Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Eleanor
What do they feed the cattle here?
I feel a little twitchy when Hunter threads his fingers with mine as we stroll toward the bar a few minutes down the street from his house. Not because he’s touching me, but because I haven’t had the time to study the behavior of the people I’m expected to try to fit in with. I’ve never been inside a biker bar, so my lack of knowledge of their environment and expectations is causing me stress. But he promised ribs, really good ribs, and I am a sucker for good food—something he’s figured out.
The pink neon sign is a warm glowing beacon in the night, and the scent wafting from the open door makes my mouth water. My expectations aren’t high—I have a mental image of broken furniture and a chipped concrete floor covered in stale beer and blood. What I get is the opposite—there’s a warm atmosphere and a bustling, but not overly crowded, room with comfy intimate booths covered in the same pink as the outdoor sign.
Hunter nods to a few people who offer curious glances at me as he guides us toward the back wall away from the main throng of people. I slide into the booth, pleasantly surprised to find it’s comfortable and not sticky, and he takes the seat opposite me. A busty redhead, who is chewing the largest piece of gum I’ve ever seen, appears next to us.
She bats her fake eyelashes at Hunter, the ones that look like a squashed spider made its deathbed on her eyelids. They even stick to her cheeks when she blinks. My nose wrinkles. That would irritate the shit out of me.
“Hey, Hunter. You want your usual?”
“Yes, and a cola please, Lea.”
He doesn’t even look at her, his eyes focused fully on me. He’s clearly playing up the fake dating, which makes sense given half the town seems to be here tonight. “What do you fancy, trouble? Ribs? Or do you want to see the menu?”
“Ribs are good. And Dr. Pepper if you have it, please.”
“That will be a full rack for you, Hunter, and half for the lady?”
Presumptuous. “No, full for both,” he corrects. Brownie points for the fake boyfriend being able to figure out what his fake girlfriend wants.
She nods, her eyes lingering on Hunter for a second longer than what is appropriate for professional staff, then saunters away, putting a little extra sway in her hips and making her tiny skirt ride dangerously close to revealing all the goods. My gaze snaps to Hunter’s, and he still hasn’t looked away from me. I’m not even sure he’s blinked.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “You are dressed like my every fucking fantasy come to life, and you want to know why I am looking at you? The more pertinent question would be why wouldn’t I be?”
I glance down at the outfit I threw on in a rush because my mind was focused on ribs and nothing else. High waisted ripped dark jeans, an unassuming black belt, and a white shirt that ties in a knot at my belly button. There’s a little cleavage on show, but nothing that shouts sex appeal, and certainly nothing warranting the carnal look Hunter’s giving me right now.
“You aren’t a fan of the tiny skirts and shirts?” I quip, lifting a brow.
“I’m a fan of anything and everything you are wearing or not wearing. Ideally, all of your clothes should be in a chaotic pile on my bedroom floor.”
I snort a laugh, then jump. I don’t laugh often, but it seems Hunter manages it on a daily basis.
“We should touch,” he declares.
“What?”
My brain is still focused on the bedroom floor comment.
His lips twitch, and he slides his hands forward until they wrap around my wrists, dragging them closer to him before encompassing my fists inside of his. “Touch, Ellie, it’s what couples do.”
“I’m not big on PDA,” I breathe. That’s an understatement. I hate it. But given my relationships are normally confined to one night of physicality behind closed doors, it’s fair to say I haven’t really experienced it.
“Relax,” he mutters, his thumbs brushing against my skin.
“Easy for you to say.”
Growing up, I was taught the things a husband and wife did together only happen in private. Sure, the women had to submit to their husbands, kneeling at their feet while he read the scriptures, waiting to cater to his every whim. But affection? If there was any happening—which I doubted—was restricted to the bedroom. Not that I got that far… a saving grace. But even before our wedding night, we were never permitted pleasure. Sex was something to be endured, part of Jonathan’s ongoing torment to keep everyone in their place.
He shakes his head and lifts my hands before nipping the tip of my index finger. I jolt, the little zip of pain breaking me out of my thoughts. “Stay with me,” he demands softly.
