands but she figures this may be the only leverage with the Dogs she’s ever going to get.

The biker laughs deeply as he looks at her, but it’s not just amusement in his face; there’s also a hint of respect. “You’ve got a set of brass balls on you, girl!” He gives her a little playful slap on the back that almost sends her flying. “You’re not just a pretty face, after all. No wonder Wes went for you hook, line, and sinker.” He looks at her as if he’s really seeing her for the first time.

“Well?” She taps her foot, looking pointedly at him. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

He seems to think about it and then nods in agreement, sticking his hand out. “You have a deal. My men won’t bother you. Just make sure Wesley gets in touch with me when he comes back.”

“You mean if he comes back.” Isabel doesn’t add that she’s pretty certain that’s a big if. She shakes his hand, watching how hers looks so small in his enormous grip. The man is built like a grizzly bear.

“No, I mean when.” He looks Isabel over. “Wesley’s a lot of things but he’s not stupid. He’ll be back.” Signaling the end of the conversation, he turns on his heel and walks away in the other direction, leaving Isabel to take in a deep, sucking breath.

So it turns out Wesley’s plan to get Isabel out of the way of the Devil Dogs hasn’t exactly worked like a charm. Isabel trudges back to the house, wondering if she can trust anything the man had promised her. The way she figures it, she has no choice but to take him at his word, that he’ll keep his goons away from her and her business. But she can’t help hoping he was right about one particular thing: Wesley will come back and that it’ll be for her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A week rolls by, then one week becomes two and two becomes three, until it has been a month since Wesley walked out of the boarding house. There’s still no sign of him coming back. Isabel has started to make her peace with that, or at least that’s what she tells herself.

Apart from the gut-wrenching loss she still feels whenever she thinks about him, which she knows is still far too often, things have started to look up for the boarding house. The Devil Dogs haven’t made a return, so it seems that, although they’re criminals, they’re criminals who keep their promises. Aside from that, there are more tenants coming through the doors and a few of them are even long-term. Although it is a little early to say her financial problems have disappeared, at least she is now able to make the mortgage repayments, just.

Isabel has settled into a kind of monotony that involves helping Rosa with the day to day chores of the boarding house, working on the books, the accounts and the marketing of the place, fielding inquiries, buying provisions, figuring out what the most urgent repairs are and trying to find a way to pay for them. The house is still falling apart, but at least she is starting to come up with a plan of how she will get around to fixing it, even if, by her calculations, it is going to take around five years.

She has become a little reclusive, though she wouldn’t have used that word. Aside from her daily calls from Jamie, her contact with the world outside of the boarding house is fairly minimal. And that’s just the way she likes it, or at least that’s what she tells herself. Even Rosa seems to have noticed.

“Why you no go out like other girls your age?” The stout Italian lady has never been very good at small talk.

Isabel sighs heavily, not wanting to repeat the same conversation they’ve been having on virtually a daily basis for the past few weeks. “Because I have responsibilities, Rosa. Besides, I don’t feel like it.” She shrugs, ignoring the older woman’s narrow-eyed gaze as they fold another load of what seems to be never-ending laundry.

“You have not been the same, not since your young man left.” Rosa shakes her head, telling Isabel something she already knows.

“I’ve already told you, Rosa. He wasn’t my young man.” Isabel doesn’t know what he was, but whatever it was, it doesn’t matter anymore; he isn’t coming back.

“No? Then why you walking around like someone punch you in the stomach?” Rosa plants her hands on her hips, the laundry forgotten.

“It’s ‘kicked in the gut,’ Rosa. And I’m not. I’m fine, see!” Isabel puts on a cheesy grin, as wide as she can possibly make it.

Rosa makes a disgusted sound at the back of her throat, telling Isabel exactly how much she buys that particular untruth. “I worry about you, Isabel.” The older woman lays a comforting hand on her shoulder and, for a brief moment, Isabel allows herself to be comforted.

In the past few weeks she and Rosa have gotten closer. Isabel has begun to understand why her mother kept the woman around even though she is more expensive than the going rate. Rosa is fiercely loyal; she just hasn’t been loyal to Isabel.

Rosa had loved her mother like a sister and when she died and Isabel took over the business, Isabel expected that allegiance to be inherited. But that’s not how Rosa works. It is something Isabel has only recently begun to understand. Rosa’s fidelity has to be earned and, now, after months of hard work, she seems to think Isabel is worthy of it. It makes her loyalty more valuable, knowing you had to work for it, that it isn’t something that is just freely given.

“Don’t worry, please. You have seven children and fifteen grandchildren to worry about! You don’t need me clogging up your brain, as well.” Isabel waves away the other woman’s concern.

“You love him, yes?” Rosa clearly has no inclination to let this conversation go.

“Who?” Isabel looks at the older woman, wide-eyed.

“You no funny, Isabel. I’m serious. I ask you a question. Do you love him?” Rosa waits, arms folded, making it obvious that she has no intention of doing anything else until Isabel answers.

“Why do you care? You said he was dangerous, that he had a dark cloud around his head.” Isabel looks pointedly at the other woman. “I thought you’d be happy he was gone. No more dark cloud.” Isabel makes a gesture as if she is a magician.

“I say he dangerous. Was I wrong?” Rosa’s hands are on her sizable hips, assessing Isabel with her ‘don’t fuck with me’ stare.

Isabel sighs deeply, abandoning her pile of laundry. “No, Rosa. You weren’t wrong.”

Rosa makes a satisfied sound. “But you still don’t answer my question.” She waggles her finger at Isabel, as if she is a naughty schoolgirl. “It don’t matter. I can tell from your face and your sad little green eyes that you do. So, I have a story I want to tell you.”

Much as Isabel enjoys Rosa’s stories about her time back home in Italy, she has a feeling this particular anecdote is going to have a special message for her and she isn’t quite ready to fend off another attack of kindness from the older woman. At that precise moment, the doorbell rings and Isabel smiles in spite of herself. Never has a sound been so welcome to her ears.

“Saved by the bell.” She says the words under her breath but Rosa still hears her; the woman has hears like a bat. She swats her playfully on the behind with a dishtowel as Isabel runs up the stairs to answer the door. She tries to tell herself it’s foolish for her to still get her hopes up whenever someone comes to the door. It’s not going to be him; she knows that. But her heart hasn’t quite caught up with her mind on that front yet. So she hurries up the stairs, her heart beating like a drum.

By the time she gets to the door, she’s breathing heavily but doesn’t even pause for breath before she swings it open, her eyes shiny and full of hope. It’s not Wesley. She’d known that; it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. What she’s not prepared for is the sight of the man standing in front of her, the last man she expects to see on her doorstep.

“Mike!” She blinks as if he were some kind of apparition. “What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you, too, Issy.” A warm smile breaks out on his face, highlighting his All-American looks that never failed to make the women around him swoon.

Isabel opens and closes her mouth, doing a pretty good impression of a goldfish, but she can’t find the words to say.

After a few moments of just standing there and staring at each other, Mike shifts the duffel bag he’s holding over one shoulder. “So, can I come in?”

Isabel backs away from the door, opening it wide and gesturing for him to come in.

It takes another few moments for her to find her voice. “Can I get you something to drink? Are you hungry? I bet you’re hungry.” She leads him into the kitchen where she starts opening and closing cupboards at a rate of knots. Now that she’s found her voice she only seems to be capable of babbling.

“I’m fine.” When she doesn’t stop spinning around in the kitchen like a whirlwind he steps into her path, forcing her to stop. “Issy, I’m fine.” He looks down at her and she sees all the emotion in his eyes; it’s enough to choke her.

Without even thinking about it, she throws her arms around his shoulders and hugs him hard, feeling indescribably better. Whatever happened between them, Mike is still her friend. They have shared so much together; they have been buddies for longer than they’d been anything else and she feels so grateful to have him here.

“It’s so good to see you.” She speaks the words against his shoulder and she feels his hold on her tighten as he rubs her back. Eventually she pulls away, smiling up at him through the tears that are threatening behind her eyes.

“I was worried you might not be all that happy to see me.” Mike shoves his hands in the pockets of his designer jeans, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Mike, I’m always happy to see you.” She gives him a serious look, ignoring the elephant in the room and hoping that he will, too. But she knows better. Mike has never been the beating around the bush type.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding my calls like the plague?” He levels her with a look that tells her she’s not getting out of this confrontation without giving him a real answer.

“I haven’t been avoiding them!” Isabel shakes her head, not looking directly at him. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t lie to him anymore, but she isn’t exactly getting off to a great start on that front.

“Issy, come on. This is me.” His voice is gentle, but there’s no doubt in her mind he’s not going to push her for more.

“I know, Mike. It’s just…” She scrambles around for something that will appease him, for something that isn’t a lie. “It’s been kind of a difficult time.” She shrugs, aware that her explanation could be strong contender for understatement of the year.

She waits for Mike to push her more, but he doesn’t. Instead he nods in understanding, rubbing his eyes like he’s just woken up. “I get that, and I don’t want to make things any more complicated for you.”

Isabel can hear a ‘but’ coming. She isn’t quite ready to hear it yet. “So how’re things at school? How’d finals go?” She starts filling up the kettle, taking cups down, going through the motions of making tea, the ritual of the action soothing her, or at least that’s what she hopes will happen.

Mike sighs, like he knows she’s stalling, but he’s gracious enough not to point it out. “Oh, you know, same old, same old.” He shrugs but can’t help a smile spreading across his face.

Isabel remembers that smile. They’d first bonded over the fact that they’d both known since they were kids that they wanted to be doctors. They loved it, which is probably also why they were always at the top of all their classes. They had a friendly rivalry at school, each pushing the other on to achieve bigger, better.

“I kind of miss my study buddy, though.” He sighs deeply. “Is she ever coming back?”

Isabel keeps her attention focused on steeping the tea, going through the motions, not looking at him. “Honestly, Mike, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you miss it?” The tone of his voice tells her he knows she does. “I don’t get it, Issy. Being a surgeon, it’s all you’ve ever wanted and you’re so damn good at it. It’s really freakin’ annoying.” He laughs lightly. “How can you be okay with just throwing that all away?”

Isabel shakes her head, finally turning around to face him. “Because I’m not okay with it, Mike.” It’s the first time she’s ever admitted the words, at least out loud, and there’s something freeing about it. “I miss it. I miss college. I miss my friends. I miss the classes. I miss learning new things every day. I miss it all.” She takes a deep breath. “I miss it so much sometimes that it actually hurts.” Don’t cry, Bishop, don’t cry.

“So what are you waiting for, Issy?” Mike shakes his head, not understanding her reticence in the slightest. “All you have to do is speak to the Dean. They’d have you back in a heartbeat. You’re the best student they have!”

Isabel laughs off the compliment. “And what are you, a slacker?” She crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her head and giving him a look.

“I just try to keep up with you, Issy.” He shrugs, smiling sincerely. “So why don’t you come back? I’ve never known you not to go after what you wanted. The Isabel I knew was fearless. What’s changed? What are you afraid of?”

Isabel tries to conjure up a memory of the person Mike is describing, but it’s as if it is someone else. He is right; she had been fearless. There was nothing she couldn’t do, nothing she would have thought she didn’t deserve or couldn’t achieve. Isabel gives the only answer that she can. “My mother died.”

Mike cringes, as if he’s aware that he’s just committed a giant faux pas. “Ah, Issy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come down on you so hard.” He rests his hand on her shoulder and Isabel leans into it automatically before she remembers it’s probably the last thing she should be doing.

She straightens up, proud of herself that the tears that used to flow so freely when she thought of her mother finally seemed to be drying up. “You didn’t.” She busies herself with pouring out the tea into two cups, but she doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes when, gently, she extricates herself from his hold. The silence stretches out between them and Isabel tries to think of something to fill it. She hands him a cup. He doesn’t even look at it, just taking it and placing it on the kitchen counter next to him.

“Issy.” The tone of his voice tells her he’s gearing up for something and she has a feeling she knows exactly what it is.

“We have a couple of rooms free and you know you can stay as long as you like. How long are you in Chicago for? ” She looks at the duffel bag he’s dumped just inside the kitchen, wondering what his plans are and what’s made him suddenly decide to present himself on her doorstep.

“I’m not sure yet. That sort of depends on you.” He looks at her pointedly and Isabel bites her lip, knowing the moment of truth is coming and knowing she’s not in the least bit ready for it.

“Well, like I said, you can stay here as long as you want. You know you’re always welcome here. I’m pretty sure my mom liked you more than she did me.” Isabel laughs lightly, remembering how her mother had taken Mike under her wing like he was the son she never had whenever Isabel would bring him home from college for a long weekend.

