Chapter Four
Grace
The clubhouse was the quietest I had ever seen it. Everyone was here, even Ryder and Ellie and the kids. Ace had tried to force Lily to come in, but she said she’d prefer to stay in Boulder with her boyfriend.
I didn’t know what Lily was doing with Bryce Caswell; he was so far from her type. At first, I thought she was trying to make Ben jealous, hoping he would come to his senses and pull his head out of his ass.
So far that hadn’t worked.
Most of these men had their heads up their asses. I watched Shotgun as he sat at a table staring at Avery, Ellie’s nanny. Ryder had threatened him with bodily harm if he went near her.
Then of course there was King.
The biggest ass there was.
I tried not to be angry with him. I knew he was trying to protect me, but I didn’t want his fucking protection. I wanted his love. Was that too much to fucking ask for? For the man I was in love with to love me back?
I thought about Aspen, and how Banshee had said fuck you to her father. Sure, it was the opposite—Kronos had wanted him to marry Aspen—but the sentiment was still there.
I wanted King to say fuck you to my father and take what he wanted. But the man was stubborn. And he was a fool. Steele didn’t care about me. He never had. He didn’t even know who I was. He’d stood in this clubhouse on more than one occasion and looked me in the eye and said nothing.
Sometimes I wondered if he’d recognized me. He would get a look in his eye, like he was trying to place me. It didn’t surprise me, seeing as I looked just like my mother. But he never said a word.
He didn’t fucking care.
“Hey, beautiful, what are you doing behind the bar?” Romeo asked as he sat down.
I shrugged. “With Johnny, Archie and Jonah up at the hospital watching over Keys and Tank, Joey’s the only prospect here. Figured there were other things he could be helping with.”
“That’s why you’ll make a great first lady.”
I scoffed. “You know that will never happen, Rome. What about you? When are you gonna settle down and claim a woman?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Already got one.” He smiled his panty-melting smile. There wasn’t a woman on Earth who could resist that smile.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I lowered my voice. “Please tell me you did not claim a club girl.”
“Fuck no. Don’t get me wrong, Tiffany and Brandy are great, but no, my girl’s not here yet.” The look on his face changed from sexy to shameful, and he said, “She’s young, Grace. I’m trying real hard to give her time to live, but fuck.” He rubbed his hand over his face.
I threw the towel on the bar and glared at him.
“How young, Romeo?”
“Calm down, she’s eighteen. And I haven’t touched her. A hug when I said goodbye, that’s it. Didn’t even hold her hand as I showed her all over New Orleans. She doesn’t even know she’s the one. She thinks we’re friends.”
“So she’s from back home?”
I knew Romeo was originally from New Orleans. I knew his cousin Gator, though I wasn’t sure he knew that. The Bourbon Bar was the first bartending gig I had. Gator took a chance on me, and I would forever be grateful.
“Nah, she’s from Virginia. Met her when I went east for my cousin’s wedding. Took one look at her and knew she was it.”
“You left her there and what? Decided to bide your time with the girls here until she’s legal?”
“Fuck you, Grace. I haven’t touched a woman since I met Fiona.” I could feel my eyebrows raise right up off my head into the atmosphere. I never thought Romeo would be the kind of guy to abstain.
“None?” I asked, still not believing him.
“The only woman I’ve kissed since I met her was my momma, and the aunts of course. Can’t kiss Momma without kissing the aunts; they get fucking feral with their jealousy.” Romeo shuddered in fear, and I laughed out loud.
“How long do you plan on waiting? What happens if she meets someone else?” Romeo bit his lip as he looked at the bar. “What the fuck did you do?”
“I haven’t done anything... yet. We talk on the phone. And we text. I don’t go to sleep until I’ve told her goodnight, and the first thing I do is text her good morning.”
“That’s sweet, Rome, but you’re leading her on.”
“Not if I plan on marrying her. I told you, Grace, she’s it. I was hit with the fucking curse.”
“The curse?” I laughed.
“The fucking La Croix curse.”
Romeo told me about his mom and her sisters and the curse of their beauty. I had to admit; Romeo was fucking pretty as hell. Most guys didn’t want to be referred to as pretty, but Romeo ate that shit up.
By the time he was done, my heart was breaking for him. He was convinced that what he felt for Fiona was all-consuming, but it came with trials and tribulations. He was worried about her being hurt in the process.
“Rome, love doesn’t come without heartbreak. No one knows that better than I do.” I looked over his shoulder as the man I was in love with, who hurt me daily, walked in. “But if she really is the one, I know you’ll do whatever you can to protect her until you can claim her.”
He nodded, finished his beer, and thanked me for listening. King walked up and slapped him on the shoulder, and Romeo moved away.
“What are you doing back there, Princess?”
