Chapter 6
SCAR
Scar did not like waking up to an empty bed. But his little minx got a kick of making him chase her down. He didn’t mind. Not really. He’d just much rather spend his time buried inside her than running after her.
Scar hadn’t had much luck in his life. Parents killed by their own stupidity, raised by an aunt and uncle who didn’t want him alongside a sister who hated him, Scar had joined the Army in the hopes of finding his place in the world.
For a short time, he had. He’d found his family.
Seven men who were the brothers he never had growing up.
And then that cave. That fucking cave that had taken not only his soul and his sanity, but pieces of him that he could never get back. Broken, Scar would never have believed there was a woman alive who could love him—let alone want to.
Tally Meacham. An angel disguised as a kick-ass ninja.
She was the light to his dark, the very air he breathed.
For a decade after being released from that hellhole, Scar hadn’t been living.
He wasn’t even sure he’d been surviving.
The few and precious moments that kept him going revolved around Sissy and Scotty, Lucky’s daughter and son.
They’d been young, innocent, and filled a void inside him that had been slowly growing into a chasm.
Then he’d met Tally.
Like the rest of the world, he’d underestimated her. He thought blindness meant weakness. She’d proved him wrong within minutes of him stalking her.
Their relationship was unconventional, but then, so were they. A blind woman and a mute man. What were the odds that they would find each other? Scar didn’t give a damn what the odds were, because he had found her and he was never letting her go.
For years, Scar’s inability to speak had been believed to be complete.
After being strangled by a noose numerous times, the damage done had seemed permanent.
José, Scar’s oldest friend and the only person who knew him before he was Scar, had been saying for years that Scar could speak, he just didn’t.
Scar had always thought that statement inaccurate.
I will not talk…
As it turned out, Scar could speak. It hurt like someone had shoved a white-hot branding iron down his throat and then made him chase it with a shot of acid, but he could do it. He’d done it. After weeks and weeks of practice, Scar had finally been able to ask Tally to marry him.
She didn’t have a ring on her finger. She didn’t want one, because she’d have to take it off whenever she went to work. Beyond that, neither of them needed a visual representation of their commitment and love for each other.
The fact that Tally was the only person in the world who could touch him, that he wanted to be touched by, meant more than some fucking piece of jewelry.
The door to the apartment they were sharing in the clubhouse was open. He hadn’t bothered to close it when he’d left to find his woman. He kicked it closed now.
He tossed Tally onto the bed like a sack of potatoes.
He loved her smile. Her prosthetic eyes today were green.
All through October, she’d worn either the demon pair or the ones that looked like cat eyes.
Both glowed in the dark, which had freaked even Scar out.
He’d fucked her from behind a lot that month.
Born blind, Tally’s reactions weren’t always normal.
Her smile was more natural, and slightly crooked.
It was fucking beautiful. Her prosthetic eyes didn’t focus or dilate.
They didn’t move in her sockets like regular eyes did.
Yet Scar never cared because she still saw him.
When no one else could or would, she’d seen him.
He crawled up the bed. Tally’s shoes went first. She wore non-slip sneakers that he easily pulled from her feet. Her socks were removed to reveal manicured toenails. He bent to kiss the arch of her foot.
Tally’s touch was different. It always had been, long before he realized he loved her. In addition to pain, he also felt desire. It was a different type of burn, a different type of ache. It made him crave more.
Her long, smooth legs called to him. She was tall, and Scar’s tongue had spent many hours tasting every inch of them.
Her pants revealed white boyshort underwear.
She told him once that they were the most comfortable on days she was on her feet for hours and hours because they wouldn’t give her a wedgie.
Since Scar had never worn panties, nor did he wear underwear now, he couldn’t confirm or deny that statement.
Her chef shirt ripped open, sending flimsy buttons everywhere.
“You need to stop doing that. I keep having to pay to have the buttons reattached.” There was no censure in her voice.
Scar nipped the swell of her breast that peeked out from the top of her sports bra. Tally’s hands touched the hard ridges of his back, her sensitive fingers finding every imperfection. The physical representation of the terror and torment he’d endured.
Her bra joined her other clothing on the floor. Scar could care less if others saw him naked. He’d long ago lost any sense of modesty, but he was ruthlessly possessive over Tally’s body. He’d kill anyone who touched her, tasted her, saw her as he did now.