“She was an amazing woman. I wish you had told me when the funeral was so I could have been there.” There’s no anger in his voice, just disappointment, which is so much worse.

“I know. I know. It was all just kind of a blur.” She waves away the memory of that day, watching them lower her mother into the ground and knowing she was never going to come out again. The finality of it had hit home then and it had almost been too much to bear.

“I understand.” His voice is soft, gentle, understanding and Isabel wonders, again, why a nice guy like him wants anything to do with someone like her.

“Issy, we could keep skirting around this for days. But I’m done with that. There are some things I have to say and I need you to hear me.” He walks towards her, closing the space between them and stopping so they’re only a few inches apart.

Isabel gulps when she sees the expression on his face. This is the exact moment she has been most afraid of, the reason why she has been dodging his calls. It was hard enough having to deal with this conversation over the phone but face-to-face it is going to be a whole different story. She steels herself, knowing she’s about to hurt someone she cares about. “Mike, please, don’t say anything.” She holds her hands up, as if that would be enough to stop him; she should have known better.

“Issy, I have to. Please, just let me say what I need to say.” His voice is harsh, serious, a man on a mission.

She gestures for him to continue, knowing she at least owes him that much. She can’t avoid him forever. It’s time to let him say what he needs to.

“Issy, you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re funny as all hell. That night we spent together was the best night of my life.” He lays out his hands, laying all his cards out on the table. “I want to be with you, Isabel. I’m in love with you and I need to know if you feel the same, if you feel anything close to that for me.”

Isabel holds her breath, processing what he’s just said to her. The words are beautiful and the sincerity is shining in his blue eyes, even more so. He’s telling her exactly what she wants to hear. The only thing is, she doesn’t want to hear it from him; they’re the words she was hoping to hear from someone else and she wants to kick herself for being such an idiot. Mike is the perfect man, the whole package, handsome, successful, kind, but there’s one fundamental thing that he’s not. He’s not Wesley.

“Mike, I don’t know what to say.” She shakes her head, helplessly, wishing there is some kind of a manual for this. The last thing she wants to do is lose her best friend. Her main priority right now is ensuring that their friendship makes it out of this room alive.

“Anything would be good right about now.” Mike’s lopsided grin is forced, like he already knows what direction this is going in.

Isabel looks down at the floor, gathering her courage together to say what she really should have said months ago, but with everything she’s had to deal with, it’s seemed like yet another mountain to climb. She hasn’t been ready for it. But she is now; she has to be. There is no more time for evasions or for excuses. Mike doesn’t deserve that. He deserves the truth. She looks up into his eyes and finds the strength to tell him everything she needs to. “Mike, I do love you. Just not in the way you want me to.” Isabel watches the hurt play out across his features. “You’ve been such a great friend to me and I don’t want to lose that.” She reaches out to take his hand in hers and squeezes it, waiting for him to focus back on her and stop looking at the ground as if she’d just taken out his heart and stomped on it.

“Is that the only reason, Issy? That you don’t want to ruin our friendship? Because if it is, I can give you any number of reasons why that’s a load of bullshit!” The frustration she’s hardly ever heard in his voice starts to come out now and Isabel winces involuntarily, more than aware that she’s the one who caused this calm, decent man to explode. “I want to be with you, Isabel. I want to be a whole lot more than just your friend. I want to take care of you.” He tries to pull her towards him with the hand she’s holding, but she stands firm, knowing it would be a slippery slope. She’d fallen into bed with Mike once before, looking for comfort. That had been a mistake, a mistake she is still paying for, a mistake that could end a friendship she truly treasured.

“That’s not the only reason.” Isabel’s voice is quiet, but it carries in the small kitchen. She feels Mike’s hand tense in hers.

“There’s someone else.” The words come out through gritted teeth, but he doesn’t seem surprised, as if it is something he had half-expected.

Isabel nods quickly, wishing there is something she can say that will make this all better, something that would take them back in time, to before the night when everything between them changed. Isabel thinks she would give anything to go back there now, so she didn’t have to see the hurt plastered all over Mike’s face and know she’s the reason for it.

“Who is he?” Mike keeps his voice low, cold, and it’s a million times worse than if he had just shouted at her, railed against her and told her he hated her, that she misled him.

Isabel shrugs. “He’s just a guy, Mike. I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just sort of…did.” She knows how lame it sounds, but it also just happens to be the truth.

“You’re in love with him.” It’s a statement of fact more than a question, but Isabel nods anyway, knowing there’s no need to be coy.

“So where is he?” Mike looks around, as if he expects said guy to pop out from one of the kitchen cupboards.

“He’s not here.” Isabel looks up at the ceiling, wondering why the ground never swallows you up when you want it to.

“When will he be back? I’d at least like to meet the guy who managed to do in a few months what I haven’t been able to in years.” Mike huffs a mirthless laugh, but his smile looks more like a grimace.

“He’s not coming back, Mike.” She keeps her voice even, proud that she manages to stop it from breaking.

Mike gives her a confused look, not making any effort to pretend that he doesn’t believe her. “He’s not coming back.” He repeats her words as if he might have misheard them.

She plants her feet firmly on the ground, looking up into his baby blue eyes and telling herself that under no circumstances is she allowed to cry. “That’s right. He left about a month ago. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

Mike blinks at her, clearly wondering what it is he’s missing from this story. “But you’re waiting for him.” He watches as she shakes her head sadly.

“No, not really.” She sighs, pushing the curls that have come loose from her ponytail out of her face. “At least, I’m trying not to.” She smiles without humor. “I know he’s not coming back. I know he’s gone for good, but I can’t help hoping.” She shrugs, knowing she sounds like some pathetic heroine from a cheesy romance novel.

“And what if he doesn’t come back, Issy? Are you just going to hope forever? Are you really willing to throw what we could have away in favor of something that may never happen?” Mike shakes his head, raking his fingers through his expensively-cropped blonde hair. “It doesn’t make any sense, Isabel. It’s not logical!”

“No,” she agrees, “it’s not. But then from what I’ve heard there’s not a whole lot that’s logical about love.”

Mike chuckles lightly. “Ain’t that the truth.” He gives her an appraising look, as if he’s really looking at her for the first time. “You know, this would really be a whole lot easier if you looked like crap.”

Isabel smiles and shakes her head. “I could say the same about you.” She stares at the man in front of her, with his handsome face, his lean runner’s build and she asks herself what woman in her right mind wouldn’t want him?

“I guess I should get going.” Mike moves to pick up his duffel bag.

“What do you mean?” Isabel shakes her head, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Mike gives her an amused look. “Well, Issy, I can’t stay here, not after…” He lets the phrase trail off; there’s no need to finish it. They both know what happened.

“The hell you can’t!” She moves round to block his way out of the kitchen. “You listen here, Michael Anthony Curtis, there is no way you’re coming all the way to Chicago to stay in some depressing, bland hotel when you should be staying here. I won’t allow it.” Isabel just manages to stop short of stamping her foot.

“Issy, I can’t.” He shakes his head sadly, lifting his hand up as if to stroke her cheek before letting it fall. “It’s hard for me to be around you, knowing you don’t feel the same.” He shrugs his shoulders and the action makes him look so sad that it pulls at Isabel’s heartstrings.

“Mike. Please. Just stay.” She lays a hand on his shoulder, looking up into his eyes. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer, knowing she might not want to hear his response. “It’s getting late and you must be tired. We can talk more in the morning when we’ve both had a chance to sleep on everything.” She gestures vaguely around her as if to encompass ‘everything.’ “I don’t want us to leave things like this.”

Mike looks at her and then looks up to the ceiling and back down to her. “You know it’s not fair when you give me the puppy dog eyes. You know I’ve never been able to say no to them.” He chucks her playfully under the chin.

Isabel smiles broadly. “I never said I played fair!” She winks at him and he laughs. It almost feels like old times. Almost but not quite, there’s still an underlying level of tension that had never been there between them before.

Mike locks eyes with her and she can feel his gaze turn heated in a matter of seconds. They’re standing too close to each other. She thinks about stepping away, but she doesn’t want to break the moment they’ve just shared, the moment that has made it seem as if they were just two buddies again, as if none of the other stuff has happened.

“It’s really good to see you, Issy.” Mike lifts her chin up with his index finger and leans down, as if he’s about to kiss her on the lips. But when he’s only inches away he turns her head slightly and kisses her on the cheek, just at the corner of her mouth.

Isabel’s eyes widen, knowing she should say something, but at a complete loss. A polite cough behind her snaps her out of her stupor.

“Rosa!” She is so happy to see the older woman she could almost cry. “Rosa, this is Mike.”

She introduces the two, taking the opportunity to take a few steps away from him as he shakes Rosa’s hand and exchanges pleasantries with her. Above all else, Mike is polite. That’s something no one could ever fault him on.

“Rosa, Mike’s going to be staying with us for a couple of days. Could you show him up to the Blue Room?” Isabel makes a point of only looking at Rosa, knowing Mike’s attention is focused on her and not in a purely platonic way.

“Wonderful, I show you.” Rosa gestures for Mike to follow her, reading Isabel’s need to be alone.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” Mike stops at the threshold of the kitchen, looking at Isabel meaningfully.

“I’ll be here.” She smiles broadly, doing her best impression of being footloose and fancy-free.

“Great.” Mike nods, as if he’s persuading himself of something. “I want to talk more about all this, Issy. I’m not ready to give up, not yet.” He gives her a pointed glance before he hurries after Rosa to catch up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Isabel sinks into one of the mismatched chairs in the charming rustic kitchen and puts her head in her hands, wondering when exactly it was that everything had become so complicated. It is at times like this she misses her mother most. In the past, she would have speed-dialed her mom and she would have given Isabel the best advice. She would have made it seem as if everything was going to be all right, as if everything could be fixed. Caroline Bishop’s emotional openness had balanced her daughter’s emotional retardedness and now that she is gone, Isabel is a little like a boat without a sail, just drifting around without really knowing where she is going or what she is doing.

“When did you become such an idiot?” Isabel asks the question into her hands, her fingers muffling the words.

“When you fell in love.” Rosa’s response makes Isabel jump.

She hadn’t even heard the older woman come in. For a large lady she is remarkably spry. She sighs, taking a seat next to Isabel and placing her hand on her shoulder, patting it rhythmically.

“Well, love isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Rosa.” Isabel smiles at the other woman, shaking her head.

Rosa doesn’t pass comment on this particular kernel of wisdom on Isabel’s part. Instead she taps her fingers on the table, creating a drumbeat that seems to be encouraging Isabel off to sleep, which is a feat in itself.

“He seem like a nice boy.” Rosa shrugs as if to say ‘what?’ when Isabel gives her a dry look.

“He is a nice boy, Rosa. He’s a very nice boy.” Isabel rubs her temples, wondering how she can get out of this conversation without actually sprinting for freedom.

“And this nice boy, he like you, yes?” Rosa pokes Isabel in the shoulder when she doesn’t respond immediately.

“Ouch! All right, Rosa! Yes, yes he does, though I don’t deserve him to.” Isabel shakes her head at the irony of it. The one you want disappears into the night without giving you any reason to think he’ll ever be back again; he doesn’t even say the four-letter word you would give anything to hear. The one who wants you chases you over three states to turn up at your door and declare his undying love for you.

“Why you say that, Isabel?” Rosa frowns, her eyes creasing in the corners at the action.

“Because it’s the truth.” Isabel sighs as she lays her head against the kitchen table. “He’s a great guy, Rosa. He’s a great guy and a great friend. And anyone woman in her right mind would be in love with him and would want to be with him. He’s every mother’s dream for her daughter! Hell, even my mom would have been overjoyed if I’d introduced him as my boyfriend!”

“But you don’t love him, not like that.” Rosa’s voice tells Isabel she already knows the answer to that particular question.

Isabel shakes her head, still keeping her head on the table, the cool wood going some way to ease her burgeoning headache. “What if Mike’s right, Rosa?” She asks the question quietly, a little afraid that the tears will find their way out of her tightly shut eyes. “What if he never comes back?”

Rosa doesn’t ask which ‘he’ Isabel is talking about; there’s no need. They both know who it is. Rosa sighs deeply. “Isabel, let me tell you a story.”

Isabel shakes her head. She knows Rosa means well and that she just wants to help, but right now the last thing she wants is a moralistic tale about how her life is passing her by and she shouldn’t be waiting for a man that is never going to come back. “Rosa, I’m really tired. Maybe another time -”

But the older woman cuts her off. “Isabel, I try again and again to tell you this story. Every time you say you no want to hear it. Well, this time, I don’t care. I going to tell story and you going to listen.”

The serious tone of voice makes Isabel sit up and blink at Rosa, who looks like she’s about to blow. “All right, Rosa. It’s fine. Tell me your story.” Isabel makes calming gestures with her hands, wondering if she’s ever seen the other woman so mad.

