Chapter three #2
“Saban.” His voice does something to me deep down low in my belly. Noticing as I turn toward him that he’s changed into joggers and a t-shirt.
His arm is up as waiting for me to tuck myself into the crook of his muscular arm. I can’t deny myself the comfort he’s offering.
“You good?” A question he’s asked many times before, but this time there’s more on the back end — an anticipation of accusations because of his absence.
I’ve never done well when he’s gone on missions for the MC or legitimate business for Cruz Construction and Logistics. He probably thinks his being away almost every night over the past few weeks brought this on. It did, but that doesn’t make it his fault.
“Yep,” I say into his chest, not daring to look into the dark umber of his gaze. Scared of what I may see there. Scared of what I want.
“What brought this on?” He’s actually going to the place that hangs bruised and raw between us. I shouldn’t be surprised, no matter what face he’s wearing — Hadrián or Snake — he doesn’t let things linger. He’s a rip the bandage off kind of motherfucker if there ever was one.
“Just haven’t been keeping up with my exercises.” I force nonchalance into my voice. “It won’t happen again. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“So we’re doing that bullshit again?” His sigh is long-suffering and forlorn. “I already told you—”
“I messed things up between us. That’s why you stayed away.
” Misery leaks into every word, and still — I would kiss him again.
I haven’t apologized for it because I don’t regret it.
I won’t lie to make things right. Just as I lay here with my sugarcake humming while I inhale the scent of his fresh clean scent.
I could lie here with him for an eternity. I don’t care.
A heavy hand covers mine. I didn’t even realize was nervously plucking at his shirt.
“You know why that can never be, right? Look at how triggered you are. Those nightmares would only get worse. You’d end up hating me.
” His voice covers me like a kiss. He reaches over, turning off the main light.
Immediately the fairy lights begin to glow, I’ve never been able to sleep in complete darkness since he rescued me from the forest.
“Let’s get some sleep.” The words float around us. Both of us are cognizant I never respond to his plea. He doesn’t press. I don’t answer because I know down to my marrow he won’t be my ruin but my salvation.
Only he can’t see that yet. I care too much about him and don’t want to risk what we have, pushing him past what his conscience requires of him to press him for more.
So we sleep with him holding me safely in his arms like he’s done from the start.
A couple of days later…
Angel tugs Easy behind him up onto the dais where his biker throne sits. She doesn’t have her own chair, but everyone knows he commissioned one from Rocco, our resident woodcraft artisan.
He pulls her onto his broad thighs.
Snake calls, “Order.” Without a beat, the business of the club is underway.
“Snake doesn’t want you here after the club meeting unless you have some tattoos to do,” Ellie tells me.
“Since when have you become the emissary between us? He saw me just this morning.” I tug my bag higher on my shoulder. I very well could have some tattoos, which gets me even closer to the goal I have to own my own tattoo shop.
The list of things I need in order to make it a success is ever-growing.
Attending the Shelby-Love Small Business Administration meeting at the library was eye-opening.
Getting added insurance and riders for having a business like mine, along with the health department rules and regulations, is daunting, but I’m determined.
“Since whatever happened between y’all happened and he’s lost his damn mind.” She winks at me knowingly. Once I became an adult, she’s treated me like one. She’s just as protective of me as Angel and her brother, but unlike Snake, she’s not unhinged.
“Ahem. Well, I have some tats to do. I’ll leave when I’m done.” She nods, accepting the lie. I don’t have any appointments. I never do. People just get artwork on the fly or after they’ve seen my work. I’m basically a mobile artist right now.
Usually, I make a little corner for myself, sterilize it, and get to work. Never had a problem, don’t expect one tonight.
My eyes pop up when Angel says, “Puto.” Everyone knows he’s been on edge since Easy didn’t come back as expected a few weeks ago. I think we all breathed a sigh of relief when she popped back up at the market festival.
The guy stammers, then things settle back into the norm, except el Presidente’s preoccupied with his new bride.
The crowd seems hypnotized again by the very public claim he’s making this time. His hand rides up her thigh in a very blatant caress. Ellie and I both watch and then choke out a gasp when he brings his obviously wet fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.
“Ohhhh, that nasty motherfucker.” She gasps, and we both giggle scandalized at his actions.
“That was hot as fuck.” Awe of them makes my words husky.
“You’re not the only one thinking that. Trust.” Nudging me to look to the opposite side of the room, I see a stone-faced Snake looking at me.
Ducking my head, I turn away. I’m so not going there with him. The last time marked me so viscerally I’m still not over it.
