14. Alaina
CHAPTER 14
ALAINA
The clubhouse feels smaller tonight, suffocating. Smoke curls in lazy ribbons toward the ceiling, the scent of whiskey thick in the air. Voices murmur in low conversations, the occasional burst of laughter breaking through, but I can’t focus on any of it.
Not when my world feels like it’s closing in.
I sit on the worn leather couch in the common room, staring at nothing. Damian is across the room, talking low with a few of his guys. His posture is loose, easy, like what happened earlier didn’t rattle him in the slightest. Like he didn’t just threaten my grandfather with a gun. Like he didn’t just show me exactly how dangerous he is.
I can’t stop seeing it—the way he smirked when those men pulled their weapons, how he laughed like he had nothing to lose. Like he didn’t care if he died. Fearless men are dangerous.
And maybe that’s the part that scares me the most.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to shake the feeling off. But it lingers. Heavy. Unrelenting.
I’m in over my head.
I need air.
Pushing off the couch, I weave through the room and head for the door. The cool night air hits me like a shock, crisp against my overheated skin. I inhale deep, sucking it into my lungs like it might be enough to ground me.
Footsteps sound behind me.
I don’t have to turn to know it’s Damian.
“You running outside like this, people are gonna think you’re trying to leave,” he says casually, stepping up beside me.
I keep my eyes forward. “Maybe I am.”
I feel his gaze on me, burning. “You’re not.”
I shake my head, exhaling sharply. “You don’t know that.”
He lets out a short laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “Yeah, I do.”
I finally look at him, irritation sparking. “And how’s that?”
Damian tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Because you had a choice back there, Alaina. You could’ve walked out of The Velvet Hall and told me to kick rocks. You could have stayed right there with your grandfather and told me to never look back.” He leans in slightly, his voice lower. “But you didn’t.”
My stomach twists. “That doesn’t mean I’m okay with what happened.”
His jaw tightens, a flicker of something dangerous passing over his face. “Good.”
I blink. “ Good ?”
“I don’t want you to be okay with it,” he says, his voice rough. “You shouldn’t be. Because this isn’t some fairytale, Alaina. This isn’t a world where things magically fix themselves, where the right choice is always easy to make.” His gaze darkens. “This is a world where you do what needs to be done. Even if it makes you sick. Even if it haunts you. Even if you have to take a life to save the life of someone you care about.”
A chill runs through me, but I force myself to hold his stare.
“I don’t want to be a part of this world, Chux,” I admit. “I don’t want to be standing here, trying to untangle the fact that my grandfather—the man who raised me—has been lying to me for years.” My throat tightens. “I don’t want to know that you can pull a gun on someone and laugh about it like it’s nothing.”
Damian doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. “You think I laughed because I don’t care?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, sharp as a blade. “I laughed because I know men like him. I know the way they think, the way they move, the way they manipulate. And the only thing men like that respect is force.”
My stomach clenches. “And what about you?”
He exhales through his nose. “What about me?”
I hesitate, but the question is already there, heavy on my tongue. “Are you one of those men?”
Damian watches me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His fingers are rough, calloused, but his touch is surprisingly gentle.
“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “What do you think?”
I don’t have an answer.
Not yet.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
Before I can think further, his lips are on mine. The kiss is relentless. The passion and tension between us finally igniting and I can’t stop even if I want to.
Which I don’t.
His lips on mine, his body this close, I feel alive.
Really alive for the first time ever.
His hands are on me—strong, rough, and demanding. They grip my hips, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us, only heat, only want. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I moan into him, my fingers fisting his shirt like it’s the only thing tethering me to this moment.
And maybe it is.
The night air wraps around us, warm and thick, but it’s nothing compared to the fire raging inside me. My heart pounds so hard it echoes in my ears. Every inch of me feels hypersensitive, like my skin is humming, waiting—begging—for more.
His hands slide up, his thumbs teasing under the hem of my shirt, grazing my stomach. My breath hitches. It’s not fear. It’s something deeper, something scarier—need. A need so overwhelming I can barely think past it.
