Chapter 6
SIX
Speechless.
Utterly speechless.
His lips were still open, his tongue limp and useless inside his mouth as he blinked, and blinked again, desperate for his mind to make sense of what just happened.
She’d been ignoring him all day, and he knew that because Val—his Daisy—had always been the kind of person who immediately responded, showing you that you were her priority. So, when the morning came, and she still hadn’t responded to his usual goodnight text, something pinched in his chest, like the first prick of an IV needle before it slid under your skin. Then, she hadn’t responded to this good morning message, nor his two calls after that, nor the texts and calls after that.
He knew that he’d seemed a tad unhinged later in the day, but he’d grown ravenous for any word from her, even a simple middle finger emoji. If he had known where she lived, he would have headed there, pounded on her door, stripped every item of clothing from her body, and then spanked her naked ass until she creamed…then he’d slide inside her, making her beg to come—because she’d been such a bad girl, ignoring him like that. Unfortunately, he had no idea where she lived, only that she also worked from home, so he’d have no luck there, either.
Navigating through his computer, he brought up the recording of their chat—he always recorded them, because he was a fucking addict for the sound of her voice. Oftentimes, when he needed that closeness with her, when she was asleep or deep in work and couldn’t talk with him, he’d play a recording of one of their chats. Yes, her camera was always off, so he’d never seen her before now, but that didn’t matter to him when even the sound of her voice made him…alive. Energized. And yet…at peace. Calm yet riveted.
He fast forwarded through the call…until the moment her screen flashed on, revealing her for the first time.
He’d been stunned, like a hammer to the chest, when his gaze landed on her for the first time.
God…she is…beautiful….
Beautiful didn’t fucking cut it!
…not like your OnlyFans women….
No, she wasn’t; she surpassed them by a million fucking miles. He’d thought he’d fallen for her before—her intelligence, her sense of humor, her heart, her soul, her innocent sensuality, but after seeing her for the first time, seeing her expressions, the way her mouth moved as she spoke, the way her eyes pinned him in place…he was wrecked, annihilated, demolished—fucking incinerated. There was no measurement for the depths of his feelings, as though he’d plummeted a thousand miles under the sea, and was drowning in it.
And she wants to end us…because I couldn’t keep my fucking dick in my pants.
Realization collided with the longing inside him, tearing a hole through his soul. All the life and energy leaving his body at once, he sagged into his desk chair, staring, unblinkingly at the image of his Daisy on the monitor before him.
A monitor that had revealed for him a vision of perfection.
Heaven.
And Hell.
Never in his life had he experienced such an absolutely devastating blow.
She’d finally shown herself…and it was to say goodbye.
Goodbye? She ripped your fucking heart out through your asshole.
And he deserved it.
Never in his twenty-nine years of life had he felt the way he felt about her—and he’d lived one hell of a life before he’d even met her.
He’d graduated from high school and marched right into the US Marine Corps, becoming the Devil Dog he’d always wanted to be, a man he, himself, could admire. He’d served six years in Special Operations, earned an honorable discharge, then found a new brotherhood with the Unchained MC when he’d returned home. He hadn’t known he needed that until he walked into Gin Joint, a well-known hang out for the MC years ago, wanting to watch the Steeler’s game, throw back a couple of beers, and maybe tag some tail while he was at it. Ladies loved his body, his well-practiced smirk, the smolder in his eyes, and they fell right into his lap or onto his face with a single curl of his lip.
He'd patched in with the Unchained, using the skills he’d picked up in the Marines, and…somehow, fell into…online exhibitionism. It wasn’t like he had a fetish; he just enjoyed the euphoria he got when he knew people were looking at him, watching him, desiring him, and were praising him in their comments. He didn’t need to be online, giving his followers and subscribers a show; at this point, it was more about making money, remaining loyal to those who’d been loyal to him, and having something to fill his time. Being a thirst trap fulfilled a previously unacknowledged need for validation, and he wasn’t ashamed to say he thrived online, but he thrived offline, too, with his MC brothers, doing the work that meant something to the men he’d kill and die for.