“Bene.” Good. Rosa nods, satisfied that Isabel is paying attention to what she has to tell her. “When I was in Italy, I was so happy.” She smiles as she begins her story, the memories of her homeland flooding back. “I was young and beautiful.” Her eyes twinkle but her mouth purses as she catches Isabel’s expression. “What? I was skinny like you then.” She pats her matronly hips as if she is remembering a time when they didn’t take up quite so much room.

“I’m not surprised, Rosa.” Isabel doesn’t even have to lie. Despite the fact that the older woman clearly has an impressive girth, her full face is still more than pretty. It wasn’t hard to imagine what she must have looked like thirty years before.

“Hmmff.” Rosa makes a suspicious noise, as if she doesn’t quite believe Isabel, but she continues on regardless. “Anyway, in my town there were many men who want to marry me. But I no like any.” She shakes her head, her eyes getting that faraway look in them again. “Until one day, a man came to our town. Mario.” She sighs deeply, lost in her memories and Isabel listens in fascination. “He was from Roma, the big city. He had so many stories and used to talk to me about what it was like there, how one day he would take me there and show me everything.” She shakes her head.

“You fell in love with him.” Isabel can tell that just from the look on Rosa’s face.

Rosa nods. “It was like this.” She snaps her fingers. “I see him, he see me and that was all.” She shrugs and Isabel nods, understanding exactly what the other woman is saying. “But my father, he no approve. This man, my father say, he is trouble.” Rosa sighs again.

“What kind of trouble? Why didn’t your father like him?” Isabel clenches her hands tight, leaning towards Rosa, enveloped in the story.

“He was, how you say? He was a man not suitable for a girl like me. My father, he say I too innocent, that I do not understand what a man like him wants.” Isabel watches as Rosa’s eyes fill up with a hurt she must have been carrying around for more than half her life. “I no understand what my father mean, until one night, I follow Mario and watch. He meet with another man and the other man give him a gun.” Rosa shakes her head as if she were trying to get that memory out of her mind. “In Italy, back then, only two kinds of people have gun.” She ticks off fingers on her hand. “Police and Mafioso.” She looks pointedly at Isabel.

Isabel gulps. “Mafioso. He was part of the mafia.” Isabel’s eyes widen. No wonder Rosa can recognize trouble when she sees it, she thinks to herself.

Rosa nods. “He tell me everything, how he became Mafioso, how he want to leave, buy vineyard, make wine. He want a quiet life. He want to marry me, to have a family.” Rosa gulps and Isabel sees the woman is desperately trying to hold back tears.

Isabel takes hold of her hand and squeezes it, silently communicating that she’s there for her. “So what happened?” Isabel searches Rosa’s eyes for some kind of clue as to how this story ends.

“My father, he tell me no, he tell me that I cannot marry a man like Mario. He say I have to choose. I marry Mario and I never see my family again or I do as my father say and I never see Mario again.” Rosa wipes her eyes with the back of her hands, the pain from that day still as fresh now as it was then.

Realization dawns on Isabel. “Your husband. He’s not called Mario.”

Rosa shakes her head sadly. “I couldn’t say goodbye to my family, to know I would never see my mother or my sisters again. I say goodbye to Mario.”

“What did he say? Didn’t he try to fight for you, to change your mind?” Isabel feels herself getting swept away with the tragedy of the story.

Rosa shakes her head. “He was a proud man, too proud. When I tell him I cannot marry him, that I can never see him again, he kiss me and he walk away.”

Isabel holds her breath, waiting for more, waiting for Rosa to tell how he came back for her, how he told her he loved her and he couldn’t live without her, but the older woman remains silent.

“That’s it?” Isabel doesn’t even try to keep the frustration out of her voice. “That’s it? He just left and you never saw him again?”

Rosa shrugs as if to say that she doesn’t know what it is Isabel expected. “My father, he find me a husband. We marry, it was very quick because I…I…” Rosa looks down, playing with her hands, clearly ashamed of something.

“You were pregnant.” Isabel bites her bottom lip, not wanting to even imagine the pain Rosa must have gone through, to be married off to another man while carrying the baby of the man she loved.

Rosa nods. “My husband, he knew. But he is good man. He buy us tickets to go to America. We leave before the baby was born.” Rosa holds her hands over her lower abdomen as if she can still feel her firstborn kicking up a storm inside of her.

“Did you ever try to find Mario again? Did you ever hear from him?” Isabel desperately wants there to be something she can hold onto in this story, something that will tell her Wesley will come back, that everything will work out.

Rosa just shakes her head. “If he go back to my village, my father, he never tell me.” She shrugs. “And it is better this way. I marry a wonderful man and we have beautiful family together.” Rosa looks genuine about this part, as if her family is enough to make giving up the man she loved worthwhile.

“But don’t you ever think about him, Rosa? Don’t you ever wonder what happened to him? Or if he still thinks about you?” Isabel wraps her arms around herself, cradling herself against the coldness seeping through to her bones.

“I have family now, Isabel. I have family and I have husband who I love.” Rosa gives Isabel a pointed look and Isabel responds with a similar one, telling the older woman she won’t be fobbed off with platitudes. She wants a real answer. Rosa sighs heavily again, looking up at the ceiling as if she is asking the heavenly bodies for strength. “Every day I think about him. Every day I miss him.”

Isabel flops back into her chair, emotionally drained from Rosa’s story. “So what was the message behind that? That Mike is the good, decent man that I could have a good, decent life with and Wesley is the dangerous man, the man I shouldn’t be with?”

Rosa shrugs as if to say Isabel has to take what she wants from the story.

Isabel shakes her head. “Are you always this cryptic or is it just with me?”

Rosa grins, the hurt and pain vanishing from her eyes as if they were never there at all. “We all have a different path, Isabel. But I want you to know, I understand.” She pats Isabel’s hand, maternally. “I understand what it means to be in love. I understand why you say no to Mr. Mike.” She pats Isabel’s hand again, getting to her feet. “But do you want to be alone always? Always hoping? Always waiting?” Rosa shrugs. “That is no way to live, Isabel.”

Before Isabel has a chance to respond, Rosa is gone, leaving nothing but the familiar scent of her Jasmine perfume in her wake. Isabel massages her temples, trying to work out what the hell she’s supposed to do now. She had expected Rosa to tell her that she should be with Mike, that she should forget about Wesley, but what she hadn’t expected was that the older woman had been through something so similar to her.

Rosa was speaking from experience. Isabel knows for a fact that Rosa adores her family, her children, her grandchildren, her husband. But she wonders if she would have chosen differently if she knew then what she knows now. Would she have run off with Mario and left everything behind, to hell with all the consequences?

That is a question only Rosa can answer. And it doesn’t help Isabel much at all. Mike has never been one to give up on something he wants easily. It is a trait that will make him a great doctor, but it is also one that made Isabel sure  he won’t be taking her first answer as her last one. She’d seen the way his eyes lit up when she’d told him the other man isn’t coming back. There’s no doubt in her mind he had seen that as a chance for him, an in. He had left believing he might still be able to change her mind, to talk her around to his way of thinking.

And would that be so bad? Would it be so bad to be with someone like Mike? Someone who is kind, dependable, successful, someone who cares about her, someone who isn’t a criminal, someone who isn’t running from the law or from rival biker gangs. There are worse things in the world than to be with someone who could offer stability. Immediately she hears Jamie’s voice in her head.

“Stability is fine if you’re looking for a coffee table, but in a man you need something a little more than that!”

But Mike is more than that, she tells herself. They are friends, close friends; she believes theirs will be a friendship that will stand the test of time. And eventually love, that first spark of passion and feeling and emotion, that all fizzles out after a while. There has to be something behind it, something that will make a relationship last, and friendship seems to be as good a starting point as any.

She’s going ‘round and ‘round in circles in her own mind, not getting any closer to a decision. As soon as she thinks the rational side of her brain has won, her heart pulls her in a different direction. It’s exhausting and all she wants to do is collapse into bed and turn her brain off for a few hours.

As she trudges up the stairs to her bedroom, she thinks about Rosa and Mario and she wonders if he ever did go back for her, if he ever went looking for her only to find out she had married someone else and left the country. She wants to believe he did return, that he loved her enough to get over his own stupid pride and went back to find her. Because if he didn’t go back for her, if Mario never thought about her again, if he never missed Rosa with the same aching sense of loss Isabel had seen in the older woman’s eyes, she can’t help but feel a little more hopeless about her own dangerous man and the chances of ever seeing him again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Just like always, Isabel is the first one to wake up in the house. In between waking dreams of Wesley, she’s at least managed to get some sleep. She had still woken up at one-thirty on the dot, like she did when she was waiting to bandage him up. She wonders how long it’s going to take to break her of that particular habit. When dawn has finally broken, she starts the coffee percolating and sets about her morning routine of breaking some eggs and beating them into submission. She wanders around the kitchen, mixing bowl in hand. She’s so agitated that it’s impossible for her to stay still. She knows that, any moment now, Mike will appear and they’ll have to repeat the conversation they had the night before. But this time will she say the same thing?

She hasn’t quite been able to figure that out. She knows what her head is telling her, but her heart is saying completely the opposite. Her heart is telling her she doesn’t love Mike. But her head is reminding her the man she does love has disappeared, for all intents and purposes, forever, without any kind of a promise of ever coming back. It’s not exactly a promising prospect.

Her eyes wander around the kitchen, landing on the seat at the head of the table where Wesley would usually sit and the spot next to him that she would take when she was patching him up. Her cheeks heat as she thinks about the way he’d kissed her in that very spot.

“Well, this is a sight I could get used to seeing every morning.” Mike’s deep voice makes her jump as she whirls around to face him.

She feels herself blush all over again as she realizes she was thinking about another man just as he had been walking in. “Did you sleep well?” She smiles at him in the most friendly way possible, suddenly very aware she probably should have changed out of her skimpy pajamas before starting on breakfast.

“Like the dead. I’d forgotten how comfortable the beds here are.” He scratches at the blonde stubble that’s starting to form on his chin. Even just waking up you’d have to be blind not to see how good-looking he is.

Isabel is aware of his eyes on her, taking in the shortness of her shorts and her silk cami top, which doesn’t leave much to the imagination. His soft pajama pants tell her exactly what it is he’s imagining and Isabel’s eyes widen as she spins around, busying herself with the eggs.

“Coffee?” The word makes its way out through her strangled throat.

“Yeah, that’d be great. But why don’t you take a seat? I can take care of the breakfast.” He takes her by the elbow and gently guides her to one of the chairs before she has time to disagree.

“I don’t think my tenants are quite ready to take their life into their hands yet, Mike!” Isabel half-rises to stop him, knowing he’s about as proficient in the kitchen as a bull is in a china shop.

“Oh ye of little faith!” He points at her with a spatula. “I’ll tell you what. I make these eggs just for the two of us and you tell me if you trust me with the health of your paying customers. Deal?”

Isabel smiles, sitting back down. “Deal.” She watches him make his way around the kitchen, using pretty much every pan and utensil he can find to make scrambled eggs.

When he’s done, he delivers a plate to her with a flourish and goes to refill her coffee.

“Just black -” She starts directing him before she remembers that he knows exactly how she likes her coffee.

“I remember, Issy.” He says the words softly, placing the coffee mug down in front of her, his hand, skimming hers and it’s not a stretch to tell it wasn’t just a throwaway touch.

They sit in companionable silence, eating, but Isabel is slightly on edge. She knows there’s something that Mike is waiting to say.

“How do you look so pretty when you’ve just woken up?” She looks up from her plate, to find him staring at her in that way of his that lets her know his mind is somewhere she would rather it wasn’t.

Isabel opens her mouth to throw him a smart remark or to wave away the compliment but she’s interrupted before she can even start.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” The voice behind her is as familiar to her as her own but she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing is real. Slowly, as if she’s afraid that any sudden movements would cause the mirage to disappear, she turns and looks at the man standing in the doorway.

“And you are?” Mike’s voice radiates tension and Isabel wonders if men have some kind of caveman instinct when it comes to ‘the other man.’

“Wesley. Who the hell are you?” The way he says the words are more like a challenge than an introduction and his gaze is pure steel.

Isabel opens her mouth to say something, but she’s still in shock, still taking him all in. He looks like he has a cut on his eyebrow that hasn’t been looked at; it probably needs stitches and there are some bruises fading on his knuckles. Aside from that, he looks in good shape and she sends up a little prayer of thanks to anyone who will listen.

“I’m Mike.” Mike, to his credit, stands up and walks towards Wesley, sticking his hand out to shake.