He pulls back, just enough to search my eyes. His are dark, filled with hunger, but there’s something else there, something that makes my stomach flip. “Tell me to stop,” he says, voice rough, but there’s a challenge in it. He knows I won’t.
I shake my head. “No,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
His groan is deep, vibrating through me as he grabs the hem of my shirt and tugs it upward. I let him, let the night air lick across my bare skin as the shirt disappears. He takes a step back, his gaze dragging over me, dark and reverent.
“Jesus, Alaina,” His voice is pure gravel, and the way he looks at me makes my knees weak. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I reach for his shirt, my fingers slipping under the fabric, feeling the heat of his skin. I push it up, and he lets me, lifting his arms so I can pull it over his head. My breath catches. He’s all muscle, all strength, a body carved from years of hard living. Tattoos crisscross his skin, each one telling a story I don’t know, but I want to.
He moves fast, one hand fisting in my hair as his mouth crashes against mine again. The other grips my ass, lifting me so I’m flush against him. I can feel him, thick and hard, pressing against my stomach, and it sends a rush of heat straight through me.
My hands roam, over the hard ridges of his chest, down his stomach, until I find the button of his jeans. He tenses, breath stalling as I pop it open, dragging the zipper down. His eyes burn into mine, his own hands moving just as fast, unbuttoning my jeans and pushing them down over my hips.
We’re moving fast, desperate, but there’s a moment when we both pause. The moment where everything is about to change. The moment where we both know there’s no going back.
And then he’s pushing me against the rough bark of a tree, his mouth everywhere—my neck, my shoulder, down, down—until all I can do is cling to him, lost in the feel of his hands, his lips, the way he’s making me feel like I’ve never felt before.
The rough bark scrapes against my back, but I barely register it, too consumed by the way his mouth moves over my skin. Each kiss, each flick of his tongue, sends shivers racing down my spine. My fingers dive into his hair, fisting the strands, pulling him closer, needing more.
"Jesus," he groans against my throat, his breath hot, ragged. "You drive me crazy, Alaina."
I feel the truth of his words in the way his hands grip my hips, dragging me tighter against him. His body is all heat and muscle, his skin burning against mine. The air around us is thick, humid, but it’s nothing compared to the fire raging between us.
My jeans are slipping lower, his fingers hooked in the waistband, and I don't stop him. I can't. I don't want to.
"Say it," he demands, his lips grazing my collarbone.
"Say what?" I barely recognize my own voice, breathless and needy.
"That you want this." His hands tighten on my hips, thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin just above my underwear. "That you want me."
I swallow hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I want you," I whisper, and it's not just about tonight. It's everything.
His response is immediate. His mouth crashes against mine again, rougher this time, full of need. He tugs my jeans down the rest of the way, leaving me in nothing but my panties. The cool air kisses my heated skin, but I barely notice.
Then his hands are on my thighs, lifting me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I feel the hard press of him through his jeans, and it sends a jolt of pure want straight to my core.
"Fuck," he rasps, his forehead dropping to mine. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."
"Then stop waiting," I challenge, my fingers working the last barrier between us—his jeans. I shove them down, my breath catching as he kicks them off with his shoes, another pair of Chucks, leaving nothing between us but the thin fabric of my panties.
His eyes darken, his control slipping. I can feel it in the tension of his muscles, the way his body trembles against mine. He wants me just as desperately as I want him.
"You're sure?" His voice is rough, almost pained.
I don't hesitate. "Yes."
That's all it takes. One word.
His mouth crashes back to mine as he grips my hips, pressing me against the tree, and then there’s nothing but sensation. His hands, his mouth, the delicious friction as he slides into my slick heat. No need to work me I am ready.
I gasp against his lips, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he moves in me, stretching and pushing me higher, higher. Every nerve ending in my body is alive, burning, and I don't want it to stop. I don't want anything but him.
The world fades away. It's just us—our bodies tangled in the night air, the sound of our heavy breathing mixing with the rustling leaves.
And when release finally crashes over me, it's not just pleasure.
It's freedom.
Real. Raw. Undeniable.
And I'm not scared anymore. In fact, in this moment I feel completely free.