10. Alaina
CHAPTER 10
ALAINA
The metal walls of the cargo container house feel smaller than they did earlier. Knowing it’s his actual home, not some crash pad or rental somehow makes this feel … more intimate. The hum of the air conditioner, muffled by the thick steel structure mutes the world outside, but inside, it's just me and Damian.
He’s got this quiet intensity about him, like a caged animal that isn’t pacing just yet—but could, at any moment. He’s sitting in a chair, leaned back like he doesn’t have a care in the world, but I see the way his fingers tap against his thigh, the way his eyes flick to me every few seconds. This is a man with a lot on his mind.
I should be terrified. I should be trying to find a way out of here, but my gut tells me he’s not the one I need to run from. Maybe it’s the way he’s kept his distance, giving me space. Or maybe it’s the way he’s watching me now, like he’s trying to figure out what to do with me.
“So, you live in a box,” I say finally, breaking the silence.
“Home is where the heart is or some shit, right?” Damian’s lips twitch. “It’s got a bed, a shower, and a fridge full of beer. That’s more than most.”
I cross my arms, leaning against the small counter. “No TV? No Xbox?”
He smirks. “I get my entertainment elsewhere.”
I roll my eyes, but before I can ask what elsewhere means, there’s a sharp knock at the door. Damian is up before I can blink, moving with that smooth, almost lazy confidence, but I can tell he’s alert. His hand rests at his waist as he unlatches the door opening it wide.
Riot steps inside like he owns the place, humid air and cigarette smoke clinging to him. His eyes flick to me before he looks at Damian. “Konstantin wants proof of life.”
My stomach knots at the name. My grandfather. The man who apparently has more secrets than I can imagine. Why didn’t I ask questions before? Why have I never paid attention to his associates? In Florida, he owned a diner. When my grandmother got sick, we came here. I didn’t ask questions when his schedule changed. It wasn’t until I was out on my own that I realized exactly what The Velvet Hall is and what it’s not is a diner.
“What’s proof of life to my grandfather?” I whisper not understanding how they seem to have this direct line to him. I know the Kings of Anarchy have a hand in everything in town, my grandfather has always said that, but this somehow feels like they have a more complex relationship.
Damian doesn’t react much, just tilts his head. “So send him a picture.”
Riot shakes his head. “He wants a meet with you. Soon.” His gaze moves back to me, assessing. “Not sure if he’s expecting a picture or an in person visit. She looks better than I expected. Thought you’d have roughed her up by now.”
My spine stiffens, but I don’t get a chance to snap at him before Damian speaks.
“Why would I do that?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. A warning.
Riot just shrugs. “Rough sex, brother, calm the fuck down. I can see she’s different. You’re no threat to her.”
“Riot,” he warns. “Ain’t like that and you fuckin’ know it.”
“Yet,” Riot replies with a smirk.
“Ledger, cut the shit,” Damian warns and I wonder why he called Riot Ledger. I store this away for another chat time to ask Damian about it.
“Whatever.” Riot comes back but doesn’t press Damian. “Gonna give him the meet or what?”
“Make the fuckin’ call. In an hour, Velvet Hall. He has some things he needs to share with his granddaughter any way.”
Riot pulls out his phone before glancing over to me. “We’ll need her looking presentable.” The two men who share similar facial features exchange a look. I guess he really is Damian’s actual brother like he said. It’s like they share some unspoken language between each other, only they understand.
Damian nods, and Riot makes a call. I don’t know who he’s talking to, but a few words later, he hangs up. “Clothes are on the way. I’ll set the meet.”
I shift uncomfortably, wrapping my arms around myself. I hadn’t thought about how I must look. My jeans are dirty, my tank top stretched and rumpled from hours of pacing when I was in here alone, and now being held in a metal box by a biker who hasn’t decided what to do with me yet.
Riot leaves without another word, and Damian turns to me, studying me.
“What do you mean clothes are on the way?”
“Just what he said, we called got some clothes coming for you.”
Everything is this easy taken care of, handled, way with them. “You called him Ledger? Earlier, you said he’s your actual brother. I’m a little confused.”
Damian smiles his teeth so straight and white. “Every man whose earned the Kings patch is a brother. Riot is Ledger Legion Masters, my only biological sibling. When he gets testy, I need to remind him what we share goes beyond a patch.”
“I’m an only child. But I have a feeling you already know this.”
He doesn’t give a response to my comment, instead he gets us back on track. “You want the shower first?”
I raise a brow. “What, you think I stink?”
He smirks. “I think you’ve had a rough night.”
I hesitate, then nod. “Yeah, okay.”
We clean up the kitchen from breakfast silently. There is a knock and Riot drops a bag of clothes for me. Well, I guess it’s time to shower. I’ve never lived in a studio and this set up leaves me feeling so exposed. The only privacy is the small closet style space hiding the toilet. In there is literally only enough room for a toilet and sink.