After a few months of posting photos of himself in his half mask balaclava, with his tattooed chest bare, his muscles on display, and his jeans offering a teaser to the commando goodies they hid, he’d shifted into making videos. And his repertoire and followers had grown from there. Hour after hour, day after day, women—and some men—slipped into his DMs, flirting, all out begging for his cock, and even sending the typical—and always unrequested—nudes. Tits, ass, bare snatch, cocks, and assholes—his DMs were filled with more body parts than the local junkyard the mafia owned.
Honestly, at first, the DM flirtations were fun, he’d get his high from the attention, play with people who played back, but…after more than two years of playing the role of RedDevilDog, the man behind the mask, it had grown stale.
It wasn’t until he got that notification ping, January 17 th , a Thursday night at 11 PM, that things had changed. The DM was simple and yet complicated.
@xxxDaisyChainxxx: You’re Unchained.
He’d been shocked, then wary, then curious, hitting reply after only a few minutes of hesitation.
“I am,” he’d replied, “how do you know?”
“Your tattoo of the laughing skull breaking the chains,” she’d responded. “I recognize it.”
“How?”
“They’re local.”
Once again, he’d been shocked, then wary, and even more curious. She could have been any one of the thousands of followers around the world, but she knew his tatt because she was a local. What were the odds?
From there, their conversations had grown in length and depth. In the beginning, he’d kept things light and flirty, not wanting to give her any expectation of there being any offline, IRL interactions. He’d had fun, appreciating her humor, her taste in music, movies—she loved anything horror by Blumhouse and A24—and food. She was real. Honest. Pure. And over the course of months, he’d grown to need her, depend on her, crave her. Every moment spent speaking with her, thinking about her, drove his feelings deeper, drilling down to parts of himself he never thought existed. He knew he was capable of feeling deeply, he just never expected it to happen with a woman he’d never seen or spoken to at that point.
The night he’d first heard the husky velvet of her voice, he’d jacked off three times, each time he’d fantasized about that smoky voice moaning his name in pleasure, begging for his cock, to suck it, lick it, ride it. He’d never come so fast or so hard in his life.
That was the night he’d realize that, with her, things were different.
And he’d wanted more.
But he’d slaughtered any chance of that now, hadn’t he?
His gaze flicked to the image on his monitor once more, taking in the expression on her face, the devastation, the pain, the brilliant rage. Even in her blistering anger, she was heartstoppingly beautiful.
“Valentina….” His throat felt raw, bleeding, as he spoke her name.
For the first time…he’d seen her, looked upon her face, peered into the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. Iridescent skin that begged for his breathless kisses, plump, pink lips that defied reality or fantasy, exotic eyes with an upward tilt, cheeks that were flushed deep red with emotion, a lush body, big, unbound breasts, thick arms that would wrap around him perfectly as she rode behind him on his bike. His woman. His old lady. His every-fucking-thing.
She was lavish, luscious perfection…but it was her eyes that had stolen his soul.
Deep brown with flecks of green and gold around the pupil, like a pile of autumn leaves on the forest floor, soft, breathtaking, and bewitching. He’d never seen eyes quite as stunning as hers, as they glittered with emotion so stark, violent, and scorching, he’d felt obliterated on the spot.
And they were filled with tears.
And pain…so much fucking pain.
His breath left his body in an explosion, his guts churning, his skin growing too tight for his bones, his eyes blurring—what had he done?
“Oh, fuck…,” he breathed raggedly, his voice a torn rasp, as the totality of what he’d done finally landed on him, the weight so crushing he couldn’t drag air into his burning lungs. “Oh, fuck….”
I wanted to trust you, to believe you were loyal, committed, willing to wait…. Her words echoed in his head, bashing against his thoughts, then clattering down to slam against his heart.
Holy fuck, what the hell had he done ? His chest hollowed out as his heart disintegrated at the truth of what he’d lost.