The holidays meant little to Scar. Tally thrived in them, handling the chaos with a precision that was admirable.
Scar loved watching her, but if he could have one Christmas wish, it would be to have her all to himself.
To be with her, just like this. Over her, inside her.
Everywhere. All Tally, with no interruptions, no obligations.
He would be satisfied to give them all MREs for Christmas Dinner and be done with it, but Scar knew that wouldn’t happen. Tally wouldn’t allow it. She loved cooking. It was her life. Moreover, she loved feeding people. So Scar would put aside his wants and desires to please her.
Always. Because she was all that mattered. The world could burn, and he’d be content so long as he had Tally.
On the far back section of the club’s property, through the collection of trees that surrounded the land behind the clubhouse, was a very small patch of land. On that land that was empty for generations now stood a house.
It was a medium-size home, but unique in several features.
For one, while there was no carpeting, each room had individual tactile differences on both the walls and the floors.
The massive kitchen was built to Tally’s specific requirements, including voice-command appliances.
There were no drapes on the windows but rather frosted glass.
No mirrors or pictures adorned the walls, though the amount of weaponry might raise some eyebrows.
The most unique part about the house, though, was that it was Scar’s. He’d never had a home before, a place that was his. Prior to moving into the apartment in the clubhouse with Tally while their home was being constructed, he hadn’t even had a bed.
Homes were a luxury that Scar had always avoided.
Homes were permanent, a symbol of residency and affiliation.
As a child, Scar hated going home. As an adult in the Army, home was the country he fought for, not a building.
And then home became a fictional place, like a fairytale.
A home, for Scar, was as real as Santa Claus.
And now, with Tally, Scar finally had a home.
Or he would if Cage got his ass moving. Construction was almost complete.
Each day Scar went down to his new home and stared Cage down until he worked faster.
Unfortunately, that also ended up causing some delays because his presence scared the piss out of Cage’s workers, resulting in broken appliances, a hammer through a wall, and a bad fall off the roof during shingling.
Cage had finally told Scar that unless he was going to pick up a drill and be helpful, he needed to stop scaring the shit out of the construction workers if he expected progress.
So Scar had started standing outside the house in the snow while glaring at the workers to encourage them to finish their goddamn work.
Tally’s arms came around him. A sense of possession filled him. Not just his possession of her, but hers of him. He might be broken, might not be the man he could have been for her, but she loved him all the more for his flaws.
Resting her chin on his shoulder, she said, “I have a surprise for you.”
Scar didn’t move, didn’t say anything. But their communication was far from one-sided. Tally’s superior senses read him as if she had, as his club brothers put it, Scar Telepathy.
“I know how you’ve been a little antsy lately.
Especially with the new house getting ready and then me being so busy with the diner and the holidays.
I also know that you’d much rather spend the holidays watching from the shadows or being able to avoid them all together.
” Fuck, she knew him well. He loved that, even mute, he wasn’t able to hide anything from her. “So I talked to Cage behind your back.”
Tally pursed her lips and blew into his ear. And he’d be damned if that air didn’t go through his ear canal and straight down into his dick, inflating it like a balloon. He’d taken her only an hour ago, yet he wanted her again. Always. He’d live inside her if she allowed.
“Cage says the house will be finished today. I asked him to let me be the one to tell you.” Surprise filled him.
Genuine surprise. Scar couldn’t remember the last time anything or anyone had surprised him more than this woman.
Slowly, Tally brushed the back of her hand down his marred cheek.
“I wanted to be the one to welcome you home.”
Slinking an arm around her waist, Scar turned and lifted her up against him.
He trekked through the snow with her legs wrapped around his waist until he entered their home.
Their tongues tangled as she buried her hands in his dark hair.
She knew him so well, yet she still didn’t understand.
This house, for all its novelties, was just brick and mortar.
It could be damaged, ruined, taken, or lost. Yes, this house was a home, but Scar’s home? It was her. It would always be her.
She could say tomorrow that she hated this house, that she wanted to tear it down and start again, or that she hated Mount Grove and wanted to move back to Atlanta. He didn’t give a fuck. His home was wherever she was.
Ignoring the startled construction workers and Cage’s loud protest, Scar carried Tally into their bedroom and kicked the door closed.
He was finally home.