Chapter 5
FIVE
RAGE IS SCRUMDIDDLYUMPTIOUS
Rose
With my heart exploding out of my chest, I shot up in bed last night, struggling to breathe.
In my dream I was back in my house with Tyler, but this time he struck me instead of the wall.
It felt so real. When I looked around to see other women and children sleeping, I realized where I was and was able to calm my breathing because I was safe.
But I somehow felt safer when I was with Rage.
It’s insane that I’m more at ease with a stranger than with my ex-partner who I lived with for years.
Kayla and Tyler have turned my life upside down, and everything I thought I knew about them has been erased.
When picturing my happy wedding and honeymoon plans, I certainly didn’t foresee finding myself in a woman’s refuge.
I had hoped that the relationship with Tyler was going to be different than my relationship before him.
I grab my phone and tiptoe over to the bathroom, not wanting to wake anyone. I call my mom. It rings only twice before she answers, “Hello, sweetie. How are you?”
I peer around at the bathroom I’m in and cringe, but I have to lie.
I’d rather not worry them. “I’m okay. I just wanted to let you know I’ve grabbed a few of my things and am staying at a hotel until I can find somewhere to stay long term.
I just couldn’t stay there in the same house as him.
” I want to keep them up to date, but they don’t need to know all the gory details.
“Oh, I completely understand. You’re always welcome to come home and stay here,” she reminds me gently.
A smile tugs at my lips. “I know. It’s important I do this on my own, but thank you.”
She lets out a sigh. “You’ve always been independent. I can only imagine what you’re going through. We’re here if you ever need someone to talk to.”
“Thanks, Mom. Say hi to Dad for me.”
We say goodbye and end the call. I go back and lie in bed.
After everyone wakes up, I join the others for breakfast, trying to muster polite smiles even though I’m struggling inside. But I know the women around me are struggling too—some probably far worse than I am.
Rage . . . the name seems so odd and out of place for him.
He’s shown kindness—apart from when he punched Tyler.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t frighten me.
He seemed to flip a switch and turn into a different person, but my voice somehow woke him from his trance.
I’m lucky it did because I wouldn’t have been able to stop him if he kept hitting Tyler.
I should be more cautious around him, although I’m powerless to stop the way he makes me feel—secure, safe, and even confident. No one has ever had such a profound effect on me before. I have this inexplicable need to be near him. It’s crazy, but my gut tells me I can trust him.
Zara approaches my table. “Rage is here to visit you. Would you like to see him?”
A warm fuzzy feeling spreads through my chest. I grin. “Yes, please.”
She nods. “I’ll let him in.”
“Oh wow,” the woman across from me says, her eyes widening. “That club member is handsome.”
I follow her gaze. Theo is standing there.
He’s looking mighty fine in a white shirt, baggy blue jeans, and that bad boy motorcycle club vest over the top.
Add in the gorgeous blue eyes and light stubble, and he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen.
As soon as his eyes meet mine, he smiles and walks over with a bunch of bright flowers in his hand. I start to tear up.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” the woman says, standing and leaving the table.
I rise to greet him. We share a brief hug and he passes me the flowers. The bouquet of roses, peonies, tulips, and lilies is bright. It must have cost him a fortune.
“For you,” he says softly. “To apologize for yesterday.”
I smile, and I feel it all the way to my soul. I stand on my toes and press a kiss to his cheek. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
He smiles proudly. “It’s good to see a smile on your face again after everything you’ve been through.”
“All thanks to you.” I bite my lip. “Why are you doing this? Being so nice to me . . .”
His brows pull in. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m just not used to it and”—I look at the flowers—“I’ve never got flowers from a man before.”
His eyes widen. “You really were with a loser.”
As the days go on, I notice it even more.
We take a seat. “How have you been holding up?” he asks gently.
“I’m getting there. I’m still coming to grips with everything that’s happened. I’ve seen Tyler get angry and throw things, but I’ve never had so much anger directed at me. It was a shock, but I knew I couldn’t stay there with him. I just didn’t feel safe.”
He places his hand on mine. “Well, you’re safe now.”
“I’m grateful I met you.”
His grin is amplified, and my ovaries hurt. That messy, thick hair; his sharp model-like facial features; and that body of his . . . My cheeks burn as I remember . . . God, he is scrumdiddlyumptious.
“You’re thinking about me in bed, aren’t you?” he asks teasingly.
I playfully whack him. “I am not.” I so was. “So . . . tell me about you . . . Why’d you join a motorcycle club?”
His expression shifts, and he cringes slightly. “Are you sure you want to know?”
I nod sharply. “Yes, I do.” His reaction makes me even more curious.
He scratches the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. “I had a rough time in school. A lot of family shit going on. It made me angry, and I got into fights all the time.”
My heart twists for him, but I stay silent, waiting for him to continue.
“I didn’t want to say anything, but since we’re on the topic, I refuse to lie either.
” He pauses, his jaw tightening. “I started fighting in the club’s underground fights.
Then I asked to join the club because the men there treated me like family.
For the first time I felt like I belonged.
