Affliction: An Age Gap, Insta-Love Romance

Chapter 2

Patriot scannedthe 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 na?ve 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.

The warmth he needed when all the blood within him ran cold.

But she could never be his.

After her welcome, she’d stuck by him, chatting with him about what he’d missed at the diner over the last three days. It was innocuous stuff, nothing important, but it meant everything to him just to hear her speaking, just to see her animated, lively, and smiling.

Cilla was brightness. Goodness. Innocence embodied.

At twenty-two, she was also almost fifteen years younger than him, barely old enough to drink, and still had a life of experiences ahead of her.

What would she want with an old, worn out, ex-soldier who had more whiskey in his veins than blood…and who had more black marks on his eternal record than he could count?

Sighing once more, he glanced at the back hallway, remembering she’d said she had to go to the bathroom. But it had been more than twenty minutes now.

He furrowed his brow, checking his watch.

Maybe she was chatting it up with Tasha, Sasha, Kiki, and Marci who’d headed toward the bathrooms right after her.

That group of women were trouble, but he figured Cilla could handle herself with that bunch. At least he hoped she could. They were brash and definitely biker chicks, but they were mostly harmless. All talk and big tits, but they burst into tears when they chipped a nail.

A hand slapping his shoulder drew his attention, and he turned to see Cluster grinning at him drunkenly.

“What’s up, Fuck?” Patriot drawled, calling the man by the less liked part of his full road name, Clusterfuck, a moniker he earned as a prospect because he seemed to get himself into the stupidest shit. Like the time he ended up buck ass naked in a hen house, getting his balls pecked at by an angry rooster. That taught him not to get drunk and take bets from brothers who’re also drunk as fuck.

Cluster sneered, his booze-red face contorting into a scowl.

“No need to get mean, Patriot,” he slurred, “Just comin’ to t-tell you that J-Jaime is lookin’ for ya.”

Jaime?

He fought the urge to roll his eyes.

What did she want?

Jaime Green was the little sister of his long-time friend and club brother, Stallion, whose real name was Brandon Green. He and Stallion had been stationed in some pretty sketchy places together while in the service, so when they’d both been discharged, they’d come home to Wilkes-Barre together, and together they prospected with the Unchained. Now, five years later, Patriot was VP, and Stallion, who was still battling his demons, had gone nomad, unable to stay in one place too long. When Stallion had headed for the freedom of the road, he’d left his little sister in Patriot’s care, making him promise to watch over her.

And Patriot had.

Unfortunately, he’d also gotten drunk, fucked Jaime, and then proceeded to compound his sin by never telling Stallion what he’d done. That was three years ago, and he was still feeling the guilt. It didn’t help that Jaime had made herself right at home in the Unchained clubhouse. She was at every party, hanging with the women, hanging on the brothers, getting drunk and disorderly. Because he’d promised her brother he’d watch out for her, he often had to drag her out of the parties and let her sleep it off in his room. He wasn’t an idiot—he knew how it looked to take her upstairs for the night, but he and Jaime knew the truth. There was nothing going on between them.

Much to her frustration. If she had her way, she’d be wifed up, pushing out his babies, and wearing his property patch.

That would never happen, and not just because she was Stallion’s sister. He’d fucked her, yeah, but he’d been drunk as hell. Sober, there wasn’t a damn thing about Jaime that appealed to him. Sure, she was pretty—in a made up, trying way too damn hard way, but there wasn’t an attraction there, and certainly not anything he’d risk his friendship with Stallion over. It was bad enough he’d fucked her once and hadn’t told her brother. He’d be damned if he made things worse. As it was, the guilt ate at him daily, especially when Stallion texted to check in on him and Jaime.

Stallion had trusted Patriot with his sister, knowing that Patriot would never go there—at least sober. So for Jaime to think that there could be more between them? Yeah, that was fucked as hell.

Patriot didn’t want an ol’ lady.

Immediately, a flash of striking green and hazel eyes hit him. He blinked the vision away, shaking his head. No. He’d never claim anyone.

Stallion had no fucking idea that Patriot and Jaime had broken the BroCode, and Patriot wasn’t all that keen to tell him, though he knew he would have to one day, especially since Jaime was making a nuisance of herself.

He hadn’t graced her bed in over three years, and she was showing signs of a woman scorned—though why she thought she had any claim on him or his dick was a wonder to him. He’d never laid claim to her, never spoke about anything permanent between them, never gave her any whispered words about a future together. When they were together, they greeted each other, talking mundane shit, and then parted ways. End of. That was all. So where she got the balls to start hinting that she was going to tell her brother about their “relationship”—he had no fucking idea.

But she was something he had to deal with.

Soon.

“Where is she?” Patriot asked, slamming the beer bottle on the bar top and turning his body toward Cluster, who was slumped over the bar.

“She said she would wait in your room,” Cluster replied, then wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“So you’re basically her errand boy, coming to summon me to my own chambers?” Patriot bit out, annoyed at the woman’s audacity.

Cluster blinked slowly, then replied, “Guess so. Don’t mind, though, wanted to grab another drink anyway.”