Damian moves to the other side of the small space, pulling out a fresh towel and handing it to me. The bathroom area is a little more than my walk-in closet, the shower barely big enough to turn around in, but it’s clean. The entire space is impeccably clean. I step inside, turning on the water. It takes a second before it warms, and I let out a small sigh when the heat finally hits me.
I glance over my shoulder. Damian is still there, watching me. There is nowhere to go, to hide. I try to keep my back to him, but I need to wash my hair.
I don’t.
The air between us changes.
It’s thick now, charged.
I step into the water, letting it cascade over me before feeling brave. In my head, I tell myself you only live once, Ally. I can feel his gaze on me, the heat of it more intense than the spray. I should feel exposed. Maybe I do, but not in the way I expect. Turning to face him, my every curve on display, I keep my eyes closed.
Slowly I blink, his eyes meet mine. He’s standing in the doorway, still as stone, his hands clenched into fists.
“You joining me or just gonna stare?” I ask, my voice softer than I mean for it to be.
For a second, I think he’s going to walk away. But then he steps forward, reaching for the waist of his sweats.
It’s slow. Deliberate.
When he drops them taking his boxers down in the same swoop, my breath catches. He’s all hard lines and muscle, scars tracing along his ribs, his shoulder, a story written in old wounds covered in ink.
Then nothing but bare skin.
His long, hard, thick, length juts out proudly between us as water splashes out onto the floor while I wait for him to join me.
He steps into the shower, his body crowding mine. The water runs between us, but I can feel the heat radiating from him. His eyes are locked onto mine, his hands braced on either side of the small stall, caging me in without touching me.
My heart is pounding.
His fingers move first, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face. His touch is surprisingly gentle for a man who looks like he could break me in half.
Then, slowly, he leans in.
His lips brush mine, just once.
A test. A question.
I answer by closing the distance, pressing my mouth to his.
The kiss is slow at first, but the second his hands find my waist, it deepens. His grip tightens, pulling me against him, water sliding between our bodies.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as his tongue brushes mine. It’s a different kind of heat, the kind that makes my head spin, that makes my body ache in ways I don’t have time to think about.
He groans against my mouth, the sound vibrating through me.
Then, just as fast as it started, he pulls back.
We’re both breathing hard, our bodies pressed together under the spray. His forehead rests against mine for a second, his hands still firm on my waist.
“Not here,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”
I don’t know if I want to curse him or thank him, but I nod. Then as if he didn’t just kiss me into another planet, he once again massages my head before washing my hair, my body, and then removing the shower head from his holder to rinse me from top to toe. With every touch, I’m still turned on wanting more. He has this self-control that I can appreciate, but right this minute I wish was gone. I want him to pin me to the wall and ravage me. He shifts us, guiding me to the door, where he opens it, grabs a towel and then leads me out, wrapping me in the fluffy cotton material.
My fingers tremble slightly as I dry off. It’s the show in front of me that captivates me. He has his arms up high pressed against the shower wall, his head dropped so the water cascades down his back. The water following the lines of the full back piece of Jesus wearing a crown of thorns.
Beautiful.
Dangerous.
He allows the water to run down his body for a few moments before getting soap and washing himself. When he turns and sees me watching, he smiles with his white teeth glistening. “Like what you see, sweetheart?”
“Maybe,” I tease turning around and going back to the bed to put on the clothes Riot dropped off for me.
With his eyes on me, Damian lathers the bar of soap in his hands before stroking, his manhood. Intrigued, I watch as he slowly moves his hand up and down his shaft twisting as he goes. I hold the towel together around me. His muscles tense and tighten as he continues to work himself all while keeping his eyes on me.
I’ve never felt so desired in a single stare. As his need intensifies, his eyes darken. Biting my bottom lip, I watch as he finally comes shooting it out in a stream onto the shower floor. Again his eyes never leave mine until he works out every drop until his dick is limp against his leg. He washes up once again before stepping out of the shower to dry himself off.
By the time I’m dressed in the fresh clothes that were delivered—a pair of jeans and a fitted black shirt—Damian is back in his usual dark jeans and a Henley, pulling on his boots. I should be focused on whatever mess this is, not turned on by the biker who scares me.
He tosses me a helmet.
“Time to go,” he says.
I take the helmet, following him outside where his bike is waiting. The air is cool against my damp skin, the anticipation of having my body pressed to his and the wind around us has my body feeling alive like never before.
I hesitate for half a second before climbing on behind him.
When I wrap my arms around his waist, he tenses for a moment before relaxing into it.
Then the engine roars to life. He gives my hands around his waist a squeeze before putting them back on the handlebars and for just a moment, I smile thinking of the comfort I find in a single hand squeeze.
Is this my grandmother watching over me? Because I think I’m going to need a guardian angel right now.