Chapter 13
SAXON
My dick is so painfully hard that I need to do something about it and fast. I won’t though.
Not now. Not after tonight and learning more about Sky and her fucked-up, twisted past with the Hellstorms. Damien should have died slower; I wish I hadn’t reacted so quickly.
He deserved worse. Especially seeing how much that piece of filth affected her just by being in the same room.
I hadn’t expected Sky to react the way she did.
I honestly don’t know what I was expecting, but her reaction was not it.
Cold, blank, frozen in time, numb to the chaos around her—that’s what screamed behind her beautiful eyes.
After her brief outburst of rage, she went blank.
A beautiful, blank canvas sitting frighteningly still.
Her basically having no reaction following me brutally beating a man to death is not normal.
That’s why I need to make sure she’s okay.
That’s why I’m here now, cleaning off the filth of tonight and getting her to bed before I go and dispose of the garbage.
I finish washing her and hit the nozzle for the shower, turning it off. I grab a towel that’s hanging on the rack and wrap it around her thin frame. I grab another towel as she steps out and get to work on drying her hair. All the while, Sky is watching my movements through her bathroom mirror.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
“Because I need to make sure you’re okay,” I say honestly.
“Don’t pity me, Saxon. I don’t need that from you.
” Her eyes drop to the floor. “I don’t need to be treated like I’m broken.
I can handle myself. Plus, I thought you couldn’t trust me, being the enemy and all?
” I spin her around so she’s facing me. My hands rest on her bare shoulders as I lean my face down towards her.
“I never said you couldn’t handle yourself, and trust me, I’m trying really hard to remind myself you’re Sergio’s daughter—but it’s getting rather difficult.
” I press my lips against her forehead and leave the bathroom to go fetch her pajamas.
Reaching her dresser, I grab her favorite set.
Shorts and a tank top that are riddled with avocados.
The pattern is hideous, but the style and fit make up for it.
“How do you know where my pajamas are?” I give her a smirk, tossing the pajamas on the bed before I grab a pair of her cheeky underwear she got last week at the mall.
“I told you, baby, I know a lot about you.” My response is vague, but I can’t tell her just yet that I have cameras all around her private space.
“Uh-huh,” is all she says. I step around her bed and stand by her door as she gets herself dressed.
I pick up her discarded towels and hang them back up in the bathroom.
When I come back to her room, she is already underneath her comforter.
I step up beside her and sit on the edge of the bed, close to her face.
“Now what? Are you going to read me a nighttime story too?” I laugh at her sarcasm. Her feisty attitude is one of the many things that draws me to her.
“Not unless you like horror stories,” I say to her, brushing my thumb across her cheek. I lean down and kiss her forehead one more time before standing and making my way to her door.
“Saxon,” she calls after me. I turn and look at her. She’s sitting up now, her face so painfully beautiful I wonder how anyone on this earth could do anything to ever hurt her. Enemy or not, no one deserves to be treated like an object, a toy for others to play with and eventually break.
“Please don’t tell anyone about… you know.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sky.
We were just hanging out at the bar, nothing else.
” I give her a wink and turn before she can say another word.
Exiting her apartment, I make sure to lock her door before I hurry down the stairwell to the parking lot.
Saint has his head resting against the headrest, looking like he’s fast asleep.
I get into the passenger seat and turn my head towards Saint.
“Finally,” he groans.
“Let’s go take our friend swimming, shall we?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Saint’s tone is playful, and I give him a smirk before he leaves the parking lot and heads towards the quarry.
It’s been three weeks since Damien Devonte disappeared.
After dumping that piece of shit in the depths of the quarry where he belongs, I opened my security camera app and watched Sky crying in her bed after we left.
I went back and forth about whether to go to her and distract her from her tears or just be there for her while she processed that whole fucked-up night.
I couldn’t take it any longer—the soft whimpers of her cries got to me, and I stormed out of the house, leaving Saint with Sage, and drove to Vice.
Once I pulled into the parking lot, I pulled up the camera one last time and found Sky fast asleep, clutching her comforter beneath her chin.