Wesley looks at it warily, before he takes it. Isabel can tell from Mike’s expression that Wesley crushes his hand in a tight grip and she can’t help but roll her eyes at the stupid things testosterone makes men do.

“Mike. Heard a lot about you.” Wesley looks the other man up and down, assessing him.

It’s bizarre to see the two of them together. They’re chalk and cheese. They couldn’t be any more different. Where Wesley is dark and olive skinned, Mike is blonde and blue eyed, the All-American boy. Both men are tall, but Wesley has a couple of inches on Mike and there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s broader, more powerfully built. They keep their eyes locked on each other, staring each other down and Isabel wonders absently if she’s been transported back in time to the Wild West.

The ridiculousness of the situation makes Isabel find her voice. “Wesley. What are you doing here?” She isn’t even aware she had stood up and is already walking towards him.

He looks at her now, focusing on her with those dark, bottomless eyes of his that make her want to fall into them and never find her way out. She swallows hard, noticing the way he looks her over, the way his eyes become hooded with lust as they roam her scantily clad body. It’s only then, when his gaze flicks to Mike, taking in his pajama bottoms that Isabel realizes what this must look like.

Wesley had stumbled on them eating breakfast together, looking for all the world like a happy couple, the morning after. She starts to tell him that it’s not what he thinks, that she and Mike aren’t together, before she remembers he’s the one who walked out and left her. He’s the one who disappeared into thin air. She doesn’t owe him any kind of explanation. Let him think what he wants. His eyes burn as the possibilities seem to run through his head.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Mike looks between Wesley and Isabel, but there’s no doubt in her mind he already knows the answer to that.

Isabel starts to explain before realizing that she actually has no idea where to start.

“I’m just a tenant.” Wesley hoists the bag that he’s let drop back over his shoulder. “But I guess there’s no more space for me here.” He looks at Isabel then, as if he’s asking her that exact question.

“We have room, Wes.” Isabel keeps her voice low, not wanting to give her emotions away.

She can sense the way that Mike is looking between the two of them, assessing their movements, the way they’re staring at each other.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Mike nods slowly in understanding, as if everything makes sense now. “You’re the guy who walked out.”

Wesley nods, almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Isabel. “I didn’t want to. But I didn’t have any choice.”

Isabel bites her lip, not wanting to believe what it is he’s telling her, needing more. “So why did you come back?”

Wesley opens his mouth to tell her, to tell her all of the things he’s been thinking and feeling for the past month but his gaze flicks between her and Mike again and back to her. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on here. “I guess that doesn’t really matter anymore.” He takes a step back as if to put some distance between himself and Isabel.

The connection between them hasn’t dimmed at all over time; if anything it’s even stronger. She can feel herself being pulled into his orbit again, but this time she has to show some kind of self-restraint; she has to employ some kind of self-preservation. Otherwise she’s in great danger of being pulled under again.

“Wes, tell me. Why are you here?” Her voice is strong, despite the fact that her knees feel as if they’re knocking together.

He looks at her then, and she almost wishes he hadn’t. The expression of hurt on his face is enough to bowl her over. “How long did it take, Bel? Did you call lover boy the minute I walked out the door or did you wait at least a couple of days?” He shakes his head at her and Isabel rears back as if he had hit her.

“Now, wait a minute -” Mike tries to intervene on her behalf but Isabel has no plans to let anyone else fight her battles for her.

“You’ve been gone for over a month, Wes. Or did that little fact somehow slip your mind?” She points her finger at him as if it were a weapon.

“I told you why I had to go.” He steps forward, filling up the space in front of her, but she’s not intimidated; she knows him too well. His nearness is intoxicating and it’s all she can do just to stay upright and not lean into him.

“Yeah, you did and you also told me I didn’t get any kind of a say in it!” Isabel throws her hands up in despair. Whenever she had thought of Wes reappearing in her life, this isn’t how it had played out at all.

“I did it for you, Bel.” His words come out through gritted teeth. “I did it for you.”

“Bullshit.” She says the word with enough venom for him to widen his eyes. “You did it for yourself, to relieve your own guilty conscience.” She knows she’s being harsh but a month of no contact from someone you thought really cared will do that to you.

“And what part of yourself were you relieving with blue eyes over here?” Wesley jerks his thumb at Mike as if the other man can’t hear what it is he is saying.

“Hey, that’s enough.” Mike slams a hand down on the kitchen table and both Isabel and Wesley turn to face him at his sudden outburst.

Immediately, Isabel feels like a heel. She and Wesley are going at each other as if there is no tomorrow, leaving Mike in the middle of an argument that he wasn’t even aware he is a part of.

“Mike, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be involved in this.” She takes a step towards him and he holds up his hand to stop her.

“This is him, isn’t it, Issy?” Mike’s focus is on Isabel. He doesn’t once look at Wesley.

Isabel nods wordlessly and Mike rakes his fingers through his hair, as if she’s just confirmed something he hoped he was wrong about.

“So where does this leave us?” He looks at her, a whole world of hurt in his eyes.

“Mike, I -” She stops, not knowing what it is she wants to say, only knowing it’s not fair for him for them to have this conversation with Wesley standing right there.

“It’s all right. I get it. I really do.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’ll just go get my things.” He starts to walk out but Isabel grabs hold of his hand.

“All right, everyone just hold up for a minute.” She looks at both men, her levels of impatience reaching stellar levels. “You,” she points to Wesley, “your old room is all made up. And you,” she points to Mike, “you sit down.”

“I’m not staying.”

“Issy, this isn’t -”

Both men speak at the same time, in the same stubborn tone.

Isabel shakes her head, holding her hands up to get them to stop. “I don’t want to hear it. Wes, we’ll talk later. Mike, sit the hell down.” She crosses her arms over her chest, just waiting for one of them to give her a reason to get even madder.

“Has she always been this bossy?” The amusement in Wesley’s voice is the last thing she expects.

“Pretty much.” Mike’s response is equally full of humor. “I think the professors are even a little scared of her.”

The smile the men exchange throws her completely off guard. “It’s nice everyone’s bonding and all that, but -”

“I know, I know. I’m going.” Wes holds his hands up in surrender, but she doesn’t miss the heart-stopping grin he throws her before he disappears down the hallway in the direction of his old bedroom.

“And I’m sitting.” Mike imitates Wes’s pose and sits down hard on the wooden chair, crossing his arms and looking at her expectantly.

Now that they’ve actually done what Isabel has asked, she feels a little at a loss of what to do next. Focus, Bishop, focus. She takes a deep breath, deciding whether she should speak from her head or from her heart. Looking into Mike’s eyes that look bluer than ever before, she knows what she has to do. She opens her mouth and speaks.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Isabel hugs herself, still reeling a little from the conversation she’s just had with Mike. She bites her bottom lip as she stands outside Wesley’s bedroom door. She’s lifted her hand to knock more than once, but she hasn’t been able to follow through. By the time she and Mike had finished talking and Isabel had focused her thoughts back onto Wesley for the second part of what is going to definitely go down in history as the day she made one of the biggest decisions of her life if not the biggest, she isn’t even sure if he was still there. It isn’t hard to imagine that Wesley has lost interest in waiting around and has just walked right out the back door, leaving again just like he had before.

That’s partly why she’s still standing outside his room, frozen to the spot, scared to go in. Because, for now, she can still believe that he’s inside, that he hasn’t left again. But once she knocks and he doesn’t answer, that’s when it becomes real again that he’s left without her being able to explain.

“Are you going to stand out there all day or are you actually going to come in?” His voice through the door makes her spirits rise and she can’t help smiling to herself that he could sense her presence, the same way she knows whenever he walks into a room. It is as if the air itself changed, as if the molecules vibrated whenever he is close by.

She pushes the door open and finds him prowling around the room, pacing like a caged animal. He’s not a man that is used to being still, that is something she learned about him from early on. She’d also learned that he tended to pace when he was nervous.

“So, how’s Mike?” He says the name with a little less hate than he had managed to muster before.

“Do you really want to talk about him right now?” She levels a serious gaze at him and watches as he ducks his head in silent agreement with her. She perches on the edge of the bed, watching as he continues to pace around the room. “You came back, Wes. Why?” This, she has decided, is the most important question of all.

“How long have you been sleeping with him?” Wesley’s question comes out through gritted teeth as if he can’t even bear to think about it let alone say the words.

Isabel shakes her head, knowing she’s not going to get any of the answers that she needs to be able to move on until he’s through. “He only arrived yesterday, Wes. It was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.” She waits, knowing there will be more questions coming.

“What did he want?” He doesn’t look at her as he prowls around the room like a panther, but she can feel the tension radiating off of him.

Isabel sighs, knowing Wesley won’t want to hear this, but that he needs to. “He wanted to tell me that he wants to be with me.”

Wesley stops in his tracks, as if her words have frozen him to the spot. “He’s in love with you.”

It’s a statement not a question, but Isabel answers anyway, knowing she needs to. “That’s what he said.”

“And what about you?” Isabel can almost hear him holding his breath.

“What about me?” She shakes her head, angry that she’s the only answering any questions.

“Bel.” His voice is a warning, as if he’s telling her not to play around with him.

“I think it’s my turn to get some answers, don’t you?” She pushes herself up from the bed, her own agitation forcing her to move.

Wesley doesn’t respond but she doesn’t need him to. She’s more than happy to just push on.

“Why did you come back, Wes?”

“You keep asking me the same question.” He shakes his head as if it doesn’t make any sense.

“Because it’s the only answer I care about right now.” She watches him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest so he can’t see her hands shaking.

Wesley looks at her, takes her in with that familiar way he has and then he looks up at the sky, as if he’s looking for some kind of salvation there. “I came back because of you.” Wes’s words are said so softly that, at first, Isabel isn’t sure that she’s actually heard him correctly.

She looks at him, nonplussed, though her heart feels like it’s about to beat out of her chest. “Because you needed someone to patch you up? That cut over your eye looks pretty nasty.” She’s proud of herself for keeping her voice on an even keel.

“No! Jesus, Bel.” Wes closes the distance between them, close enough to touch. “I came back because I miss you.” He yells the words at her as if they were insults rather than endearments. She waits, not daring to move, not daring to say anything before she’s heard everything. “I came back because I miss the smell of you, the taste of you, the way you get a dimple in one of your cheeks when you smile, the way you pretend to be all tough when you’re really the best person I know. I came back because I feel like something’s missing when you’re not with me.” He reaches out to touch her but then seems to think better of it and lets his hand fall back to his side. “But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? None of it matters. I’m too late.” He rubs the dark stubble on his cheeks, his dark eyes bottomless.

“It’s only too late if you want it to be.” Isabel only just manages to get the words out before her voice threatens to break.

Wesley’s gaze snaps up to meet hers, a question in his eyes. “What about Mike?”

“Mike and I are friends. That’s all we ever should have been; that’s all we ever will be.” Isabel bites her lip, hoping he can’t tell how churned up all her emotions are right now.

“I thought you and he…” He trails off as Isabel shakes her head. “So you didn’t…? I mean, last night you and he didn’t…?” Wesley stops short of actually saying the words, as if even saying them causes him pain.

“I haven’t been with anyone since you, Wes.” She takes a deep breath saying the words she wishes she had said a month ago. “I don’t want to be with anyone else but you ever again.”

Wesley looks at her, his eyes wide. He couldn’t have looked any more shocked if she’d just told him that she’d won the lotto.

Isabel carries on talking, just to fill the void of silence that’s putting her more and more on edge. “I told Mike I love him like a friend, but that’s all, that it wouldn’t be fair to him for me to say anything else.” She shakes her head. “He said he understood. Before he left, he said he could already see that I can’t give him my heart because I’d already given it to someone else.”

She bites her bottom lip, watching as Wesley stares at her in that inscrutable, intense way of his. Before he has a chance to say anything she barrels on, scared that if she doesn’t say everything she has to in one go that she’ll lose her nerve and the chance will be over. “I was so angry with myself that I just let you leave.” She shakes her head, her words brining back all the feelings that were bubbling just under the surface. “When my mother died, I didn’t have a choice. The only thing I could do was watch as she slipped away from me. But with you, with you I could have stood up and fought for what I wanted. And I was scared I would never get to say that to you, that I would never get the chance to tell you how I feel.” She’s babbling now and she’s suddenly become aware of the wetness on her cheeks.

“Bel, stop.” Wes holds his hand up, still staring at her, watching her as if she is some rare creature he isn’t sure how to control.

That’s when she gets an awful feeling. Perhaps she had read this all wrong. Perhaps she has said too much, exposed her feelings to someone who isn’t as sure of his own. She takes a step backwards, as if hedging towards the door, needing to be somewhere away from here, away from him where she could lick her wounds and pretend everything was okay.

