Chapter 21
Cilla curledinto Patriot’s hard chest and stared at the comedy of errors playing out if front of her. It had to be a play, because there was no freaking way any of this was real. Jaime had plotted to get her hands on Patriot’s property kutte by making up a stalking, but that wasn’t enough for her, so she decided that Cilla had to die? And Sasha was in on it? No freaking way was this real.
But it was.
Patriot surrounded her, his warmth, strength, and protection like a blanket of security against the maelstrom bashing against her mind and heart.
Forget for a minute that Patriot was planning to claim her—if what Frost said was accurate—but, apparently, he’d been into her since the beginning.
He’d said as much to you before you slept with him….And there was that voice, and it sounded awfully smug.
She, fat, ugly, Cilla St. James, was going to be the ol’ lady to the gorgeous, sexy as hell, badass as F-U-C-K Patriot of the Unchained MC…if she wanted to be.
Patriot seemed to think it was a foregone conclusion, but that wasn’t the case. Yeah, things that hadn’t made sense over the last several weeks were finally becoming clear, but that didn’t absolve Patriot of the things he’d done—and hadn’t done—to Cilla. He’d kept things from her, ghosted her for days, and left her to be ravaged by the club hyenas at Cool Hands. And she still remembered what those women had said that night of the party, the night that started the cascade of events that lead to this moment. She was just so…tired. But the night wasn’t near to over yet.
“You can’t banish me! I’m protected by the club; Stallion is my brother, and Patriot is my old man,” Jaime blabbered, sounding more unhinged by the moment.
With his body plastered to hers, Cilla actually felt Patriot snort.
“You are out of your goddamn mind if you think we’re anything but enemies. Actually, from this day on, you are nothing to me, Jaime Green. You took advantage of my guilt, my duty to your brother and the club, and you thought—wrongly—that I would just fall into your plan like a fool with a fat dick. Well, you were wrong, and all your plans and schemes have come to light. You are no longer Unchained, you are hereby stripped of all your rights under the club, you can no longer enter club property, our establishments, or have any contact with any brother or a family member of a club brother. That includes—your brother.” At that, Jaime lurched forward, trying to jerk from Horde’s hold, but the man held firm. He’d moved from Stephie’s side to Jaime’s in a flash—he moved fast for a guy his size.
“Brandon,” she cried, “you can’t let them banish me; we’re family. I’m your sister! You promised Mom that you’d take care of me!”
Pain filled Stallion’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced with resolve.
“You abused this club and the privileges you had because you were my blood sister. But you knew that you were held to the same rules as any member—no one betrays the club, no one targets the club, and no one hurts a woman under club protection. You, sister, committed these acts without remorse or fear of consequences. And therefore, you are banished. You no longer have a home in Pennsylvania.”
Shaking her head, Jaime muttered to herself, her hands shaking as she reached for her brother.
“You don’t mean that! What will I do? This is my home—I have a house and a job?—”
“And that’s where Red comes in,” Frost cut in. “Red.”
The man whose gaze made Cilla consider wearing x-ray vision proof armor stepped forward, an icy smirk on his face.
“Yeah, Prez?”
Frost tipped his chin at a quietly whimpering Jaime.
“Make sure her lease is broken, her boss gets an email about her sudden desire to travel the world, and that everything in her bank account disappears.”
Suddenly, Jaime wasn’t whimpering anymore, she was screaming once again.
Horde, for all his massive muscles, seemed to have difficulty keeping her from throwing herself at Frost.
“Will do, Prez, I’ll even throw in wiping all her social media accounts, too,” Red offered, chuckling menacingly.
“And you, Sasha,” Frost continued, drawing all eyes to the woman who was trying to slip from her ex-boyfriend’s hold. “You will suffer the same fate as Jaime?—”
“No! I didn’t do anything wrong!” she squealed, her sister silently watching, horror on her face. “I only did what Jaime begged me to. I was being a loyal friend, that’s all.” She whipped her head around to look at Tornado pleadingly. “I fucked him, but it didn’t mean anything. I swear.”
He laughed, but there was no humor in his expression. “Yeah? Well, fucking you meant nothing to me, either. You were just a warm hole and a wet mouth, and even those were nothing to get excited about. I got better head from your sister anyway.”
At that revelation, it was Tasha’s turn to gasp, but she didn’t have long to be shocked before her twin sister launched herself at her, clawing and slapping at her. Tornado allowed it to continue until Frost ordered them pulled apart.
Tornado grabbed Tasha, and Cluster grabbed Sasha, and both women looked like they’d gone ten rounds with a honey badger.
“Enough of this shit,” Frost pronounced. “Cluster, Tornado, take the trash out and make sure they stay gone. Stallion, brother, you know what you got to do. Make sure it’s done.” Finally, Frost turned to Patriot, a look of understanding crossing his ruggedly handsome face. “Do what you got to do to make sure your woman is happy.”
