Chapter Ten
MALICE
Ican’t stop watching her. I should be focusing on finding Garrett, but all my focus has turned to Monroe. Sweet, kind, beautiful Monroe. My thirst for blood and vengeance has been replaced by an all-consuming obsession.
I watch her every moment she’s in that room, and one thing I’m positive of? She feels me. She knows I’m there. I can tell by the way her posture changes, the way she’s deliberate in every movement, like she’s putting on a show just for me.
She should be running scared, telling old Georgie, or refusing to go into that room. But not my woman. She’s embracing the thrill and fear of it all, and I wonder if she could embrace my darkness, too.
Instead of counting to keep myself tethered to reality, I watch.
She calms the raging storm inside me. The voices in my head.
The rage. The malice. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to destroy; I just want to consume.
She’s infected me like the most potent drug, filled my veins with a chemical that only thrives for her.
My brothers have noticed my distraction and rapid change in focus, and while I’d like to keep Monroe my secret, I need to tell them. We’re all sitting in the common room together, discussing the final ride for tomorrow, and now seems like as good a time as any.
“I found her,” I announce. All eyes go to me, their words frozen.
“Garrett had a dick, I’m pretty sure, Mal.”
“No, not Rolo’s murderer. I found her. My queen.”
“You what?”
“I. Found. My. Queen,” I repeat slowly for Chaos, pissing him off.
“I heard that part, dickhead. What do you mean you found her?”
“She just appeared. Like someone sent her to me. She’s angelic like that.”
“And you’re the devil’s son. That tracks,” Sin chuckles.
“Does she feel the same way?” Wrath asks.
“She doesn’t know I feel this way. We’ve only met once. I’ve been . . . watching her.”
Sin rubs the thick hair of his beard, shaking his head. “Fuck, Mal. Okay, buddy, you can’t stalk people. We’ve talked about this.” Well, had I stalked Rolo, he’d still be alive.
“It’s not stalking. Not really. It’s just watching. From a distance.” And through the camera I set up in one of the rooms at her work. But they don’t need to know that.
“Mal, that’s literally the definition of stalking.”
“Is it, though? Is it?”
“Yes!” they all yell in unison.
“Rude. There’s no need to shout, I’m sitting right here. Plus, I think she likes that I watch her.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I can tell. How’d you know Saige really wanted you even though she kept making your nose bleed?
” I say, giving Chaos a pointed look. “Or how Bristol did when she was engaged to that assface? Or you, you big fucker who’s never around anymore,” I say, pointing my finger at Rogue.
“How’d you know Kinsey was into you when she was your best friend’s sister and completely off-limits? ”
“Not his best friend’s sister,” Chaos says through gritted teeth.
“Ohh, someone’s jealous!” I squeal.
“Fuck off, Malice, I don’t get jealous. But we get your point. You found your person.”
“My queen,” I correct.
“What do you need from us?”
“Well, I’ve had more sex than most of you combined, but never dated anyone. I can make her come until she’s in subspace, but I don’t know shit about the rest. How do I woo her like you wooed your queens?”
“First of all, you gotta stop calling them our queens,” Chaos says matter-of-factly. He’s wrong.
“You’re wrong, that’s exactly what they are,” Sin interjects, speaking my thoughts out loud. I give Chaos a look, arching my brow.
“How do I make her fall in love with me?”
My brothers share a look I can’t quite discern.
My eyes pinch together, a sick feeling churning in my gut.
The sperm donor and incubator didn’t love me.
No one I’ve ever been with sexually has loved me.
I’ve never had a girlfriend or boyfriend.
Why would Monroe love me? I don’t like this feeling, the unease, the insecurity creeping its way in.
It makes me want to claw out of my own skin.
I crack my neck from side to side and wipe my clammy hands on the ripped surface of my jeans.
I want to pull out my phone and look at Monroe’s face, but I can’t do that here. So, I look down at the bar top, counting the grains in the wood, tapping my middle finger against my leg.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
“No one’s ever loved me before,” I whisper under my breath, feeling like shit, trying to hold back the feelings I don’t want to face.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Until a hard punch hits my shoulder, followed by a smack to the back of my skull. I wince, rubbing the back of my head and looking up to find four pissed-off bikers, their eyes narrowed at me.