I swallow the bubbling panic of breaking more of Jonathan’s rules, which I should have long ago hammered out of my psyche. Hating the monster still had such a hold over me. I once read it takes years to deprogram someone from a cult, and that was for people who at least knew of a life before they’d gotten caught up in the sticky web of their leaders. It’s the same kind of theory that holds true for victims of domestic violence; it can take years after someone leaves to accept and understand that they were a victim at all. That’s where the law is fucked up in this country. The statute of limitations protects the abuser. We have made positive moves in some states, but there is still so much work to do.
“Ellie,” he admonishes. I give my head a shake. I got lost again. It’s easy to do when I’m away from the multiple screens and data streams demanding so much of my brain I can’t let the demons in. I know it’s not a healthy coping mechanism, but I keep being told murder is wrong—so it’s at least healthy for everyone around me.
“Sorry. I need a distraction.” My heart stutters in my chest. I’ve never admitted that to someone. Hunter is breaking through so many of my carefully constructed barriers it’s making me dizzy.
“Let’s share some things couples would know.”
Twenty questions? Wonderful. He’s about to find out how shallow I am.
He keeps a grip on my hands and stares at me like he’s waiting for me to wimp out. Fat chance. Even baring my barren soul is preferable to sinking into the despair of my childhood. “Okay, you start.”
He blinks in surprise, which makes me a little happy. I expect he’ll go for something sexual.
“Favorite color?”
Well, consider me corrected. “Peach.” It’s calming but bright, and goes against every rule we had at the compound. Many of my favorites and choices are the antithesis of that drab existence. “You?”
“Blue.”
“What kind of blue?”
He holds my gaze like he’s trying to communicate something. “Stormy, like the ocean crashing against the cliffs.”
“What does the tattoo across your heart mean?” I ask. It’s something that has been niggling at my mind since that first night in this apartment.
His hands twitch around mine as he swallows. “They are roman numerals.”
“Yes, Einstein, I know that. Why do you have 12-12-20 tattooed on your chest?”
“It’s the day I almost lost my sister.”
“You have a sister and a brother?” This seems like shit I should know as a fake girlfriend.
“No brother.”
I frown. Why is he lying? “Mark called you his brother.”
Hunter’s eyes narrow. “It’s an affectionate term used between close members of the club.”
I don’t understand. Someone is either biologically related to you or not. “But you do have a sister?”
“I do.” He sighs and rolls his shoulders like he’s trying to shake off whatever is weighing him down. “And yours?”
“I don’t have a sister.”
“No, Eleanor. What does your tattoo mean?”
I fucked up. I asked him a personal question, and I have no interest in reciprocating the honesty. Still, he gave me what it means, not why he has it. That’s something that goes more than skin deep; it cuts to the bone. And neither of us are willing to wield the blade tonight.
I glance away from his hot gaze. He can’t see the truth. He can’t see me. “They are lotus flowers.”
“I know, Einstein.”
My lips twitch. Touché. “It symbolizes rebirth.”
His thumbs trace my knuckles. “Look at me,” he pleads softly. I steel my breath and turn back to face him. “What does the tattoo mean to you? Not what a Wikipedia search would show me.”
My chest tightens. “To me, it means transformation. You can’t be reborn. What happens to you can’t be erased, but you can use it to power yourself and rise from the dark into a place of beauty.” I don’t look away as I crack open my heart a little. “But I’m not there.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know there is a better life, one lived in sunshine and filled with happiness. I tried reaching for it, but it’s not happening for me. This tattoo represents a dream. Hope. Wistfulness. It’s a permanent reminder I can be the transformation for many others in this world by stopping the man seeking to extinguish their light.”
He sighs. “You fight for everyone but yourself.”
“Fighting for them is my redemption.”
He shakes his head, his lips pressed tightly together. “I won’t let you martyr yourself, Eleanor. Life is messy. It’s shades of every emotion. No one gets to live in the light one hundred percent. The trick is recognizing the opportunities and seizing them with both hands so when the pain comes, you remember what you are living for. That cannot be found in the lives of strangers.”
“You don’t get a say in how I live my life, Hunter.”
“Then I’ll make it my mission to drag you kicking and screaming into the world you think you don’t deserve.”
I groan. Fighting against Hunter makes him hold tighter. I don’t want his emotions wrapped up in mine; that will make this harder, making it almost impossible to do what has to be done, and I can’t waver. I can’t fail.
“Is Charlie your first dog?”