Beside him, Emily tensed, a blank mask sliding down over a face that Cilla was sure had shown bitterness just moments before. So, Frost might not be the husband he wanted the brothers to think he was.
But that wasn’t something Cilla needed to worry about, especially not when she had her own problems.
Cluster and Tornado escorted the twins toward a truck parked near the cluster of bikes parked near the edge of the clearing. The women didn’t fight it as the men forced them into the cab of the truck, got in, and drove away.
Good riddance…though Tasha was nowhere near as bad as her sister. Cilla had a feeling the woman did what Sasha did because it was expected of her as a twin. There’d been moments over the last few months, when Cilla caught Tasha watching her with a sadness in her eyes.
As Stallion dragged his screaming, struggling sister toward the front of the house and out of sight, Cilla disengaged from Patriot’s arms, taking a large enough step back that she could look up at his face but still be far enough away that he couldn’t touch her. If he touched her, she’d end up in his bed, and she needed answers. She needed an apology.
“We’re gonna take a ride,” Horde announced, wrapping his arm around a contrite looking Stephie. “That’ll give you two some time to talk.”
Stephie made to argue, but Horde cut her off. “Babe…give them time.”
Stephie glowered at Horde, then turned to look at Cilla with eyes shining with unshed tears. She must have read the stubborn anger on Cilla’s face because she finally nodded, then turned and let Horde lead her away.
Since the show for the evening had concluded, the other brothers, Kiki, Marci, and the prospects headed for the food, speaking in low voices—no doubt talking about what they’d just watched, leaving Cilla and Patriot alone in their little corner of the clearing.
Cilla could feel the tears pooling in her eyes, burning at the back of her throat.
God, tonight was a lot. Too much. She wanted to curl into a ball in the dark and not come out until it all made sense.
But then she wouldn’t be with Patriot…and she really needed to be with Patriot.
Dragging in a breath to calm her fraying nerves, she crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet.
She lifted her chin, dared herself to meet his gaze, and followed through. And immediately wished she hadn’t.
In his gorgeous, forest green eyes, was regret and pain so stark and paralyzing, she couldn’t breathe for the weight of it on her soul.
“I love you.”
Cilla, blindsided, gasped and stumbled back, hit square in the chest by his words.
She rasped, “What?” Shaking her head, she raised a trembling hand to her mouth.
“I love you, Cilla,” Patriot repeated, taking a step toward her, his large hand reaching for her. She didn’t move, her feet glued to the ground, and she leaned into his touch when his palm cupped her face. He tipped her face up and their gazes collided. She couldn’t look away. “I have loved you since the moment I saw you.” He laughed softly. “Love at first sight—never believed in it, thought it was just lust and chemical reactions, but…. Cilla, I took one look at you and knew that you were the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I saw you, and my future was so clear. I wanted to meet you, get to know you, make you mine.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. He murmured against her mouth, “I want to marry you, give you my last name, make a home with you, fill you with my children, and live happily ever after.”
Tears spilled from her eyes. This! This is all she ever wanted, and he was who she wanted it all with. But was it possible?
“W-what about Jaime? What about what happened at Cool Hands?” she croaked, her voice just as shaky as her emotions. “I can’t forget what you did. I can’t forget that you let those women talk about me, humiliate me. I know you said there was stuff going on with Jaime and the club—and now that I know what was happening, I can understand that you were in a tough spot. But, Patriot, even after that night, you just…abandoned me. You left me alone to stew without any idea of what was really going on. If you’d just come to me, talked to me, been honest with me, I wouldn’t feel like the biggest idiot on the planet.”
He pressed his forehead against hers and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his thumbs carefully wiping away the tears from her cheeks. “I keep messing up, I keep making mistake after mistake, and I own that. I know I was a goddamn fool, and I let my guilt, pride, and loyalty to the club get in the way of being the man you needed me to be. Your man. Always, only your man. Jaime never meant anything to me. She was Stallion’s sister, the woman I fucked once and made myself sick afterward, and she became the bane of my fucking existence since then. I let her get in my head, I let her trick me, and she almost—” He choked, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He exhaled slowly, as though he was gathering himself, schooling his emotions. “She almost killed you,” he finished, his voice thick.
Her heart tripped, aching and tight, like she was having an attack. Yes, he messed up, but he did what he had to do because he truly thought Jaime was in danger. She couldn’t fault him for wanting to protect a woman in danger, but she could fault him for keeping her in the dark, allowing her to be hurt, and then ghosting her for days at a time.
“If I had lost you, Cilla….” He shook his head slowly, and she could feel the burst of his deep sigh against her mouth. “I would have burned this world to the ground and then slit my throat in the ashes, just to have the chance of seeing you again.”
A sob tore from her throat. “Johnny,” she cried, “don’t say that. Never say that. I’m here, I’m safe, her plan didn’t work.”