He could remember that conversation, the one where he’d made that promise. They’d been talking, the emotions deeper than ever before, and she’d admitted, after a long, speaking silence, that she’d wanted more with him…and he’d told her he wanted the same, to be with her, offline, in real life. To shed the mentality of the perpetual bachelor to which he’d clung for twenty-nine years. For the first time, he wanted more from a woman than just sex; he wanted it all. With Valentina. When they’d both admitted to wanting more, they both knew what that meant, that she’d have to finally come out from behind her screen so they could be together, face-to-face. It had been a tremendous moment, one that held so much potential, so much promise. More than anything in his life, he wanted to see her. To peer into the eyes of the woman who owned him heart and soul, but…she was shy—no, not shy, self-conscious . He knew she was scarred from an accident when she was twelve, knew that she had body image issues about her weight and her looks, but he didn’t give a shit about any of that, he just wanted her. To be with her. He’d fallen for her, for her heart and her soul and her laugh and her wit and her brilliance. If he could beg God for a woman who matched him perfectly, the Almighty would fashion the clouds over Valentina into a big arrow. She was meant for him, to be his. He’d told her that, over and over again, doing what he could to help lift her, encourage her, but she held fast to her fear.
During that conversation that night, forty-nine days ago now, she’d pushed back on meeting him, asking for time. Knowing she needed it, and that he had no desire to commit to any other woman, he promised to give her that time, to wait for her, until she finally gathered the strength to meet him.
…your definition of wait is drastically different from mine….
Well, if that wasn’t the fucking truth.
God, how could he have been so goddamn arrogant? Yes, when he’d promised to wait, to him, it meant doing what he usually did, keep his emotions out of the bedroom. That the sex with whoever he brought home meant nothing because, honestly, when he fucked those other women, it really did mean nothing to him other than a quick, easy release. There were no emotions involved, no strings, no desire for commitment to those women. He kept his heart and his head out of it, allowing his body, his primal need to spill his seed, to have control. To him, his heart only wanted one woman…the woman who’d effectively shoved her hand into his chest, and ripped his heart out.
Yeah, but you ripped hers out first, you motherfucking piece of shit!
Waiting, to her, his Daisy, meant something wholly different:
… a show of loyalty or commitment, to put off your own desires to show you can be trusted, to remain faithful, to make an effort to delay personal gratification….
And he’d done none of that. She was right, he had fucked some random three days after he’d made that promise, but, in his defense, he honestly never thought of it as being disloyal. To him, a man who’d been raised by a single father who saw nothing wrong with playing the field, sex was a transaction, empty, fleeting, no connection other than dick in pussy, so it never occurred to him that Valentina would consider it…deceitful.
You should have known!
And, somewhere, deep down, he had; that nagging guilt that slithered inside him every time he was inside another woman, should have been a massive red flag that something wasn’t right. He’d found fleeting pleasure with those women, but once he’d nutted, that niggling feeling of wrongness returned, stealing every drop of satisfaction.
So why did he keep doing it?
He had no fucking idea.
Shaking his head, he shot to his feet, rage, anguish, fear, and that sickening guilt pummeling him. He paced, his legs pulsing with unspent maniacal energy, something that couldn’t be burned off, but kept pumping through him, cascading through sinew and bone and blood until his chest pounded with it. He sucked in rapid breaths, his chest expanding and deflating too quick to ever get enough air.
He was suffocating, drowning, the guilt and despair, a living river crashing over him.
No more talking. No more chats or texts or calls—this is done….
She wanted to end them, to sever any chance at everything he’d ever wanted.
Fuck that!
He’d made a mistake, yes, a huge fucking mistake, but it wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t make it right.
…once you actually see me, once the camera is on, once you actually know me, the real me….
I’m not worth it….
Striding to the wall, that hideous energy zipping through him, he struck out, beating his fist against the wall, leaving craters where his hits landed. Over and over and over, until his knuckles here split, bloody, and throbbing.
The pain, welcome and purifying, shot from his hand and into his frenetic mind.