I grabbed the towel and ignored the name he always called me—the name I hated—and wiped down the bar.
“Joey had other things to do. He’s the only prospect here, and I know how to sling drinks.” I shrugged, trying not to let him see how much he affected me. He’d held me in his arms when he came back from the meeting in Wyoming, after the attack.
He reached over and stopped the hand holding the rag. When I looked him in the eye, he said, “We need to talk.”
“Okay.”
He walked around the bar and waited for me. “Let’s go to my office.” He set his hand on my lower back, and I stopped.
“No.”
He sighed heavily. “This is private, Grace.”
“Then we can talk in church.”
He studied my face, looking for a weakness he wouldn’t find. I had buried that shit deep. If there was one thing I learned from my mom, it was never to let a man see how much he affected you. How much they could turn you inside out.
“Fine,” he relented and stepped back so I could walk around him.
He followed me into church, and I sat at the end of the table, opposite to where I knew his chair was. Instead of moving to his chair, he took the one next to me. Then he turned my chair so I was looking at him.
“Declan went to talk to Mary Ann.”
Before the words were out, I knew what he was going to say. I closed my eyes to stave off the tears. I sat there breathing deeply before I finally opened my eyes and asked, “Her mother wasn’t hurt, was she?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Declan thinks she was forced to make the call so you would be at the bar.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re Steele’s daughter. Maybe because of your relationship with me.”
I scoffed at his remark. “What relationship? We don’t have a relationship.”
“Grace,” he groaned.
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back, waiting for him to speak the same words he always said, ‘I want you, but I can’t have you.’ It was bullshit, and he knew it.
He reached out to touch my hand, and I pushed the chair back. Standing up, I quickly stood behind it, keeping the chair as a barrier between us.
“Don’t,” I warned.
King stood and pulled the chair out of the way. I took a step back for every step he took forward until my back was against the wall. His hand found my throat, and he whispered, “We need to talk.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Grace,” he growled.
“I want to go home.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you were the fucking target, Grace. I need you here. Where you’re safe.”
Only, I wasn’t safe here. Not with him. My heart wasn’t safe; my sanity wasn’t safe. My hands went to his chest of their own free will. I had no control over anything at the moment. His hands went to my cheeks, and he tipped my face up to look at him. “I love you.”
I shoved him hard. “You don’t get to say that to me.
Not now.” Didn’t he understand how long I’d been waiting to hear him say those words to me?
How every time he came to me in the middle of the night, confided in me, poured his heart out to me and trusted me to bear his load with him, all I wanted in return was him.
“How about I’m sorry? I was an asshole?”
My eyes narrowed, trying to figure him out. He was saying the things I longed to hear, but why? What had changed? And what would stop them from changing back?
“How did you come to this revelation?”
“A lot of shit has come out recently. Shit that changes things.”
“Nothing has changed, King.”
“Everything has changed, Princess.” He stepped in close, crowding me against the wall. The warmth of his body covered mine, and yet, a shudder ran through me. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered.
I closed my eyes tight as his lips brushed against my neck. My resolve was weakening. This was why I couldn’t stay here. Why I couldn’t say yes. Despite him saying everything I wanted to hear, nothing had actually changed.
“What changed?” I asked.
He laid his forehead on my shoulder. “It’s club business, Grace.”
“Fuck you, King.” I shoved him again, and he took a step back. I marched to the double doors and stood there, my hand on the wood. I looked over at him as he watched me, waiting for me to speak. I shook my head. What was the point?
He wouldn’t listen to me. He never did. Kingston O’Rourke did what he wanted, and fuck everyone else. Fuck their feelings. Fuck my feelings.
He was a selfish asshole, and I was done.
I had to be.
I yanked the door open and left. Knowing I’d never get through the gate, I went upstairs to the room I was staying in. Locking the door, I sat on the bed wondering what had changed.
Nothing had changed.
It was an excuse to once again pull me in just to shove me away. It was always the same; he’d knock on my door in the middle of the night, and cry on my shoulder. He would be vulnerable with me. Making me feel like I was important to him.
But he never touched me.
Never stayed.
He always left before I woke up, and the next day he acted like nothing had happened. Because the truth was, nothing did. Nothing ever happened, and nothing ever changed. Not between us.
It was a constant game of push and pull. He alone was doing the pushing and the pulling. He would pull me in with his nightly visits. Reeling me in until my defenses were down. Teasing me with his show of vulnerability. Then, as soon as he felt better, he would push me away again.
And I let him.
Because I was fucking weak.
I had learned nothing from my mother. I was just like her. Hanging around the clubhouse looking for any scrap he would throw my way. It was the reason I had stopped coming around.
And now, here I was, living here for the foreseeable future. A prisoner in the one place I’d longed to be. The one place I would never belong.