His brow furrows at my rapid and abrupt change of topic. We are both stubborn, so going around in circles where he tells me what to do, and I tell him to get lost, seems tiresome and pointless.
“This conversation isn’t over.” His eyes flash in the neon lights, seeming almost molten.
“Clearly. I’m asking you about your pet history.”
“Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Eleanor. Stupidity doesn’t look good on you. I get you don’t always grasp the finer details and points of social situations, but you know exactly what you are doing.”
Called out by a tattooed bad boy biker. That wasn’t on my bingo card for this year. I don’t respond, given he didn’t ask me a question, and wait for him to fill me in on Charlie.
He twists his lips to the side, his thumbs still rubbing my knuckles. “Charlie is a rescue. Local police found him huddled in a drug den hours away from death. He was barely two months old. His mother had already passed, as had his siblings.”
My heart twists for the happy pooch and his brutal entry into this world. Is it wrong to feel a kinship with a dog? “How did he end up with you?”
“Jess is the local vet in town, and her husband is part of the MC. I was at their house when she got the emergency call. I took one look at those eyes and knew I had to give him a life he deserved. One filled with love, security, and comfort.” His throat bobs as he remembers how vulnerable Charlie must have been, his knuckles going white against mine.
“He was lucky to find you.”
Hunter’s eyes catch mine and there’s a wealth of emotion deeper than Charlie. “They are here for such a short time in comparison to us. They are a gift, one people like that didn’t deserve. I made sure, and I always will, that his life is happy.” A soft smile lifts his cheeks, and I swear I can hear Charlie over the din of the music. “Dogs have this ability to strip away all the bullshit of our lives. They cut through everything getting in the way of experiencing that light you mentioned. They don’t judge. They keep our secrets and have a sixth sense on how to break through emotional trauma.” He squeezes my hands, and my eyes burn. “They might not do mathematical equations, but they are smart in a way that can’t be taught. I’m honored he chose me to be his dad. So no. No pets before Charlie. The thought of losing him is crippling, but we can’t live for the pain that is to come. We have to exist in the moment, Ellie, otherwise what’s the point of living?”
I get it. But I’m not trapped by future pain. The demons of my past cling to me no matter how hard I try to shake them off, keeping their talons wrapped around my heart and bleeding me dry.
The ribs arrive, breaking our serious stare off, and he releases my hands. My heart squeezes as I suddenly feel adrift in the world. I shake myself internally, forcing myself to refocus on my mission. My revenge. My purpose. I can’t fall for him. It will hurt too much.
Lea hands a napkin to each of us, then slides our drinks onto the table before turning and getting lost in the growing crowd. The entire time, Hunter watches me carefully.
I glance down at the plates for the first time. Correction, boards. “What the hell are you feeding your cows?” The rack of huge ribs is almost falling off the side of the wooden board, the spices and charred meat making my stomach rumble in anticipation.
Hunter chuckles as he tucks his napkin inside the top of his shirt. He looks no less appealing for the childlike action, dressed as he is in stonewashed jeans and a black shirt that hugs his body and shows off his strength. I follow his lead and tuck my napkin between my breasts, securing it with my bra, and tear off the first rib, biting into it. The groan that leaves me is better than any orgasm I’ve ever experienced.
“Good?” he asks with a hint of amusement.
“So good.”
His lips twitch, and we focus on our food. He peppers me with questions as I pause to let my stomach make room. I learn he has a degree in finance, which is not surprising, but it is shocking that he chose to go into the military. He felt he needed to contribute to our country in a more tangible way, and his degree made him an expert at making very rich people even richer. He’s originally from Kentucky, but settled here with the Reapers. He enjoys running, which I can’t understand, but isn’t an avid sports guy. Although if pushed, he’ll spend time with the guys watching football.
I finish my drink, and he waves his hand, having it replaced straight away. Eventually, all that’s left is bones. I can’t believe I ate all that, and I still feel sad it’s over.
The table is cleared, and he leans forward, his hand lifting to my face and swiping his thumb along the corner of my lip. Then he sucks it into his mouth, causing a flash of heat to sizzle down my spine.
“Now that I’ve fed you,” he says with a wink, “it’s time for us to partake in the town’s favorite Friday night pastime.”