“I’m sorry, I thought…” She trails off, turning towards the door, ready to run out of that room as fast as she possibly could.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Wesley’s hand on her shoulder makes her stop.

Instantly she feels the warmth of his hand against her bare skin and her body responds to him immediately. It’s the first time he’s touched her since he walked out and the time apart hasn’t done anything to dampen the desire she feels for him. If anything, it’s made it even more potent.

“Leaving. You said I should stop so…” She shrugs, not knowing what else to say, only knowing she feels like a prize idiot.

“I told you to stop because you were saying all the things that should have come from me.” He reaches his hands up, framing both sides of his face. He wipes her tears away with his thumbs and continues to caress her cheeks.

“But -” She starts to interrupt but he stops her mouth with his finger.

“Let me say this. It’s about time I did. I should have told you so much earlier. I should have told you the first time I saw you because that’s when I knew.” He leans his head closer to hers so their lips are almost touching. “I’m the one who should have fought for what I wanted. I thought I was doing the right thing, leaving you behind. I thought I was doing the safe thing but really I was just being a coward.” He shakes his head but doesn’t let Isabel say that particular word is not one that she would ever use to describe him. “The idea of anything happening to you scared me so much I couldn’t cope. I knew I would never be able to live with the guilt. But what I hadn’t realized was I would never be able to live without you either.” Gently, he caresses her face and angles her head up so that she looks into his eyes. “I love you, Bel. My beautiful Isabel.”

He closes the distance between them and the moment his lips touch hers, Isabel feels fireworks explode behind her eyes. It’s the sweetest kiss she’s ever had and she feels it all the way into her core. It feels like belonging, like coming home.

All rational thought flies out of her head. She has no need for it right now; all she needs is Wesley and his mouth on hers, his hands on her body.

“I want you.” He whispers the words against her lips when they both take a breath.

“So take me.” She falls into him, inviting, willing, lifting her hands so he can pull her cami top over her head. Instantly his hands are on her breasts, stroking her hard nipples, making her moan against his mouth. He ducks his head down and kisses her left breast and then her right, taking his time to pay each one equal attention. He nuzzles her, his tongue flicking out and drawing lazy circles around her nipples, a pattern that she feels like he’s searing into her skin.

Her pussy aches for him and she knows she’s never wanted any man as much as she wants Wesley in this moment. Her hands go to his waist, pushing up his shirt, wanting to feel his warm skin against hers. It’s more than a desire; it’s a desperate need. She feels like she might explode if she doesn’t get to have it.

He discards his t-shirt by his side, bending down again to take her nipples into his mouth. Her back arches, as she thrusts her chest towards him, inviting him to taste her harder, deeper. He pulls on her right nipple, using his teeth to graze her, giving her exactly the right balance of pain and pleasure. It’s more than she thinks she can handle.

Wesley grinds his erection against her hip, making no secret of exactly how much he wants her. Desperately, Isabel struggles with the buttons of his jeans, grabbing at them, needing to feel his desire for her, needing to feel his hard heaviness in her hand. Wesley lets his pants fall to the ground and Isabel is inordinately pleased when she realizes there are no boxer shorts to remove.

She bites her lip, looking down as she strokes his hardness, her pussy aching with desire. Wesley follows her gaze, grinning at her wickedly and she knows he has no plans for this to be quick. He’s going to draw out her pleasure deliciously. His hands go to her hips, pushing down her shorts and, without a pause, his hand is there, in-between her thighs, where the heat feels like it’s going to burn her up from the inside out.

His clever fingers dip into her wetness and she cries out as he starts to stroke her, first softly, patiently but quickly becoming insistent, touching her in exactly the way she needs. He finds her clit, his thumb alternately tracing circles around it and rubbing it hard. He keeps his thumb on her clit and enters her with one finger and then two, pushing her open, invading her. It’s too much, the pleasure overtakes her and her hips buck with the force of her orgasm, once, twice, three times. She cries out and has to hold on to his shoulders, feeling like her legs are in danger of giving out on her.

Her legs are useless and Wesley picks her up, taking her to the bed and laying her out underneath him. His eyes devour her, taking every inch of her in as if he’s memorizing everything about her. “My beautiful Bel.” He shakes his head as if he doesn’t quite believe he’s here with her.

Isabel lifts her hand up, pleading with him to take it, needing the feel of his skin against hers, the contact between them. He smiles wickedly at her and she feels the anticipation pooling between her legs again. His hands stroke her thighs, moving up to her hips, her flat belly, until he’s plucking at her nipples again, making her moan and wriggle underneath him.

“Wes. Please.” Her voice is a moan and it’s enough to break his control. He lies on top of her, kissing her hard, his tongue exploring all the crevices and parts of her mouth, possessing her.

One hand goes into his hair, the other slips between them, wrapping around his shaft and tugging him gently. She watches as his eyes widen in pleasure as she runs her thumb along the collection of nerve endings just under the tip of his cock and she feels it jump in her hand.

“Bel.” Her name is a warning on his lips and she knows he’s telling her he’s not going to be able to hang on for much longer if she keeps doing what she’s doing. That’s just fine with her. She just wants to guide him to the hot, wet spot between her thighs, to somewhere that his hardness will do some good.

Isabel guides him to her entrance and he watches her, his breathing labored now, as if he’s trying to hold onto the last shred of his control. She rubs him along her wet lips, moaning as he finds her clit and grinds his tip against it. The delicious pressure on her clit is enough to drive her wild; she can’t stand it anymore and helps him inside of her.

Her name is a strangled cry on his lips as he enters her with one quick thrust, filling her up. He waits, pausing as her muscles adjust around him. She lifts her knees, bringing him even deeper inside of her.

“Bel, you’re so tight. You’re so hot and tight.” His words come in ragged gasps as he thrusts into her, pulling almost all the way out of her until it’s just his tip left inside and then he plunges his hips against hers again, making her cry out as he fills her up.

He picks up the pace and her hips match his rhythm, thrust for thrust. Isabel closes her eyes, becoming all feeling as one hand strokes her back lovingly as he holds her in place and the other finds its way down between them until he’s stroking her clit. The combination of his cock inside of her and his fingers massaging her clit is just too much. She’s so close she can almost taste it.

“Let me see you, Bel. I need to see you.” Her eyes fly open at his words and she sees that his eyes are locked on her, his dark eyes intense and fiery with desire. “I’m so fucking close, Bel.”

He thrusts into her again, hard and she cries out, riding the wave of the orgasm that she knows is about to shatter her into a million pieces. Heat spreads out from between her thighs through her entire body. She calls out his name as the friction of his thrusting inside of her paralyzes her with pleasure. He pumps into her one final time, her name on his lips when he finds his own release, collapsing on top of her and nuzzling her neck, smelling her as if he just can’t get enough of her into his senses.

Slowly, they both come back to Earth. Their breathing returns to some semblance of normal. Wesley kisses her softly, gently, sweetly on the lips before he moves onto his back, pulling her close next to him. She cuddles up beside him, finding her spot in his arms, as if she had never left.

Isabel thinks back to her conversation with Mike. She gets a flash of pain as she remembers the raw emotion that played across his face as she told him she couldn’t be with him. He hadn’t been surprised. It wasn’t as if this was the first time she’d said the words, but it seemed to be the first time he’d believed them.

Mike had said that once he’d seen her and Wesley together, “I had pretty much figured it was game over.” He’d smiled when he’d said the words but Isabel had seen the pain in his eyes and something else even more foreign to him: resignation. She had never known him to give up on anything, on anyone. He had never had to before. She had been the first. She had tried to tell herself she should want to be with someone like Mike, that she should forget about the guy she couldn’t have, the guy who made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t safe with him. But her heart had won out over her mind. And her heart told her she didn’t feel as safe anywhere as when she was in Wesley’s arms.

“What are you thinking about?” Wesley’s voice, a whisper against her ear, makes her shiver, bringing her back into the here and now, in bed with him.

She shrugs, not wanting to admit to Wesley that she was thinking about another man, no matter how innocent.

“He’ll be all right, you know?” Wesley has yet again read her mind, as he is wont to do.

“I know. I know. It’s just…It’s just I wish things could be how they were. I wish we could just be friends again, without any of the other crap getting in the way.” Isabel gestures vaguely to denote what ‘crap’ she’s talking about.

“It’ll happen, Bel. Just give it some time. You’re not someone who’s easy to get over.” He kisses her lightly on the forehead. “You can trust me on that one.”

She smiles slightly as he pulls her even closer against him, as if he’s worried she might escape, that he might wake up in the morning and find her gone.

Isabel takes a deep breath, ready to ask the question that she knows she may not want to hear the answer to, but that she needs. “So what happens next?”

“Next? You’re going to kill me, you know?” He slides his hand farther down her back, until he’s cupping her butt and she wriggles against him, knowing exactly what he’s talking about.

“Come on, you’re not that old.” She rolls her eyes dramatically and is rewarded with a soft swat on the behind. She giggles again before she composes herself. “I’m serious, though. What happens tomorrow?”

Wesley strokes the dark hair off of her face, cupping her chin between his fingers. “Let’s deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. For now, let’s just be together. Let’s just enjoy this.” His hand moves around to her belly diving deeper until he strokes the tight runway of curls in between her thighs.

Before she loses the ability to think at all, one final thought goes through her head. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“What do you mean you’re leaving again?” Isabel holds the sheets against her bare chest, feeling like she’s suffering from some pretty serious déjà vu.

“It’s only for a little while, Bel. And it is the only way. It is the only way to keep the Dogs off of our backs for good.” He sits down heavily on the bed, taking her hands in his and holding them to his chest.

“But I told you already; they haven’t bothered me since you left. I told you what the big Chief guy said. He said he’d leave me and mine alone if I gave you the message from him. I haven’t seen them in weeks.” Isabel spreads her hands open to make him see. “They’re not going to come near us anymore.” She sounds more certain of that than she feels.

Wesley’s already shaking his head. “You haven’t seen them because they don’t want to be seen. As soon as I walked down the street I saw two guys watching the house.”

“What? Where?” Isabel moves to stand up as if she’s going to look out the window and see them still standing there.

“Isabel, trust me. They’re there. And they’ll be there until I do this last job.” Wesley takes hold of her shoulders, making her look at him, forcing her to hear him.

“What job?” Her voice is dull, not wanting to hear this.

Wesley sighs deeply. “I knew the Chief had come to see you.”

“How did you know?” Isabel narrows her eyes at him.

Wesley looks up at the ceiling in despair. “Do you ever not ask questions?”

“Do you ever give straight answers?” Isabel plants her hands on her hips, forgetting she’s holding the sheet against her breasts and ends up giving him an eyeful.

“If you do that again, I’m not sure I’ll be able to give any kind of answer at all.” He gives her a look that makes her shiver with want.

But now isn’t the time for that. She shakes her head, giving him a pointed look that he can’t misinterpret.

He sighs deeply, resignedly. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to you not taking no for an answer.”

“You better believe it.” She doesn’t even try to make any kind of excuse. “So what do you mean you didn’t go far?”

Wesley looks around cagily for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out how to make his great escape. “I wanted to keep an eye on you, an eye on the house. I wanted to make sure the Dogs didn’t try anything again.”

“So you’ve been watching me?” Isabel doesn’t even try to temper her tone of voice or make any bones about the fact that she’s mad, really mad.

“No, I’ve been watching out for you. There’s a difference.” He gives her a withering look that she only finds more infuriating.

“All this time, you’ve just been hanging around, skulking in the shadows?” Isabel throws her hands up, unable to believe what she’s hearing. All those days and nights when she was missing him like crazy, wondering where he was, hoping like hell he wasn’t getting into trouble, all that time he had been just a few steps away.

“First of all, I don’t skulk.” He points a finger at her, which she just bats away.

“Not funny, Wes.” She shoots him a warning look as she pulls her cami top over her head, needing not to be naked right now. There’s something about arguing naked that has a way of making you lose all credibility. “Do you have any idea what I was going through when I thought you’d disappeared, that I wasn’t going to get to see you again? And the whole time you were there; you could have just come out of the shadows at any point and said ‘hey, Isabel, so it turns out you don’t have to be sad and depressed for weeks on end because, guess what? I’ve been here the whole freakin’ time!’”

Wesley carries on as if he hasn’t even heard her, or more like because he isn’t listening. “Secondly, I’m not going to apologize for it. Do you think it was easy for me to be so close to you, to see you walking down the street and not want to walk beside you? But I did it because I had to make sure that you would be all right. Whatever you want to believe about me, Bel, you have to believe I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was just trying to protect you.”

Isabel feels her levels of anger ratcheting down a notch, but she remains with her arms crossed, staring him down. “If you’ve been watching this place then how was it you didn’t know Mike only showed up yesterday?”