“We love you, you idiot,” Wrath says with conviction that makes my heart squeeze.
“We’re a family here, Mal, and it’s not just because of the oath. We’re all misfits. Born, abused, and forgotten by the cruelness of the world, but we found our home here, our family, here,” Chaos says as he presses his pointer finger into the bar top.
“Don’t you dare think we don’t love you,” Sin adds, making me blush.
I feel like the Grinch, my heart swelling and doubling in size.
I know I have my home here, but I guess it was easy to feel like our little fucked-up family of bandits took care of each other out of obligation to our club. Feels good to hear otherwise.
“They like flowers,” Wrath says, pulling a long drag of his joint. “Women.”
Rogue nods, running his hand through his long hair. “And honesty.”
“Since you’ve got the fucking part down, make sure you’re communicating with her, talking. Hell, even while you’re having sex, check in with her, make sure everything you’re doing is okay.”
“They also like to feel supported and encouraged,” Chaos adds, Sin shaking his head in agreement.
“Just be yourself, buddy, you’re a cool guy, and your heart may be black, but it still beats. If Chaos can get someone to fall in love with him, I don’t think you’re gonna have issues,” Sin says, ducking from the punch that comes from Chaos.
Just be myself. Be honest. Check in. And flowers. I can do that.
Later that night, I head into town, stopping by a field of wildflowers and looking at the different types with the flashlight on my phone.
Wild lupines grow everywhere you look, the scent making me sneeze several times.
Not those ones, then. I keep walking, passing by sunflowers and some pink things, until I find a pretty white daisy that reminds me of the ones on her dress the day I met her.
Plucking it from the ground, I smile as I admire it.
A pretty daisy for my pretty pixie girl.
Following the same path I previously took, I stick to the darkened alleys and head toward the mortuary. Once again, it’s easy to break in. It seems no one has noticed the lock is broken on this door now, either, which is also a concern. Not that I’ll let anything happen to her.
Once I’m inside, I waste no time going right to the sterile stainless-steel room, leaving the daisy on the long table that sits in the center, directly in line with the camera. I don’t want to miss her reaction.
I hope she loves it.
Instead of going right home, I continue my walk, navigating to 7 Wildflower Lane easily, and standing outside of the house that holds the woman who consumes my every thought, my every breath. Who knew love would be so consuming? It’s the best feeling I’ve ever felt.
I may not deserve her, but I’m going to take her anyway.
Hours later, I’m lying in bed as the sun rises, peeking from behind the overcast clouds. The weather is appropriate for the day, as in just a few hours, our entire club will be taking the last ride for Rolo’s funeral procession.
I flick my tongue piercing between my teeth and play with it while I watch the empty space of the white tiled room, waiting for Monroe to appear.
The daisy has wilted slightly since I plucked it from where it was thriving in the ground, and if that isn’t a metaphor for me in general, I don’t know what is. I killed it. It’s what I do.
My feet rub together back and forth, my fingers trailing up and down my bare chest as I try to quiet the energy rising in my veins, my blood simmering just below the surface. Then she walks in, and everything is silenced.
Monroe freezes in the doorway of the room, her eyes glued to the long green stem and the white petals of the daisy. Her fingers move to rest flat against her stomach like she’s trying to calm the feelings beneath her skin. Me, too, pixie.
I sit up straighter in my bed, my fingers trailing across the small version of her on my screen. Her hair is half-up, half-down today, the top half pulled up high and giving an unobstructed view of her pretty, freckled face.
Her lips fall open ever so slightly, and I so badly want to wipe my thumb across them before sticking it inside. I bet she’d respond right away.
She looks like a goddess of the underworld in an all-black dress with lace sleeves. It’s the darkest thing I’ve seen her in yet, and while part of me misses the pinks, yellows, and baby blues, this reminds me of a Gothic queen.
My heart pounds against my rib cage, desperate and feral, wanting to claim what’s ours.
She walks up to the table, picking up the flower and examining it, spinning it around in her fingers before lifting it to her nose and inhaling. A faint smile toys at the corner of her lips, which makes me grin like a fool. I did that. I made this perfect, gorgeous creature smile.
Me. A harbinger of evil and death. I did something good.
I’ve never felt real pride before, but this is it. I want to make her smile every day.