He grabs my hand and tugs me out from the booth. The music gets louder. Country, not rock. We round the corner of the bar, and my steps falter at the sight of the open area filled with rows of people moving in perfect sync.
I shake my head, digging my heels into the worn wooden floor. “No.”
He snorts and pulls me into the crowd. I’m causing more of a spectacle than necessary, but I don’t care. I cannot dance. Coordination is not my strong point. Never has been. The fact I made it out of the forest alive is a miracle.
He spins me so his front is against my back, and his hands clamp my hips. “We’ll take it slow,” he whispers into my ear.
“No, we will take it off the dance floor.”
“Anticipation makes it so much sweeter, Ellie. Stop rushing to get back to my bed.”
Someone chuckles next to him. Right. We’re playing the loved-up couple for the townsfolk. Focus, Ellie.
I move against him, rubbing my ass against his length. He groans and leans down, his breath whispering against my ear as his hand spans my stomach, securing me to him. He nips my ear. “Careful, Ellie. You might be acting, but my cock doesn’t know the difference.”
The song changes to something with a slightly slower tempo, and he guides me to the left, then the right. I almost trip over his feet, making me huff. “This is dangerous,” I grumble.
He spins me so I face him. “Put your feet on mine.”
I glance down at his shit kicking boots, then at my heels. “I might hurt you.”
He grabs my hips and lifts me. “Feet on my mine, now.”
I drop my heels down with a little more force than necessary, making him chuckle. He wraps a hand around my waist and moves in sync with everyone else on the dance floor. The more I fight, the worse it gets, so I let him guide my body. If only life was like this. Trusting someone enough to lead when you can’t do it yourself is a luxury I’ve only experienced in the army. It’s exhausting being responsible all the time. Maybe I need to stop thinking...
He arches a brow as he changes direction. My hands, wrapped around his elbows, itch for more. I drag my lip between my teeth and glide my fingers up until I clasp them together behind his neck. His eyes widen in surprise. It’s acting. One kiss for the show.
His gaze drops to my lips, and he sucks in a breath. I arch up and graze my mouth against his. Not quite a kiss, more like a promise of what’s to come.
“Eleanor,” he groans as he closes his eyes. A feminine sense of pride and power burns in my veins, knowing I can make a man like Hunter King shiver in anticipation. “You are a fucking tease.”
Tease? He thinks this is teasing? Buckle up, Hunter, you haven’t seen anything yet . My teeth sink into his bottom lip, and I tug on it lightly. “Fuck,” he snarls, his eyes snapping open and locking with mine. He hooks one hand under my ass and hoists me up as I wrap my legs around his waist. He spins, striding off the dance floor as his hand tangles in my hair, fisting it, tilting my head back so he’s staring at me. There’s a fire in his gaze as my back hits something hard, and his impressive erection is a hot brand between my thighs.
“You want to play games, trouble?” he taunts.
“Yes.”
“Let’s see who blinks first. Keep your ankles locked.”
He puts a little more pressure on my core as he tilts my head to the side so he can kiss and lick the side of my neck. His teeth scrape along my thundering pulse, causing little fissions of pleasure to dance down my spine. That feels… Wow.
I buck against him. I want his lips on mine. Now.
“Hunter, put the lady down. We need to talk.”
He stops the sensual assault on my body and leans his head against my shoulder, his body practically vibrating with need. I catch William’s gaze. He’s got his arms folded, and there’s an element of amusement on his features. Could he not have waited? I’m kind of busy being almost kissed by my fake boyfriend, and he’s interrupting before we get to the good part.
“Now.”
“Give me a minute,” he snarls. He’s fighting his erection, I realize, and there’s some part of me I didn’t know existed that is possessive over his arousal. Fury rises within me. I don’t want a crowded bar to witness it. It’s mine.
William rolls his eyes and strides away.
“He’s gone,” I whisper. “You can put me down.”
He jerks his head back, brow furrowed as he studies my face. Surprising me, he leans forward and places a soft kiss on my forehead. “This is on hold, but we have unfinished business, Ellie. Don’t even think about retreating from that fire.”
“It’s for show,” I whisper.
He chuckles with a shake of his head. “If that’s true, you won’t mind giving me your dry panties as proof when we get home.”
With that, he grabs my hand and begins stalking through the crowd to find his boss. It’s not the panties comment that has me flustered... it’s the home one.