Wesley smiles at her indulgently, shaking his head. “Is there ever a moment when that head of yours gets turned off?” He asks the question more to himself than to her. “I was only watching out for you the first week. When I saw the Chief talking to you, I knew I was going to have to come up with a different plan. I knew they weren’t just going to leave you around because I wasn’t around anymore. They would go through you to get to me and I couldn’t let that happen. I left because I didn’t want you to get any more involved in all this Devil Dogs shit. But it was too late. I should have realized that.”

“Too late for what? Wes, you’re not making any sense.” She pulls her fingers through her hair in frustration.

Wesley sighs deeply, as if he doesn’t really want to say what’s about to come out of his mouth, but he knows she won’t let it rest if he doesn’t. “The Dogs don’t just let you leave. It’s not like cancelling your gym membership. When you’re done, there are consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?” Isabel feels her hands trembling and she shoves them underneath the bed covers so he doesn’t see.

“The kind people like me enforce.” Wesley doesn’t go into any more detail than that and Isabel is secretly grateful for his tact.

“So what do we have to do? Leave town? What’s the plan?” Isabel pulls on her shorts, standing up, ready for action. Whatever they have to do, she’ll find a way to do it. She’s made her decision; she wants to be with Wesley and she’s going to do whatever it takes to make sure they can be together.

“If we leave town they’ll find us, Bel. These guys have people everywhere. They’re one of the biggest motorcycle gangs in the country. You can’t run from them.” Wesley looks at her seriously and Isabel is under no illusion that he’s telling the truth. “The only way to get them off of our backs for good, forever, was to promise to do one last job for them. After that, I’m out. Simple.” He shrugs his shoulders as if it were just that, when Isabel knows that it’s anything but.

“I’ve seen you come back from those kinds of jobs before. I’m the person who patched you up every time. I know they’re anything but simple. So don’t try to pretend this is all just a cakewalk.” She shakes her head, afraid of what he isn’t telling her. “It’s dangerous, isn’t it? It would have to be; otherwise they wouldn’t agree to let you go if you go through with it. It has to be worth their while. How long will you be gone for? When will you be back?”

Wesley takes her hands in his and pulls her towards him, splaying her hands out over his chest so she can feel his heart beating against his muscular chest. “You don’t need to know anything more than I’ve already told you, Bel.” His dark eyes are impenetrable as he stares at her hard.

“How can you say that? How can you just expect me to wave as you leave without having any idea when you’ll be back or even if you’ll be back at all?” Isabel shakes her head. “I can’t do that, Wes. I can’t wait around, not knowing if I’m going to ever see you again.”

Wesley brings her in closer to his chest, holding her tight against him. “I’m going to come back, Isabel. I promise you that.”

But she’s already shaking her head. “But you can’t. You can’t promise that. You don’t know.”

“I’m coming back, Isabel. I’m coming back. All I need to know is that you’ll wait for me.” He whispers the words against her lips. “I need to know you’ll be here when I get back.”

Before she’s even had time to think about it, before her brain has even processed what her body is doing she’s nodding, unable to speak in case she starts to cry.

“Say the words, Bel. I need to hear you say it.” He strokes her cheek with the back of his hands, looking deep into her green eyes as if he is discovering something new each time he sees her.

“I’ll wait for you.” She whispers them against his lips. “I’ll wait for you.” She leans in closer to him, sealing the promise with a kiss.

“I love you, Isabel, and I’m coming back for you.” His words echo in her ears even after he’s gone from her arms.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“How long has it been?” Jamie’s voice in her ear is calm, but Isabel hears the concern that she’s trying not to show.

“Eight days.” Isabel rubs her eyes, grateful that the hour difference between Chicago and New York made it just about acceptable to call Jamie at this ungodly hour of the morning. Just about. “I could go into hours and minutes if you were looking for that kind of detail, though.” She chuckles mirthlessly

“And he didn’t give you any way of getting in touch with him? Nothing at all?” This is what has been most difficult for Jamie to grasp, no matter how many times Isabel assured her that is the case.

“No, Jamie, it’s the same answer since the last time you asked.” Isabel rolls her eyes at her friend.

“Hey, no sarcasm before seven. That’s the rule, Bishop!” Jamie sighs loudly and Isabel can imagine her lifting her eye mask and squinting at the too-bright sunlight invading her bedroom. “Jesus, who knew it was so light at this time of the morning? It should really be the middle of the night.”

“Welcome to an early start, Jamie! Better late than never!” Isabel laughs at the stream of unrepeatable insults her friend spouts off. Jamie’s language is always far more colorful first thing in the morning, before she’s had her first coffee. Isabel smiles at the knowledge of that single fact, grateful there are some things that are still certain, some things that she can still hold onto despite everything.

“So have you asked Rosa to cast some of her magic tea leaves?” Jamie has always believed in all of that stuff much more than Isabel.

“No, but I’m getting to that point so things must be bad.” Isabel rubs her eyes again, trying to figure out how much sleep she’s actually managed to get.

“Issy.” Jamie pauses and Isabel already knows what she’s going to say before the words come out.

“He’s coming back, Jamie.” She sounds more certain of it than she actually feels.

“But what if -”

Isabel chops the air in half with the side of her hand, cutting her friend off. “I can’t think about what ifs, Jamie. I have to believe he’s going to come back to me. I have to, because if I don’t, I don’t know how to do anything else.”

She shakes her head, wondering when her happiness had become so intricately tied to Wesley, when the thought of him alone was enough to make her feel better, like anything was possible. Please come back to me, she sends a prayer up to anyone that’s willing to listen. Please come back to me.

***

Miles and miles away, Wesley thinks about Isabel, the one bright spot in his life in a long time. He keeps her in his mind, knowing she’s the only thing that’s going to help him get back to where he needs to be. He grips the old wound in his leg, feeling the fiery burn of pain, as if the shrapnel is being picked out of it again. His hand comes away from his pants wet and he lifts it up to his face. Even in the dark he can see the color.

Red. Deep red.

“Oh shit.” He can barely get the words out through his gritted teeth. He applies pressure to his leg, focusing on the promise that he made.

“I’m coming back, Bel. I’m coming back.” He takes another step and then another, but he’s lost too much blood, his legs give out from underneath him.

He sits in the dirt, resting his back against the building he’s collapsed outside of. “I’m coming back, Bel. I just have to rest a little first.”

His eyes droop close and the last thing he sees in his mind before he loses consciousness is the face of a woman with green eyes, eyes that saw right through to his soul the first time she looked at him. He thinks about the woman he loves and then darkness overtakes him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Rosa pulls the candles out of the cake, shaking her head in dismay. She had been so sure he would be back by now. She’d cast the leaves, more than once. There is no mistaking it. Something must have happened, something must have happened to stop him from coming. She had seen the way he had looked at Isabel before he had left. There’s no doubt in Rosa’s mind that if he were able to come back to her, he would have.

Today is supposed to be that day. He is supposed to be back for Isabel’s birthday; that is what the leaves had told her. Rosa has never been wrong before, not about something like this. It is a new experience and not one she is in any hurry to repeat. She is grateful, at least, that she hasn’t said anything to Isabel. Rosa had wanted to let her have the surprise, to see her eyes light up as she had seen him appear at the door of the boarding house.

Rosa remembers that feeling. It was the way she felt when Mario had come to her house to call for her. She shakes her head at herself. Thoughts of a man she hasn’t seen in decades are never very far from her. She knows better than anyone that it is no way to live. There is a part of the story she hadn’t told Isabel, a part she, herself, tried to forget.

Rosa had tried to find Mario after she moved to the States. She had wanted to know if he had ever gone back for her, if he had loved her enough for that. What she had found out had made her wish that she had never started looking for him. He had been killed in a gun battle in the streets of Sicily only a few days after she had sent him away. She has never forgiven herself and she has never forgotten him.

Please don’t let it happen again. Please don’t let it happen to Isabel, not after everything she’s been through. Rosa makes the sign of the cross and looks up to the sky, hoping her words will have some effect this time. They hadn’t saved Mario; she can only hope they will save another man, very much like him. Isabel deserves to be happy; it’s her turn.

“What are you looking so sad about? I thought I was supposed to be the one who was moody about getting another year older.” Isabel playfully nudges Rosa as the other woman tidies away the candles and starts slicing the cake.

“I not sad.” Rosa shakes her head, concentrating on not looking at Isabel. The girl is far too perceptive for her own good and she doesn’t want to give any of her concerns away, not today. “I just think about your mother, how she would want to be here.” It’s not a lie; it’s just not the whole truth.

Isabel’s smile turns sad and she bites her lip the way the she does when she’s trying to keep her emotions in check. “I know; I miss her, too.” She sighs deeply, dipping her finger into the icing of one of the cakes Rosa has cut and licking it off, thoughtfully. “It’s my first birthday without her. It’s weird. I never thought there would be a time when she wouldn’t be around to celebrate with me.” Isabel shakes her head, knowing she sounds naïve. Everyone knows that, sooner or later, people die. She just wishes she’d been more prepared for her mother’s passing. She wonders if there’s ever any way to prepare for something like that, though. Losing someone you love is just one of those things that blindsides you.

Purposefully, Isabel pushes the thought of Wesley away. It has been over two weeks now and still no sign of him. Rosa keeps giving her sneaky sidelong glances and Isabel knows she is worried about her. Isabel has been doing her best to go about her day-to-day routine, her life as normal, pretending that she wasn’t thinking about Wesley, that he didn’t seem to consume the major part of her thoughts. It turns out she’s not much of an actress.

She and Rosa sit together, each eating their slice of Rosa’s homemade chocolate cake and a weighty silence settles over them. Rosa seems to sense it and tries to fill it with chatter, but Isabel finds it almost impossible to get caught up in any kind of conversation at the moment. She knows she’s not the most fun to be around but she’s not really in the celebrating spirit.

“What did you wish for?” Rosa nudges Isabel with her elbow when she sees the younger woman has stopped eating. “When you blow candles out, what did you wish for?”

Isabel smiles at her. “I guess I should probably say world peace.” She shakes her head at her own greediness. Her wish was nothing as magnanimous or expansive as that. It was something much less selfless than that. “But you and I both know that would be a lie.”

Rosa opens her mouth and then closes it again, as if she’s working up to saying something.

“What?” Isabel gives her a pointed look. “You’ve never been one to keep your thoughts to yourself.”

Instead of replying, Rosa just takes a larger than average piece of cake and fills up her mouth, making it impossible for her to speak.

Isabel is about to ask her if something’s wrong as the older woman is acting even weirder than normal when the sound of the doorbell silences her. Both women look at each other, their eyes wide, neither wanting to preempt the arrival of the man they’re both waiting for. They sit there for a few moments in silence, as if they’ve both forgotten what you’re supposed to do when someone rings at the door.

“Go on, girl!” Rosa virtually pushes Isabel out of her chair, ushering her towards the front door, excitement in her eyes.

Isabel heads to the front door as if in a dream. It has to be him; it has to be. There isn’t any other possibility. She takes a deep breath, trying to tell her beating heart to calm itself before it jumps out of her chest. Her fingers fumble with the bolt on the door in her haste to get it open and as it swings on its hinges arms are flung around her and she almost goes toppling to the floor.

“Happy birthday!” Jamie’s voice is shrill in Isabel’s ear as her friend gives her the tightest hug imaginable.

Isabel’s arms go around her best friend automatically and she hugs her back, fighting the tears that, unbidden, have started to take up residence just behind her eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

As if she senses something’s up, Jamie pulls back a little and looks at her friend in the face. “Oh, honey! I should have called first, shouldn’t I?” Jamie winces as she realizes what the expression on Isabel’s face means. “I thought I’d go for the whole surprise element, but now I’m starting to massively regret that decision.”

Isabel shakes herself. Get a grip, Bishop. “Don’t be silly!” She throws her arm over her best friend’s shoulders. “I can’t believe you’re here!” She musters a smile as she guides Jamie through to the kitchen where Jamie receives a welcoming embrace from Rosa along with a hefty slice of cake.

“I thought you couldn’t get away?” Isabel recovers her equanimity enough to at least pretend to eat the chocolate goodness sitting on her plate.

Jamie waves her fork around, her mouth too full to talk. “A shoot got cancelled; one of the models had to be checked in to rehab.” Jamie shrugs as if this is a common occurrence. It isn’t much of a stretch to believe that it is. “When I got the call I figured what better way to spend Independence Day weekend than with my best girl?” She bumps Isabel with her shoulder, grinning at her.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Isabel bumps her friend back. Although she hadn’t expected to see Jamie, she’s more than grateful she’s here. There is something about having Jamie close by that makes everything seem a little better.

