6. Blade
Chapter 6
Blade
The fuck?!
Instead of celebrating her nineteenth birthday, she was beaten, tossed out of the house, and forced to sleep in her car. The knowledge burns my gut like acid, fueling the rage I've barely contained since finding her.
She's beautiful even in sleep, especially in sleep—when the wariness leaves her face and she looks peaceful. Her golden hair spills across my pillow, her lips slightly parted.
I shift uncomfortably in the leather chair where I've spent the night. My body aches from the awkward position, but I don't regret it. I'd spend a thousand nights upright if it’s next to her.
She stirs, eyelids fluttering open. For a moment, confusion clouds her face, then recognition dawns, followed by a smile so sweet it makes my chest ache.
"Good morning," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.
"Morning, princess." The endearment slips out again naturally. "How do you feel?"
She stretches cautiously, wincing as her movement pulls at her bruised ribs. "Sore, but good.”
I cross to the bed, perching on the edge to check her injuries. The bruise around her eye has darkened overnight, a purple-black stain on her fair skin. Her split lip looks slightly better, but I know from experience that her ribs will take a while to heal properly.
"You should've taken the bed," she says, watching me roll my shoulder to work out a kink. "I would've been fine on the chair."
"I've slept worse places," I dismiss her concern.
She sits up, and the neckline of my t-shirt slips off one shoulder. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her collarbone, the delicate hollow at the base of her throat. I force my gaze away, standing abruptly.
"Hungry?" I ask, my voice rougher than intended.
She nods, sliding out of bed. The shorts hang low on her hips despite the drawstring pulled tight.
"Bathroom's all yours," I tell her, moving to the door. “When you’re finished, we’ll go down to breakfast. I’ll be waiting outside when you're ready."
In the hallway, I lean against the wall, dragging a hand down my face. This is torture—having her so close, wanting her so badly, but knowing she needs time to adjust. The last thing I wan too to scare her by coming on too strong.
When she emerges, hair combed and face washed, she looks…young. And vulnerable. But there's a new light in her eyes that wasn't there yesterday—a tiny spark that I want to feed until it grows.
"Ready?" I ask, offering my hand without thinking.
She takes it, her small palm fitting perfectly into mine, and I tighten my grip slightly, irrationally afraid she might slip away.
The main area of the clubhouse is unusually quiet as we approach. I can hear low murmurs and the occasional clink of dishes from the kitchen. Sophie walks close beside me, not quite touching but near enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her body.
When we enter the kitchen?—
"SURPRISE!" a chorus of voices shouts, making her jump. I place a steadying hand at the small of her back.
The kitchen is decorated with hastily hung streamers and a banner that reads "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" in uneven letters. Angel stands beside a slightly lopsided cake with nineteen candles, beaming. Ghost, Cipher, Hawk, Saint, and several other brothers cluster around the table, looking awkward but sincere in their celebration.
Sophie's eyes are like saucers, her hand is over her mouth, and suddenly I’m second guessing myself. Did I do the right thing here? Damn, I probably should have let her settle in more before springing something like this on her.
“You said yesterday was your birthday," I explain softly. "Thought you deserved a proper celebration."
All I had to do was spread the word last night while she slept and my brothers stepped up.
Tears fill her eyes, and I panic. I fucked up.
But then a smile breaks across her face like sunrise, radiant and genuine.
"I can't believe you did this," she whispers, voice thick with emotion.
Angel steps forward, balancing the cake. "Make a wish an blow out your candles.”
Sophie looks at me, then at the assembled group of rough men who've gathered to celebrate a girl they don’t even know. Something passes over her eyes—gratitude, wonder, I’m not quite sure exactly.
She closes her eyes briefly, then blows out the candle. The brothers cheer, their gruff voices filling the kitchen with unusual warmth.
"I didn't have time to get you a real present," Angel apologizes, setting the cake down. "But I thought maybe we could go shopping together? Get you some clothes that actually fit?"
"I got this for you.” Hawk pulls a small stuffed animal—a wolf—from behind his back. "Saw it at the gas station this morning. Reminds me of Blade,” he continues in baby-talk, “wiff his cute wittle-bitty nosey-wosey.” He grins, dodging my half-hearted right hook.
Sophie takes the toy with reverence, as if it's made of gold rather than cheap polyester fiberfill. "Thank you," she says, hugging it to her chest.
One by one, the brothers offer makeshift gifts or promises for later—Saint pledges to teach her to play pool, Cipher gifts her a used laptop, one of his old ones. Ghost offers to buy her a motorcycle helmet that she can pick out herself when she goes shopping with Angel.
"I got you this," Rash, the prospect, says almost shyly, handing her a small paper bag. Inside is a keychain with a miniature pink pocket knife. "Since you're with Blade.” He jerks his thumb toward me.
Sophie laughs—a genuine, bright sound that makes every man in the room stand a little straighter.