They said yes, and I haven’t looked back since. ”
“Hold up,” I say, raising a hand. “What underground fights?”
“The club holds illegal fights at their warehouse, which is just down the road from the clubhouse. The gambling is a way to get money into the club.”
I frown. “I don’t like it.” The words fall from my mouth.
Not that I have any say in his hobbies, but it explains why only one punch sent Tyler to the ground.
My body deflates. I don’t want to be near any violence.
“Do you have to fight?” I ask, and flinch.
“Or do you enjoy it?” I’m sure it’s a somewhat controlled environment and he’s only out to hurt his opponent, but it’s still a heavy weight on my chest.
He shrugs. “I’m good at it, and it’s a place to free my head.”
It’s sad that he hasn’t found a more constructive way to get his emotions out. It’s something I can work on with him if we spend more time together. Maybe he just needs someone to talk to.
“What else does the club do?” I ask, curiosity lining my voice.
He briefly looks away. “I can mention the club fights, a lot of people know about them . . . but apart from that anything else is club business. It’s nothing too serious.
It’s not like running guns or hard drugs and stuff.
As a plus, we help with the women and children’s refuge center.
” He looks around the place. “We helped with the renovations and assist with getting the women and children to safety. I think we’ve done a good job. ”
“You certainly have.”
If the club isn’t doing anything to jeopardize people’s lives, who am I to judge?
The club was there for me when I called.
I need to get the presumption that motorcycle clubs are bad out of my head because the War Brothers MC seem different.
Rage fights to let out his emotions. It’s not the end of the world, but it pains me to think he could get hurt.
“What do you do?” Rage asks, leaning forward.
I smile because I love my job. “I own a small jewelry-making business. I design and make the jewelry at home and sell it on Etsy.”
His brows shoot up. “So you’re smart. I knew you were.”
I blush. I’m smart and beautiful now. This man . . . “I’m just lucky that my customers are aware that I was taking time off.” My eyes roam his face. “How old are you?” I ask. My heart beats faster; I’m a little worried.
He smirks. “Twenty-four.”
I hold on to the table because I’m about to fall off my chair. My eyes bulge as I just stare at him. I slept with a twenty-four-year-old. “Jesus Christ,” I shriek. “I feel like some weird old cougar.”
He laughs out loud. “No, you’re not. How old are you anyway?”
“Too old for you!”
He smiles, showing all his straight white teeth. “No, you’re not. Come on . . . spill . . . How old are you?”
“Thirty-four,” I mumble.
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I thought late twenties, but age doesn’t bother me.”
“It bothers me!” I should take that I look like I’m in my twenties as a compliment, yet I can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable at the age gap.
He leans back, completely unfazed. “Why? We get along, we’re attracted to each other—who cares about anything else or what others think?”
He has a point. “You”—I gesture up and down at him—“are false advertising. You look much older than twenty-four.”
He blows on his knuckles and rubs them on his shirt, like he’s polishing a trophy. “Good to know,” he says with a cheeky wink, making me laugh. Being with him makes me feel lighter. He has this way of making me forget my worries, even if just for a moment.
His phone rings and he answers it. “Okay, sure. I’m leaving now.”
All the happiness seeps out of me at the thought of him going.
He gazes at me. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
I grab his hand tightly. I can’t ask him to stay—he’s busy—but I don’t want him to leave either.
He stares deeply into my eyes. “We hardly know each other, but would you like me to ask the club if it’s all right for you to stay with us at the clubhouse?”
I don’t even think about it; instincts take over. “Yes, please.”
The devotion in his eyes for a woman he hardly knows is admirable.
Like my life hasn’t just taken a turn for the worst. He’s the only reminder that something good has happened, and I’d love to spend more time with him.
Even if I’m going to struggle with the age gap.
To think he cares about me and I’m not just a one-night stand makes me feel like I’m being seen .
. . for the first time. He’s not something I just want . . . I feel like I need him.
“The men are great. Most have partners and wives, and the women are really friendly.”
The thought of others being around didn’t even cross my mind.
Anxiety shoots through me. He’s making out like they’re nice people .
. . but are they nice to outsiders? Am I rushing into a situation that is worse than the one I’m in, just to spend time with a guy who I slept with and makes me feel good?
I shuffle in my chair. I sound so desperate.
He touches my cheek and I look at him. “Stop worrying. I’ll ask them. It should be fine. We’ve taken in a few women who have experienced violence, so don’t stress.”
I nod, trying not to, but it’s easier said than done.
He stands. “I’ve got to get going, but I’ll send you a message tonight. If you haven’t changed your mind, and if the club says yes, I can pick you up tomorrow, or tonight even. Go talk to Zara if you have doubts—she’ll put your mind at ease. She lives there too.”
I breathe a little easier knowing there’ll be a friendly face around, and she seems lovely. “Thanks for everything,” I tell him sincerely.
He puts his arms out. “Where’s my hug?” he asks.
I stand and wrap my arms around him and breathe in his cologne and his warmth. He gives me a tight hug, then leaves, and I watch him swagger that sexy ass out. Things might actually be okay.