“Umhm.” Ellie scoffs softly. “I don’t know who’s more gone — Angel or my baby brother.” Screwing me a shrewd look, she adds, “Be careful, little one.”
Swallowing back the retort at her almost sorrowful look, I grab my bag. Rocco’s nominating Padre to be patched in, and that is definitely an ink-worthy event.
Sitting down at the table in a corner far away from Snake’s hard stare, I sketch out a design for Padre. It has his road name above a cross spearing through a broken skull with a rosary spilling from its mouth.
I remember him telling me he had trained to become a priest before circumstances had forced him to come over here.
No one ever goes into detail about why they had to leave their homeland.
It’s often too traumatic to want to relive, even in words.
One thing about el Diablo — your before doesn’t matter.
Once you come here and prove yourself, you’re welcomed into the fold.
The family I have found among these rough hewed bikers could only be surpassed by the one I lost.
Snake told me to hold on to memories of my parents. I try, I really do, but the more time passes, the harder it is. El Diablo are my people now.
“Aye,” Pedro, one of Rudy’s guys, towers over me.
“Aye,” glancing up at him for a moment in brief acknowledgment, I finish the design before giving him my full attention. “What can I do for you?”
“What’re you doing after this?” He’s all charm.
Recently divorced last year, he sent more than one of the sweet butts over to get my number.
He’s made it clear that his intentions are good.
Not bad to look at, but he’s at least forty or forty-two.
Rumor is he likes them young until they aren’t anymore, then, like his last wife, he leaves them for someone younger.
He’s a player. Many girls have been warned off him, but charm wins out.
“Probably reading a romantasy.” I shrug and then laugh at the confusion filtering across his face.
“What’s that?” His brow puckers. I want to tell him so badly that if he wants to snag someone younger, he needs to know what we are into these days.
“It’s romance and fantasy together in a book.
” Looking at him, I see the appeal some girls may see.
I mean, if I were into a good time and not a long time, I wouldn’t hesitate.
He’s not worried about me being jailbait — not at all.
The devilish cleft in his chin is a distraction.
Not sure why the insidious thought creeps in at this moment.
I scan the crowd briefly. Snake is nowhere to be seen.
Maybe he left with one of his many admirers, I muse trying not to let hurt sting my heart.
We are what we are. My man is something he will never be.
“What’s going on here?” Another guy sidles over. It’s the same guy who made the rude comment earlier, Hector.
“Thinking of getting a tat. Wassup?” Pedro seems to swell in the face of the newcomer encroaching on his hard work. There is no chill on his face. Arms crossed, he steps in front of me, blocking the rider’s view.
Hector has an awful rep in the club. Several women have come back from dates with him bruised in the worst way.
I don’t know why he feels so emboldened all of a sudden. Even if Angel, who I now realize must have left with Ezekiel-Jane and his second, are not present. Stepping to anyone deemed untouchable and protected by the el patron is a death sentence.
“So, you’re claiming Snake’s girl?” Hector snarls, ducking around to look at me with a lascivious smirk, I call dibs next.
We all see how he’s been running through bitches lately.
Seems like your time is up, sweetheart.” A mean, nasty chuckle erupts from him for all of five seconds before Pedro plants him a facer.
“Motherfucker —” he roars. “Over a piece of ass ran through by Angel’s fuckboy?” he shouts. “She ain’t nothing.” Hate-filled eyes shoot daggers at me as he whips out a blade, charging so hard at Pedro, who planted in front of me.
Hector barrels into him so fast I barely have time to get out of the way before they crash into the table.
Heavy bodies smash into the wood and the wall. Sturdy legs splinter. One catches me in the thigh, making me stumble back onto the floor.
Sprawled beside them, I can’t help but be impressed when Pedro starts wailing on Hector’s ravaged face.
I know it’s going to end in death. A split second before it happens, I see a flash right before Hector buries a knife into Pedro’s armpit.
Blood pours from the wound. It’s a killing wound.
His body slumps in seconds. Shoving the rider off, he turns his vicious gaze to me.
“I’m claiming you, bi—”
Three shots ring out. Hector’s brain-matter paints the wall behind me.
Silence drops around the clubhouse like a veil. The heavy thud of boots pounds coming toward me until gleaming biker boots come into my line of sight. They pivot, and then several more shots make Hector’s dead body jerk.
“H-he didn’t touch her Snake.” Someone from Rudy’s crew complains. “He was going to claim her, since you don’t want her no more.”
“I guess I answered that question, no?” Snake asks, meeting every eye in the room at large. Lifting my face, I regard the dark menace emanating from every pore of his tension-filled body.
A strong, calloused hand reaches down to me. “Saban, come.”