“No, you’re alive and unharmed…but I might have lost you anyway,” he said, grimacing. His broad shoulders drooped, and she could feel his heart pounding beneath her hands, which were pressed to his chest. There, so close to him, his warmth spilling into her, his strength comforting her, she knew that she could never be without him.
He was an ass, had made mistakes, but he was her ass.
“Johnny,” she began, using his given name—and she didn’t miss the way the sides of his mouth kicked up into a smile when she did, “you haven’t lost me, you have me…if you truly want me.”
An explosive exhale was her only warning before his mouth crashed against hers. Gasping, she melted into him when his tongue invaded her mouth, licking inside, stealing her breath and her ability to think. She slid her hands up to clasp them together behind his neck, her fingers tangling in his long hair. Groaning, he dropped his hands from her face, wrapped his arms around her waist, and crushed her against him. He deepened the kiss, driving her thoughts from her head, and sending pulsing, delirious need into her core. Her pussy, slick from just being near him, throbbed, demanding they take their kiss inside, get naked, and fill her to bursting.
“Hell ya, brother, claim the fuck out of your woman!” a man’s voice broke through her sexual haze, and made her tense and pull away, breaking the kiss.
Patriot growled, refusing to loosen his hold. “Fuck you, Disco!” he barked, then cursed. Looking down into her eyes, Cilla couldn’t fathom the depth of emotion she saw there. Desire, yearning, scorching lust…and consuming love. He smiled, and the way it lit up his beautifully rugged face, made her heart skip and grow ten sizes.
Bliss cannoned through her, and she smiled back, unable to keep the joy from her face.
He loved her.
And she loved him.
“Come on, baby, let’s go. I want to get you home so we can continue without nosy motherfuckers interrupting us.”
“Hey,” Disco shouted, “you’re the one bein’ a horny shit out where everyone can see ya.”
Cilla giggled and Patriot rolled his eyes, but she didn’t miss the smug look on his face.
Without hesitation, Cilla took Patriot’s outstretched hand and followed behind him to his bike.
He wanted her on his bike.
Wow…this was a big deal.
He glanced at the bike, then at her, and swore.
“Shit, wait, I’ll be right back,” Patriot exclaimed before dropping her hand and hurrying back around the house. She blinked and stared after him, wondering what the heck just happened. He reappeared moments later…the property kutte in his hand, and a triumphant expression on his face.
His grin wide and brilliant, he stopped just in front of her. She stared up at him, unable to tear her gaze away. In this, his moment of great happiness, he never looked more gorgeous. And he was all hers.
“Cilla, baby, I know I’m an asshole, and I don’t deserve you, not with all these sins on my soul.” He stopped, took a deep breath, and lifted the kutte. “But I want you for my ol’ lady, I want my property kutte on your back, I want to claim you, body, heart, and soul…if you’ll have me.” She heard the plea, the uncertain vulnerability in his words. This man, the amazing, beautiful man…was standing there, all his walls down, asking her to give him a chance. A chance at forever with her. Her. Cilla St. James, the laughingstock in high school, the one everyone hated and sneered at. But she wasn’t that woman anymore, she was a new person. Stronger. Determined to snatch what life dangled in her face, and make the most of it.
Wiping the tears from her blurry eyes, Cilla finally saw what was on the front of the kutte, and her breath caught.
It was her name stitched onto a patch over the front pocket. Cilla. She reached out a shaking hand for it, but before she could touch it, Patriot turned the kutte around so she could see the back.
It read: Property of Patriot.
Beneath the words was the Unchained MC brand of the skull breaking through the links in a chain.
“I ordered this kutte the week after we met, not actually believing that you’d ever wear it.”
Disbelief warred with excitement as she asked, “Why not?”
His expression darkened and his grip on the kutte turned white.
“At first, I never intended to give it to you. It was just an impulsive move, a way to expel some of the desperate need to lay claim to you. And then, once we started spending time together, it got harder and harder not to beg you to give me a shot…but it took you putting the brakes on our friendship for me to realize that you and I belong together, and everything else is bullshit.”
She gasped. “But why? You had to have known how I felt about you—everyone else could see I was smitten with you. Apparently, I didn’t hide it very well.” Apparently, the Slutketeers were more observant than the man before her, and they took joy rubbing her “crush” in her face.
Stop thinking about them—they got what they deserved. Forget out them.
“Because I am not a good man. I was a soldier for Uncle Sam and am now a VP in an MC, and I did and still do whatever I have to do to get the job done—no matter who I had to hurt or kill. In the desert…. That blood on my heads, those deaths on my soul…I could never hope to have someone as good and pure as you for my own.”
Before she could say anything, laughter exploded from out behind the house, reminding her that they weren’t somewhere they should be having such a heavy, emotional conversation.
He must have had the same thought because he walked to his bike, stowed the kutte in his saddle bags, and held his hand out for her.
“Come on, baby, let’s go home,” Patriot declared.
And she went, because there was nowhere else she wanted to be.