Pushing away from the bar, Patriot caught Locust’s attention. The Enforcer took one look at the expression on Patriot’s face and gave him a single chin lift. They silently communicated that Patriot was leaving the enforcer in charge of keeping the Bone Dogz from doing anything stupid.

Casting one last glance toward the bathrooms, and not seeing Cilla, he heaved a sigh of disappointment, and headed upstairs to where Jaime waited.

Fuck.

Somehow, he knew this wouldn’t be good.

The moment he entered his room, he noticed the woman reclining on his bed like she belonged there.

Gritting his teeth, he fought the urge to slam the door, closing it with only a little force.

Jaime glanced up from where she was fiddling with her cell, saw him, and smiled.

It was her seductress smile, the same smile he’d ignored, time and time again. It was the smile of a viper, one he’d been bitten by one time too many.

If he hadn’t been drunk…shit, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

It wouldn’t work this time, just like it hadn’t worked the other times, so what was her game? She would have to realize that the thing between them was never going to happen. Not only did he hate the surge of stomach twisting guilt every time he’d thought of her, but he also hated that he still hadn’t come clean to Stallion. He could only blame that first time on his drunkenness; she’d been there, he’d been dealing with dark thoughts that left him vulnerable, and he’d given in. It was almost like she knew when to strike, and he’d been lured in like a lamb to the slaughter.

It had been over three years since the first and last time he’d fucked Jaime, and it had been six months since he’d fucked any other woman. Neither his dick nor his heart had been interested. The moment he’d set eyes on Cilla was the moment his body wanted no one else.

It wasn’t a problem for him, though, because after years of indiscriminate one-night stands, club pussy, and shallow connections, he was damn tired.

And it wasn’t going unnoticed by the brothers…or the club women—both whores and hangarounds.

“What do you want?” he demanded without greeting.

She smirked, ignoring his brusqueness, and leaned forward, baring the tops of her breasts.

His dick didn’t give a fuck.

“What? No hello?” she purred.

He stared blankly, his ire rising. He didn’t want to be there, dealing with her shit, when he could be downstairs with Cilla.

“You summoned me like some fucking dog, so why don’t you tell me what I’m doing here so I can get back to the party,” he all but growled. It wasn’t the party he wanted to get back to, it was the lush brunette.

Pressing her painted lips together, Jaime sat up and swung her legs over the side of his bed to stand up. Slinking toward him, she went to put her hand on his chest, but he stepped back out of the way, scowling at her.

She stared, open-mouthed, then huffed in displeasure.

“Fine. I need your help,” she said. “There’s this guy…I met him when he came in to buy a car, we talked, he asked me out and….” Jaime was the receptionist at the posh Mercedes dealership in Clarks Summit, about thirty minutes away in a wealthier area of NEPA, so her meeting some khaki-wearing douche wasn’t a surprise. “He and I were a thing for a few weeks, and…well, when I went to end it with him, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Stiffening, he rasped, “He fucking hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that…at least not yet.”

“Explain,” he barked, suddenly over the conversation, but the man who hated bullies couldn’t walk away.

“He said that he wasn’t done with me, that he would wait for me to come back to him.” Jaime’s shoulders drooped, an uncharacteristic move on her part. Jaime was never short on pride and girl cojones. Matter of fact, she was known for being ballsy, so for her to be tense and vulnerable, it meant she was in real trouble.

But…this was Jaime, a woman who never wasted a chance to try her wiles on him. He couldn’t trust her, not yet.

“Okay…” he drawled, tipping his head for her to continue. He crossed his arms, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“And—” she curled into herself and shivered, another uncharacteristic Jaime move, “—I think he’s been following me. I’ll be in the store or walking down the street, and I’ll feel eyes on me, ya know. Then, when I look, I’ll catch a glimpse of him. He’s always there, and I think he might get worse.”

Shit. That wasn’t good.

Patriot nodded, knowing that situations like hers could escalate.

“What do you need me to do about him?” he asked, mentally already texting Frost, Locust, and Horde about handing out a beat down on a motherfucker.

She must have read his thoughts because she immediately raised her hands, shaking them violently.

“No, no! You can’t get the club involved!” she bleated.

He leaned back, shocked at her vehemence. No club involvement? The hell?

“So why are you coming to me with this? I am club, Jaime,” he replied sharply.

Seeming to deflate, Jaime dropped her chin and looked up at him balefully, her blue eyes wide and blurring with unshed tears.

Shit.

“You’re my friend, too. One of my…best friends. I just need you, Patriot…” she murmured, taking a step closer. “Getting the club involved would make things way more complicated.”

Tension revved through him, his internal alarms blaring like a tornado was headed his way.

She leaned into him, finally sinking he claws into his chest. She peered up at him, her eyes pleading. “I need you, please, to…to act like my boyfriend.”

What. The. Fuck?

He opened his mouth to dismiss her bullshit notion, but her next words silenced him hard.

“You do this for me, and I’ll promise to never tell Stallion that you betrayed him.”