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And the silence remaining in their wake was filled with the muted sounds of heart-rending sobs.
TWO
Patriot scanned the crowded clubhouse bar and sighed. Fuck, he really didn’t want to be there, but he couldn’t just toss back his warm beer and head upstairs to sleep for fourteen hours. He needed to spend time with his brothers, put in some face time, and he needed to make sure business was handled so Frost, the Prez, could head out with Emily, his ol’ lady, and go home to their kids who’re home from college for the weekend.
That meant that even though he’d just come back from a three-day run, and really wanted to say, “fuck it” and get gone, he needed to step up as VP of the Unchained MC, and make sure the three brothers visiting from the Bone Dogz MC didn’t start shit. The Bone Dogz, a crumbling MC from out of Binghamton, was in town looking to chat with Frost about patching in with the Unchained. Their own MC fell on shit times after their own prez and VP got locked up for transporting meth and flesh—two things that went directly against their club charter. So now, the Unchained were staring down the possibility of picking up eight new brothers from New York, which meant Frost was up to his eyeballs in talks. Tonight, though, the man needed his VP to step up and give him a break. So Patriot was going to do that.
But he also needed to make sure a certain curvy brunette didn’t get herself into trouble. Not that she would. She was as sweet and frustratingly naïve as they come. She had no idea that she got the looks and crude remarks she did. The brothers appreciated a woman with some softness to her, having spent too many years banging stick-thin, coked-up clubwhores, they all wanted in on the plump lovely.
But he’d made it clear from the moment he’d spotted her strolling into the clubhouse with Horde’s chick, Stephie, that Cilla was off-limits.
Leaning back against the bar, he scanned the crowded room again for the woman he’d been jacking his cock to for the last six months.
Cilla St. James.
Even her name sounded all innocent and shit. And it didn’t help that she had the features of an earth sprite—flawless skin the color of buttermilk, a smattering of light brown freckles over her nose that made him want to kiss each one…and made him wonder if there were any other freckles hidden on her delectable body. Her nose was narrow between her eyes but wider at the nostrils, and upturned a little. It wasn’t a great nose, but it added character to her face. It made her all the more interesting to look at. And her eyes…holy fucking shit, her eyes. When she’d first looked at him, their gazes landing on one another, it was like lightning had struck his chest. His breath had caught, his heart skipped a beat, and every muscle in his body seized as if electrocuted. Her eyes were the most remarkable design—a golden hazel…with a brilliant green at the center. He’d never seen eyes like hers before, and he’d wanted to spend hours staring into those eyes, peering into her soul…and opening himself up to her, baring his own soul to her, just for the chance to connect to her, to join himself to her—soul to soul.
And that was why he couldn’t go there with her. His soul was filthy, dark, and to touch his soul to hers would consign her to an eternity in hell with him.
He couldn’t do that. But it didn’t stop him from wanting to spend time with her, even a few short moments at a club party. Honestly, the only reason he hadn’t headed straight to his room was because he’d caught sight of Cilla across the room, moving toward him, and?—
Fuck.
She’d looked good enough to devour. Usually, the lush, little goddess wore looser clothes; men’s jeans, big t-shirts, skirts that came down to her calves—which worked for her because she spent over eight hours a day busting her ass waiting tables at Millie’s Eatery. But tonight…she’d looked devastating. For fuck’s sake, he nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw her. It had taken serious effort to not choke on his spit as she made her way to him. Fuck, he’d been like a teenaged boy getting his first look at a pair of tits, except the tits he wanted to see most were on the woman he could never touch. That didn’t stop the yearning…the hunger for her. The moment he’d been caught in her gaze, he’d nearly snatched her up, thrown her over his shoulder, and carried her plump ass to his room so he could finally fuck her like he’d wanted to since the moment he first laid eyes on her.
But he couldn’t.
No matter how beautiful, sexy, and alluring she was…he couldn’t have her.
She deserved a good man. A gentle man. A man who wouldn’t come to her bed with blood on his hands, sin on his heart, and blackness in his soul.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy her as much as he could before that better man came along. Whenever he had the chance, he spent time with her. He made sure to run into her when he was in town, or he’d stop in for breakfast or lunch most days she worked at the diner, or he made sure to sit and talk with her at club parties—when she attended those, that was.
The booze, naked bodies, public sex acts, and loud music were incongruous to who Cilla was. She wasn’t a club woman; she didn’t have the hard shell required to take on the life of a biker’s woman.
However, that didn’t stop him from wanting that…more than any fucking thing he’d ever wanted in his life.
Gripping the now empty beer bottle in his hand, he shoved back the images bombarding his mind?—
Cilla moving toward him across the clubhouse floor.
Cilla leaning into him, pressing her large, lush tits against his hard chest.
Cilla running her hands up his chest, around his neck, and threading her fingers through his hair.
Cilla pulling his head down….
Cilla pressing her perfect pink lips against his.
Him ravishing her mouth, tasting her sweetness, her ripe flavor….
Him holding her in his arms, close to his heart where she belonged.
But that wasn’t how it happened, not in real life.
In real life, she’d come to him, welcomed him home with a bright smile that lit him up from the inside, and—for the first time in three days—he felt the tension slough off his shoulders.
She was his peace.