“So how’s your birthday been so far?” Jamie looks around at the immaculate kitchen. “Looks like a party!” She snorts as Isabel nudges her in the ribs.

“Don’t be cheeky, Miss Jamie,” Rosa threatens with her fork. “We have busy day; all rooms full for the holiday weekend.” Rosa preens like a peacock and Isabel can’t help but smile at how invested the other woman is in the boarding house. She has already started to think about her future, what she is going to do with the house and Rosa is going to feature prominently in those plans. “Well, almost all the rooms.” Rosa looks meaningfully at Jamie and rolls her eyes as if to say ‘I don’t know what to do; see if you can talk to her.’

“You’ve kept his room free?” Jamie asks the question in a low voice. There’s no need for her to identify who the mystery ‘he’ is. There’s only one person it can possibly be.

“Thanks, Rosa. Remind me never to confess any of my deepest and darkest secrets to you. They’ll end up published in the paper the next day!” Isabel shakes her head but smiles good-naturedly at the other woman.

“It’s late. I let you ladies talk.” Rosa beats a hasty retreat, only pausing to cut herself another slice of cake before disappearing.

“I’ve never seen her move so fast.” Jamie’s eyes are wide as she looks towards where the other woman disappeared.

“I think she’s hoping you’ll talk some sense into me.” Isabel gives up on pushing the chocolate cake around her plate and puts her fork down.

“And since when have I ever been able to do that?” Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“I think we’re both as stubborn as each other, J, so you’re not going to win that argument.” Isabel laughs as her friend empties the remnants of her cake onto her own plate and starts inhaling what Isabel has left.

Jamie shrugs, moving on from that particular impasse. “So tomorrow, birthday BBQ?”

“Sounds great.” Isabel nods, enjoying the fact that she’ll have something to focus on other than how much she misses Wesley.

“Great. Well, it’s late and we know that mommy dearest will be pissed if she knows I’m back in town and I haven’t swung by to see her.” Jamie rolls her eyes, though she’s not fooling anyone. Jamie and her mom have grown closer since she moved to New York and there’s no doubt in Isabel’s mind her best friend is loving every minute of her mother’s overbearing nature, something she had never exercised when they were in high school.

Isabel walks Jamie to the door and Jamie chucks her playfully under the chin. “You better be careful. If the wind changes, your face is going to stay like that, you know.” She glances meaningfully at her friend before slipping out of the door.

“Always good to know I can depend on you not to do the comforting, ‘everything’s going to be all right’ speech.” Isabel rolls her eyes at Jamie.

“You know that’s why you love me.” She waves and blows her a kiss before skipping down the steps of the front porch and hurrying off into the night.

Isabel stands by the door, looking out for a few moments before she goes through the ritual of locking up for the night. She takes the plates to the sink and runs the water, her actions becoming automatic as she washes up. Her body is there but her mind is somewhere else entirely, with someone else. She just wishes she knew where that was.

Tiny slivers of doubt are beginning to creep into her mind and though she tries to push them away as soon as they surface, it is getting harder and harder to do. He has been gone for longer than she imagined, longer she’s sure than he planned. And there has been no message, nothing at all. She has no way of knowing if he was all right or if… No, she won’t let herself go down that road. That way lies madness, she reminds herself. It’s going to be hard enough to get to sleep tonight with all the memories swirling around her head; she doesn’t need that thought playing over and over again just to make things even more interesting.

As she dries her hands on the dishtowel, she hears a noise. She freezes, her ears straining hard in the dark. Barely breathing she waits to hear it again. What feels like minutes go by before she hears it again. It sounds like a scratching or a scuffling sort of noise. Her whole body is on high alert, wondering if the Dogs are planning on keeping their word to Wesley, after all. He told her it would just be this one last job, but, perhaps, they have other ideas.

Isabel grabs the baseball bat she started keeping near her after her encounter with the Devil Dogs and heads towards the back porch, the source of the noise. She creeps through the house, rationally knowing that she’s doing something really stupid but she doesn’t stop her progress. With one hand still on her bat, she unlocks the door and steps outside, keeping as silent as she can.

She listens for the noise and hears it again. Her eyes strain to make out anything at all in the thick blackness of the night. There’s a sliver of moon and the air is completely still. It would be a beautiful night if she weren’t so terrified. A sudden pressure against her leg makes her jump and let out a very good impression of a squeal. It’s only when her feet have landed back on solid ground and her brain becomes capable of rational though again that she realizes what it is and she lays the bat on the floor.

“Hey, Jeffrey.” She scoops the black and white cat up into her arms. “It’s been a while. Where have you been, huh?” She strokes the cat, letting him nuzzle her as he purrs so loudly he sounds like a rocket launcher. “I thought you’d left me, too.” There’s a catch in her throat as she says the words but she squeezes her eyes shut against them.

“No chance of that.” The deep voice behind her makes her freeze. “That little guy loves you. You can believe that. There’s no way he’d leave you.”

Isabel keeps hold of the cat, turning around slowly, afraid that she’s conjured him up with her imagination, afraid that he could disappear again at any time.

“Wesley?” Her voice is quiet and full of skepticism, as if she’s expecting to be corrected, expecting to be disappointed.

“I’m here, Bel.” He takes a step towards her and, in the half-light of the moon, Isabel catches her breath, drinking in the sight of him as if she has been without water for days.

Her feet move before her brain has gone into gear and they propel her towards him, launching her at him and nearly knocking him off his feet as she holds onto him tight. There’s a strangled meow and Isabel pulls back a touch, realizing she’s in danger of squashing Jeffrey. She lays him back on the ground and jumps on Wesley again, wrapping her legs around him and covering his face with kisses. He holds onto her tight, laughing at the abandon with which she holds onto him.

“You came back.” She says the words as if she can’t really believe them, as if she thinks she may be dreaming.

“I told you I would.” He brushes a stray hair away from her face and that’s when Isabel sees the bandage covering his hand.

“You’re hurt.” She takes his hand in hers, looking worriedly up at him.

Wesley shrugs it off. “I’ve had a lot worse.”

“So you’re all right?” Isabel can barely get her words out around the lump in her throat. She feels so happy it’s a wonder she can say anything at all.

“I am now.” He looks at her with so much love in his eyes.

“I thought…When I didn’t hear from you…I was afraid that…” She lets the words trail off; they both know what she’s been feeling since he walked out the door.

“I told you I’d come back.” He wipes the tear that has made its way down her cheek away, pulling her even closer to him. “Nothing could keep me away from you, Bel. Nothing.” He leans down, covering his mouth with hers and Isabel opens herself up to him, as desperate as he is to taste, to feel his closeness.

“So, it’s over?” She looks up at him, holding her breath, barely daring to hope they actually have a shot at a normal life together, a normal relationship without having to worry about him turning up bloody and beaten or worse every night.

“It’s over.” He says the words with as much relief as Isabel feels.

Isabel bites her bottom lip. “So you’re not going anywhere for a little while?”

Wesley smiles at her warmly, reading her mind. “I’m not going anywhere for a good long while, Bel.” He looks at her speculatively. “If that’s okay with you?”

She laughs, her eyes bright, feeling happier than she has in a very long time, maybe ever. “I think I can work with that.” She rests her head on his chest, his arms tightening around her as she listens to his heartbeat, feeling like she’s finally come home.

EPILOGUE

Isabel peels off her clothes, figuring she has a few minutes to get ready. Tonight is special and she wants to make an effort. Jumping in the shower she’s grateful for the hot water that she knows is down to Wesley.

The boarding house is slowly getting brought into this century and Wesley’s construction skills had been instrumental in that happening. The bookings have become steady and she’s gotten to the point where some weeks they’re so busy they actually have to turn people away. If anyone had told her she’d be in this position six months ago she would have laughed them out of town. But it seems like all the hard work is finally paying off. The accounts are finally in the black, something Isabel hadn’t thought she’d live to see.

She lets the hot water soothe her tired muscles. Since Wesley has been back, there hasn’t been a night they haven’t spent together and they make good use of that time. But it isn’t just the nights, she thinks, blushing under the hot water. It has also been the mornings, the afternoons, whenever they find a moment to be together. They can’t get enough of each other and that doesn’t look like it is going to change any time soon and that is just fine with Isabel.

As if the very thought of him has conjured him up, Isabel hears the bathroom door open and close and she sees a familiar shape through the shower curtain.

“I’m nearly done.” She washes the shampoo out of her hair, thinking about what she’ll wear for their first real date.

Wesley had made the point that they’ve never actually had one and he wanted to rectify that problem so he is taking her out and she can’t be more excited.

“No rush.” Wesley’s voice is deep and husky and it has the amazing ability to make Isabel feel tingly all over. He opens the curtain and slips into the shower with her, looking her up and down like a starving man.

Isabel blushes under the carnality of his dark stare. They’ve been naked together more times than she can count and intimate in ways that she could never have imagined before him. But there is still something about the way he looks at her that makes her feel like she was burning up.

His body is perfect. She can’t look at him enough to get her fill. He’s all hard planes and ridges of muscle. He exudes strength and power and he’s completely intoxicating. His hands slip over her shoulders and down her back, over her slick skin and she feels the familiar tingling sensation she always equates to his touch.

“We’re going to be late.” She shivers as she says the words, already seriously turned on.

“Does that mean you want me to stop?” Wesley raises a knowing eyebrow at her.

Isabel doesn’t respond with words, instead reaching out to touch his hard shaft and wrap her hand around its thickness. She watches as his eyes flutter closed, enjoying the delicious moment as she tugs at his hardness. She leans in and kisses him deeply, the water falling around them, turning their skin slippery and wet.

Isabel looks at the scar on his thigh, the wound that would never quite heal. Eventually, he had told her that during the last fight he’d agreed to do for the Devil Dogs, he’d been injured and it opened up again on him. He’d lost a lot of blood, but some good Samaritan had seen him bleeding out by the side of the road and called an ambulance. They’d stitched him up and he’d slipped out of the hospital before they’d had a chance to ask too many questions. The sight of it still made her chest tight as she came to grips with how close she had been to losing him that night.

“Hey.” He lifts her chin up to meet his eyes. “I’m here. It’s all all right.” He kisses her deeply, making sure she’s got the message.

Her arms snake up around his neck, losing herself in the kiss. Waves of water cascade over them both, beating down on them and stimulating them in the most intimate of places. Their bodies are slippery against each other, silky and wet.

Isabel reaches out to take his cock in her hand. The tip of his penis slides against her hand and she moans with pleasure at the feel of his hardness. She’s already wet in between her thighs.

“You’re so beautiful, Isabel.” He kisses her as he says the words, his tongue teasing her mouth open, tasting her deeply, as if she is the best thing he’s ever sampled. He kisses his way down her neck, finding the sensitive spot at the hollow of her collarbone. His hands slide down her body until he’s kneeling in front of her, his hair soaked through from the shower.

Isabel looks down at him and feels a pulse of heat in her pussy at the sight of him between her legs. He nudges open her legs and her eyes open wide in surprise as he ducks his head down and takes a long, loving taste of her. Her hands fly around his head, supporting herself as her legs threaten to give way. She cries out as his tongue darts around her clit, massaging it and driving her wild.

“Bel, I love how you taste.” He moans the words out against her pussy and the vibrations of his voice send a shiver of pleasure through her.

He inserts his finger inside of her, his tongue still lapping at her and she throws her head back, abandoning herself to the pleasure that this man is wringing out of her. She starts to breathe heavier as Wesley nibbles her clit, making her come hard with his tongue.

Her legs are shaking as he leans back onto his heels and looks up at her. Clearly liking what he sees, he stands up, pulling her closer to him. His hands are on her butt, lifting her up and he pushes her against the cold tiled wall, pinioning her there with his hips. He kisses her longingly, telling her with his tongue exactly what he wants to do inside of her. The taste of herself on his mouth drives her insane and she bites at his lips, suckling and kissing him as if she can’t get enough of him.

Wesley’s cock presses against her entrance, making her moan and wriggle against him. He squeezes her ass, massaging her with both hands as she wraps her legs around his hips, pushing her heat against his long shaft, demanding him to enter her. Wesley kisses her neck as he obliges, ramming into her and slamming her up against the cold tiles. She cries out as he delves deep inside of her, coaxing pleasure out of her. He bites her earlobe softly, knowing exactly the pressure she needs to push her further towards her climax.

He pushes in deeper and faster, his gaze never leaving hers as she meets him thrust for thrust. He moves back, almost pulling completely out of her before his cock slams into her again, pushing open her swollen lower lips and making her cry out in ecstasy.

“I love you, Isabel.” He whispers the words against her ear as he plunges into her ever deeper and she holds on tight to him, knowing he’s pushing her over the edge and she’s happy to fall.