Each gift, no matter how small, brings fresh tears to Sophie's eyes and an added radiance to her smile. It's clear that the simple act of being acknowledged, of being celebrated, is overwhelming to her.
“I have yet to give you my gift." I tell her quietly while the others busy themselves cutting cake. "For your birthday, I’ll give you anything you want. No limit when it comes to price. Name it, and it's yours." If she wants a new Mustang convertible, a trip to Paris, a cruise to the Caribbean, I don’t care. I’ll find a way to get it for her.
She looks up at me, joy shining in her pretty green eyes. "Can I think about it?"
"Of course.” There’s a hint of mischief in her eyes that makes my blood heat.
We spend the next couple hours in the clubhouse, Sophie at the center of attention despite her initial shyness. She fits in surprisingly well among the brothers, her quiet grace a contrast to their rough edges. The cake is devoured quickly—chocolate with vanilla frosting, apparently Angel's first attempt at baking—and the conversation flows easier than I expected.
Throughout the morning, I notice a change in her. She grows bolder, more comfortable—not just with the club, but with me. She seeks me out, finds reasons to touch me—a brush of fingers when passing a coffee mug, her shoulder leaning against mine when we sit together, her hand on my arm when she laughs at something Saint says.
Each touch is innocent, but it's driving me fucking insane. I'm a ball of tension, torn between raging desire and the need to protect her—even from myself. My thoughts keep straying to what she'd look like spread across my bed, naked and wanting. How her skin would taste, how she'd sound when she comes apart under my hands.
When Hawk offers to show her how to play darts, standing too close behind her to demonstrate the proper throw, I nearly put him through a goddamn wall. Something must show on my face, because Hawk steps back quickly, hands raised in surrender.
"Easy, VP," he mutters. "Just being friendly to the birthday girl.”
I don't reply, but I glue myself to her for the remainder of the game, mean-mugging any fucker who gets too close.
Sophie doesn't seem to mind. In fact, several times she leans into me, her body fitting against mine like she was made for me.
As the morning winds down and the brothers drift off to various activities—some to the garage to work on bikes, others to the bar for serious drinking—I find myself watching at Sophie, just watching as though I can’t believe she’s real.
“You’re staring,” she grins.
Busted.
“Yeah.”
I’m not sure how I expected her to react, but the dazzling smile that spreads across her face makes me feel like a million dollars. I lean down to speak directly into her ear, my voice low enough that only she can hear, “You still need to decide on your birthday gift from me. Anything you want."
She pauses, taking a deep breath. "I've been thinking about that.”
She blushes prettily, and there's that hint of mischief again, a spark in those sea-green eyes that makes my dick turn to granite.
“Did you mean it when you said anything ?" she whispers back.
"Anything," I confirm, fighting the urge to taste those soft lips.
"I want you ," she says simply.
For a moment, I'm sure I've misheard her. Or maybe I’m just misinterpreting. “Say again?”
She places her palms on my chest and looks up at me with those gorgeous green eyes. "I want you, Blade. Not as a protector or a guardian or whatever you think you are. I want you as a man. I want you to be my first , to take my virginity.”
Jesus fuck. My heart hammers against my ribs, raw desire coursing through me like wildfire.
"Sophie," I begin, my voice hoarse. "You don't know what you're asking."
"I know enough.” Her fingers trace the line of my jaw, feather-light.
I catch her wrist, torn between pulling her closer and pushing her away. "You're nineteen."
"And?" she challenges, a flash of fire in her eyes. "I'm old enough to know what I want. Old enough to choose." She steps even closer, between my spread knees. "Unless you don't want me."
The suggestion is so absurd I nearly laugh. "Want you? Christ, princess, I've wanted you since I first saw you in that alley. But you're..." I struggle to find the right words. "You're innocent. Pure."
"I've been locked away for years," she says softly. "Treated like I don't deserve to have a life. And now I'm free." Her hand comes up to touch my face again. “Now I get to make choices. This is my first real choice in so long. Please let me have it. You. Let me have you.”
Something breaks inside me at her words. The last thread of my restraint snaps.
I pull her down onto my lap, one hand tangling in her hair as I claim her mouth with mine. I'm careful of her split lip, but there's nothing gentle about the hunger behind the kiss.
She responds with surprising passion, her arms winding around my neck, her body pressing eagerly against mine. She's inexperienced, her movements clumsy, but her enthusiasm more than makes up for it.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, I search her face for any sign of doubt or fear. I find none—only desire and determination.
"Are you sure?" I give her one last chance to change her mind.
"I'm sure," she whispers, pressing a small kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I’m positive."
With a groan, I stand, lifting her with me. She wraps her slender legs around my waist instinctively, her body pressed flush against mine. I carry her toward the stairs, every brother still in the room watches with knowing smirks.
Good. Let them look.
Let them see exactly who she belongs to.