Valentina was hurting, he’d caused that, and he could make it right. But she’d cut him off, and he knew she was way fucking better at hiding her tracks online than he was, and that meant finding her when she didn’t want to be found would be impossible.
“Shit,” he spat, “this cannot fucking be over!”
A blast of realization hit him so hard he literally reeled, his back hitting the wall behind him.
The hair ties.
She knew about the hair ties, that every single one symbolized a woman he’d brought home to fuck.
She’d called them fuck tokens .
How? He’d only ever told Cluster and Tiburon—a patch over from Bone Dogz—about that, just two nights ago at Cool Hands….
Shit! She was there? She had to have been there, and close enough to hear him talk about the hair ties. Now that he thought about it, that was also the night she’d started to ghost him, not replying to his goodnight text as she usually would have.
Motherfucking goddamn shit!
His heart striking his ribs, hard and fast, he stumbled over to the bed and sat on it, his weight pressing down, the mattress giving beneath him. A mattress he was going to fucking burn. He planted his elbows into his knees and cradled his head in his hands. Shit. She’d been there that night at Cool Hands…and he’d missed her, probably looked right past her, walked right by her.
But why was she there? Had she’d known he would be there—it would have been a good guess, since she knew about the Unchained and their businesses. It wouldn’t have been too big a stretch to assume that he’d be there on a Friday night. And she’d been right.
Which meant….
She’d come to him. Finally.
Maybe she’d finally decided to reveal herself.
And, damn, if he hadn’t fucked that up. She’d probably come, expecting to approach him, admit who she was, and then melt into his embrace as he pulled her into his arms where she belonged. She’d expected a warm, happy welcome from him, as he’d told her to expect.
However, she hadn’t expected him to reveal his gluttony to her, and for him to walk out with the blonde, effectively spitting in her face, and stomping on all his promises to her. Val had been there, and had seen it, he was sure of that now.
So what the fuck was he supposed to do about it?
His mind tumbled, end over end, so loudly, he almost missed the ring of his phone. His heart racing, hoping it was Val, he picked it up and peered at the screen.
Unknown.
So not Val, and not one of his brothers, because they were all saved into his contacts.
It was the fourth time that week he’d gotten a call from an unknown number, and he knew that, if he really gave a shit, he could find out who it was; cell service providers had laughable cyber security.
Grunting a curse, he hit DECLINE and tossed his phone behind him onto the bed he would be burning in the morning.
Wait…if Val was there that night…. Cool Hands had a state-of-the-art security system, including a broad view camera surveillance system. As the tech master of the Unchained, he had access to the security systems in all their businesses, which meant he could easily get the recording from that night. Now that he knew what she looked like—his living wet dream—he could spot her in the footage easily enough. He could find her, then he could…what? If she drove there, maybe the camera picked up her license plate or even the make and model of her car. That would be the first step to finding her.
And once he did, he was going to edge her for hours— delicious orgasm denial — for thinking she could end them.
They would never be over.
Standing, he hurried to his desk, quickly accessing the server housing the MCs combined security assets. In mere moments, he would have the means to find his woman.
Smirking, he set to work, knowing he would have her soon, and once he was finally face to face with his Daisy, his every waking desire, he would never let her go. He’d chain her to the bed. He’d hold her captive against the wall with his fat cock and his hand around her throat. He’d fill her so full of his thick, milky cum she’d be marked irrevocably. His. Only his. Forever.
Flashes of her image from the screen right before she cut him off suffused his mind, flooding his system with need and his cock with blood.
He needed more of her. Now!
Moving from the surveillance system, back to the screen shot of Val from their chat, he stared, devouring every single detail of her face. From her glimmering autumn eyes to her round, flushed cheeks, to those wide, plump pink lips, begging for his teeth….she was everything he’d ever hungered for.
Soon….
His voice, thick and heavy with the depths of his determination and the heat of his desire, he growled, “I crave you, my love; every curve, every luscious, exquisite inch on you is perfection. So, you can hide…you can run, but no matter how far or fast you go, I will find you. And when I do, I will claim all your screams of pleasure as mine. ”