Her pussy clamps down tightly around his cock as she orgasms, increasing the pressure around his shaft and propelling him towards his own shuddering end. His hips buck as he empties inside of her, filling her up with his seed and making her cry out yet again.

He holds onto her tightly, his head resting against hers, her legs wrapped around his hips, so close it’s as if they’re one person. They are a tangle of limbs, impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

“I guess we should think about getting clean.” Wesley’s words are dragged out of him as if he doesn’t really want to have to say them.

Isabel giggles against his shoulder as, gently, he sets her down on her shaky legs and proceeds to start soaping her from top to toe. When he touches her between her legs, she feels the stirrings of desire again and has to bite her lip to stop herself from moaning.

Wesley catches her reaction, smiling at her wickedly. She reaches down to return the favor, stroking his shaft with her soapy hands and feeling him thicken and harden in her hold. They lock eyes with each other, all thoughts of getting clean forgotten.

When they finally make it out of the shower, Isabel is smiling the smile of a satisfied woman and Wesley watches her appreciatively as she sets about getting ready for their night out together.

“Bel, there’s something I wanted to talk about before we head out.” He is leaning lazily against the wall, watching her.

Intent on giving him a good show, Isabel chooses her skimpiest underwear, shimmying into it with more movement than necessary and enjoying the strangled sound he makes in the back of his throat at the sight of her.

“Sure, go ahead.” She looks over her shoulder at him, smiling coquettishly and zeroing in on the bulge in his jeans.

Wesley shakes his head, like he knows exactly what she’s playing at. “But if you don’t put some clothes on, quickly, we’re not going to be going anywhere.” He rubs the dark shadow of his beard that’s already springing up around his chin, despite the fact that he only shaved that morning.

“Well, that’s a first – you actually asking me to get dressed. This must be serious.” Her expression is flirtatious but there’s a hint of unease, making her stomach churn. He had said he was out of his work with the Dogs, but what if he’s changed his mind? What if they’ve managed to draw him back in?

“Take a seat, Bel.” He nods her towards her bed and she sits down, watching him warily.

“You’re starting to scare me a little, Wes.” She yanks down the short black dress she’d bought especially for the occasion, suddenly feeling like she’s not sure if there’s going to be anything to celebrate.

He doesn’t look at her, another bad sign and it gets worse. He starts pacing.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you and me and this place.” He looks around at the old Victorian house. “And I think it might be time to make some changes.”

Isabel holds her breath, not trusting herself to say anything.

“I think you should go back to med school.” Wesley says the last thing she could have expected. He barrels on, as if he’s had this speech all thought out and he doesn’t want to get sidetracked by her interrupting him. “Chicago has one of the best schools in the country and, with your grades, they’d accept you in a heartbeat. There’s no reason why you can’t start studying again.”

Isabel opens her mouth, closes it and then opens it again, trying to frame the words through the shock of his suggestion. “It’s a nice thought, Wes. But I’d say there is a pretty big reason why I can’t.” She looks around at the house as if to emphasize the point.

“That’s where I come in.” He smiles at her as if she’s just played right into his hands. “The boarding house is doing better and better and I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of how this place runs now and anything I don’t know, Rosa does.” He lets the thought settle for a moment before he continues. “You’ve been talking about giving her a share in the business for a little while now. Maybe this is the time to do it. And I’ll help you with whatever you need, in any way that I can.”

Isabel stands up and crosses over to Wesley, touched that he’s obviously thought a lot about this. She kisses him briefly on the lips before sitting down in front of her dressing room mirror. “It’s a great idea, Wes. And I really appreciate that you’ve thought it through. But there’s no way I can afford med school. Even on a scholarship, which I’d be lucky to get, there are still costs and the boarding house isn’t making enough yet to support me.” She shrugs, concentrating on applying a lick of mascara to each eye. She’s made her peace with the fact that she’s not going to be a surgeon; at least that’s what she tells herself. Sure there are days when she finds herself imagining what her life would be like if she could go back to school and start practicing, doing what she’d always wanted. But that was normal, wasn’t it? It is just a fantasy now.

She watches Wesley in the mirror as he continues pacing behind her. It’s clear he hasn’t finished whatever he wants to say.

“I have quite a lot of money saved, from the work I did with the Dogs; probably enough for your college tuition a few times over.” He shrugs when he catches her staring at his reflection in shock. “Like I said, I made good money.”

Isabel turns around to look at him, her mind still playing catch up with what he’s just told her. “Even if I could accept the money – which I can’t – I don’t think I could ever be comfortable using money I know has criminal ties. It just wouldn’t seem right.”

She grabs her purse, dropping her lipstick and cell inside and snapping it shut, as if that will put an end to the conversation. But Wesley has stopped dead in front of her and he clearly has no plans to go anywhere until he’s finished what he wants to say.

“I don’t want the money. I’ve never had any use for it. But this is a chance to give you what you need to get what you want; there’s no better reason to give it away.” He shrugs, pinning her with that serious stare of his. “This is a chance to use the money for something good, Bel. You’ve always wanted to save people, to fix people; this is your chance to do that. It’s what your mom would have wanted. You know that.”

His eagerness is endearing and not a little infectious. Isabel feels herself getting excited at the prospect of what he’s offering. “It wouldn’t be a gift. It would have to be a loan.” She bites her lip, willing herself not to get too carried away.

“You can call it whatever you want if it means that you’ll take it.” He takes her hands and lifts her to her feet, his eyes focused on her. “Isabel, I love you. Let me do this for you.” When she doesn’t say anything he gives her hands a little squeeze, bringing her back to reality. “So, Bel, what do you say?”

Isabel smiles up at him, her soul feeling lighter than it has in a very long time. “I say yes, Wes. I say yes. With you, it’s always yes.”

THE END

OTHER BOOKS BY KATHRYN THOMAS

I’LL RIP HER CLOTHES OFF AND F*CK HER UNTIL SHE SCREAMS.

Her friends warned that I’m the last person you want to f*ck with, and she stole my bike on a dare.

I don’t play nice, I don’t obey the rules.

She thinks she’s in for a night of thrills.

I’ll teach her a lesson she’ll never forget.

I was in town to do one of the most important deals for my club—the Diamondbacks MC.

She was looking for a night of thrills.

Her friends warned her about me, but that didn’t stop her from taking my bike.

Nobody lays a finger on my property and gets away with it.

And Eve Robinson sure as hell isn’t going to be the first one.

When I got my hands on her, I decided to punish her another way.

I ripped her clothes off and pinned her to my bed.

Taught her a lesson that she’ll never forget.

But now some bastard thinks Eve belongs to him.

He has no idea what I’m capable of.

No idea what I’ll do to keep what’s mine.

SHE’S MINE, NO MATTER WHAT.

I broke her heart to save her.

She swore she’d forget me.

She swore that she’d never see me again.

But that was before the old demons in our life tried to take her away.

Before I became the only one who could save her.

I broke her heart all those years ago when I walked away to keep her safe from the monsters in my life.

I didn’t ask for forgiveness.

I didn’t ask for a second chance.

But somehow the two of us found our way back to each other. Back to where it all started.

When I saw her again, I couldn’t hold myself back.

I had to have her.

Own her. Possess her—body and soul.

Make her know who she really belonged to—even if she doesn’t know it yet.

But that was before my enemies put a target on her back.

Before I became the only one who can save her.

But this time I won’t walk away.

This time, I’m keeping what’s mine.

No matter who or what tries to take her from me.

SHE SHOULD’VE TURNED ME AWAY.

I’m an animal who’ll break your heart.

She’s a good girl who took over her late mother’s boarding house.

She needed the money and I needed a place to stay.

But I’m the last person she should’ve let into her home.

Good girls like Isabel Bishop aren’t supposed to fall for animals like me.

She didn’t realize how hard things could get when she took over her late mother’s boarding house.

Tenants were few and far in between, and she was desperate for cash.

I was looking for a place to stay—somewhere to keep low and out of sight.

At first it was simple necessity.

But that was before I saw her delicious curves.

Before I tasted her sweet lips.

Before I felt her quivering underneath me.

She thought things were hard before?

I’m about to show her just how hard things can get.

Show her just how badly I will corrupt her.

How badly I will ruin her.

How badly I will devour her.

SHE WAS OFF LIMITS, UNTIL I PUT HER ON MY LEASH.

She’s like no other women I’ve had in my bed.

Too innocent to just defile.

Too good to just ruin.

But that was before I found out who her mother’s marrying…

She was the biggest mistake that I never should have let go.

I’ve left plenty of broken hearts behind me…

But I’ll be goddamned if April wasn’t the first one that made me care.

Made me feel.

I never thought I’d have her hair between my fingers again.

Never thought I’d fill my lungs with her scent again.

Watch the way her curves sway with every step.

I never thought that I’d get a second chance with her.

A second chance to right the wrongs of the past.

Until I found out who her mom’s marrying.

Until I found out that she’s off-limits in every way possible.

I’ve spent my entire life defying the rules.

And no rule--is going to keep April away from me.

I WON'T STOP UNTIL SHE'S BEGGING ME ON HER KNEES.

She’s a Fed looking to make a difference in my town.

So innocent. So naive. So inexperienced.

But she’s my enemy.

And I’m going to enjoy destroying her.

In this town, my word is law. It’s quite simple: You pay your dues to my club—the Seven Tribesmen MC, and we keep you safe from people just like or worse than us.

This has been my life, my pride, my passion.

Until now.

The last person I expected the Feds to send after me was a woman like Stella Holmes. Big chocolate eyes and full soft curves--she looked like she belonged somewhere else, somewhere far away from a place like this.

For the first time in my life, she woke something in me that I didn’t think was possible.

Something that begs me to lose control.

Something that demands her in my bed.

Her petite body pinned under me.

I didn’t count on things to spiral out of control like this.

Now, our enemies are on the move.

And the only person who can keep her alive is the devil in her bed.

***

SHE WAS AN ANGEL THAT WAS ALMOST TOO GOOD TO BREAK

She’s too good for me to take.

Too good for me to corrupt

Too good for me to claim.

Too good for me to make her mine.

Everything shattered in my world the day I lost my old lady.

When I watched them lower her into the ground, I swore off love for good.

I lived for my club—the Steel Talons MC.

Filled my life with bikes, ink, and endless parties.

Until Susan came along.

She was a paramedic who thinks I’m just another dumb biker.

But her touch leaves me rock hard and demanding release.

When I see every curve of her body up close and personal.

When I look into those innocent eyes.

I can practically taste her innocence.

She’s too pure. To good.

Too proper for me to corrupt and ruin.

But each time I feel her soft hands on me, the beast in me comes to life.

She saved me.

But I’m going to break her. 

***

She was an innocent—so good, so pure, so inexperienced. It’d almost be a shame to break her.

I was a monster who didn’t believe in love.

She’s the kind of girl who’s so good it hurts.

So good that I had to claim her.

Make her beg, hear her scream.

Again and again—until she can never leave.

I was the worst thing that happened in her life.

She’s the kind of person who stayed in the lines—played by the rules.

I was not.

There are things that you just don’t get in between.

Abbie made that mistake and now she’s at my mercy.

She thought she knew what she was doing.

She thought she could handle me.

Once I had her in close, once I got a good look at her tiny body.

Her delicate hands.

Her full lips screaming to be kissed.

It’ll take everything for me to not lay my hands on her.

It’ll take everything for me not to break her.

To teach her.

I can’t wait to get started.

Can’t wait to unload.

Over and over again until she won’t stop screaming my name.

***

She found a bomb in my exhaust pipe.

But that’s not the only pipe I want her hands on.

They say business comes before pleasure.

But I’m going to make her business MY pleasure.

I believe in repaying people back for favors.

Luna did a big one for me when she found an incomplete bomb in my exhaust pipe.

But helping me meant putting a target on her own back.

I have to keep her safe—make sure nobody lays a finger on her.

But when I’m by that tight little body of hers and staring into her innocent eyes—I find it almost impossible to keep my hands off her.

I have to keep reminding myself that she’s innocent in all of this.

That she trusts me to keep her safe.

But every once in a while, I see the lust in her eyes.

I catch a glimpse of the hellcat prowling just below the surface.

It’s getting harder and harder to hold myself back.

I want to do terrible things to that pretty little body of hers.

And leave her screaming for more. 

***

 NO ONE TAKES WHAT'S MINE

I didn’t mean to make my trouble become hers.

She didn’t need my protection, that’s for sure.

But everything was different once I tasted her.

Ate her alive.

Made her the core of my world.

Now a madman from my past is on our tail.

He wants us dead.

But no one takes what’s mine.

Not without a war.

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