Exhaustion took her under, and all I could hear through the app was her soft breathing and her annoying sound machine she always sleeps with.
That night’s playlist was the sound of rain dropping against a tin roof.
It was loud, and I wondered how she could even sleep through it.
I wanted to go to her, brush the loose strand of her hair away from her face and watch her sleep.
She looked so at peace. I had not intended for her to become tangled in my plan that was in complete disarray, or caught in the volcanic eruption that was my behavior.
The moment I saw her face fall with Damien’s confession, my chest felt as though it was caving in.
A deep penetration of a blunt object spearing its way through my sternum and breaking its way through flesh and bone, making a path through my body until it made its way out the other side.
A pain I hadn’t felt since my mother died.
This woman I’d been keeping an eye on for the better part of two years has always been a force of nature.
Strength unlike any other, a true female Viking warrior, who never once exposed a weakness.
She has an uncanny ability to adapt to her surroundings, good and bad.
She’s left me, more than once, in a state of bewilderment.
I’ve grown up around women all my life, but Sky, she’s an anomaly.
She’s fierce in every way possible. I’m captivated by her behavior and the way she eliminates her enemies with a smile on her face.
She’s a bit psychotic, but wouldn’t that be the kettle calling itself black?
She’s playing a game, created by her own twisted, messed-up mind, and every day I watch her take another soul, makes me want to join in as player two and assist her in her ventures of death.
I left her asleep that night. I couldn’t bear the idea of disturbing her much-needed rest, so I left. I drove back home and let her be, my mind in shambles over how I’d let this woman rearrange my thoughts and emotions so thoroughly.
My head is raging a war against my heart.
One screams for me to remove the cameras and let the woman be, while the other protests and insists that I continue playing psycho stalker.
Keeping an eye on her is better than letting her slip between the cracks.
She is still the daughter of my most rivaled motorcycle club.
What if her being here is still all a ploy?
You know that’s not true; it’s been two fucking years, and she’s had no contact with her father or her mother.
The voice in my head knows I’m just making excuses.
I want those cameras to stay where they are.
I like knowing I can see her at any moment.
Whether she knows or not, it gives me a sense of relief.
A heavy feeling lifts when I see her through my phone doing well, smiling, and even when she’s brutally torturing someone in the basement.
She’s my favorite Netflix series, and I crave the next episode.
“You look like a big pile of steaming hot shit, my man.” Finn’s deep, gravelly voice penetrates my ears, and my head hurts just a little more. I peel my eyes away from my coffee mug and pin him with a death stare, hoping my “don’t fuck with me today” look gets through to him.
“Okay, peaches, what’s got your panties in a twist this time?
” Pulling out a barstool, he plops his ass down across from me at the kitchen island.
If my head wasn’t already pounding, I would bash his fucking head in, but maybe later.
I sit up straighter and stretch out my back, twisting from side to side, relishing in the cracks my spine releases, before turning my attention back to Finn.
“When is your next championship fight?” I ignore his question about what’s got me in a foul mood and distract him with one of his favorite topics: fighting.
He takes the bait and stands to his full height.
I’m a big guy and so is Saint, but this motherfucker is a towering 6’7”.
He starts shadow boxing a phantom opponent, and I can’t help chuckling at how ridiculous he looks.
“Tomorrow night, baby. Can’t fucking wait.” The sound of the front door opens and closes, followed by heavy boot steps coming towards the kitchen, but I already know who it is. Finn turns on his heels, grabbing his twin, Brooks, by the neck and putting him in a guillotine.
“Finn, cut the shit,” Brooks chokes out as Finn spins him around and pretends to knee him in the face as he tightens his grip on his brother.
“Say it! Say it!” Finn yells playfully to his brother, not letting up his hold even a little.
“Fuuuuck, mercy. Happy now? Mercy,” Brooks surrenders, the pair breaking apart as Finn does a mock Rocky jog around the island like the big-ass fool he is.
“That’s right, the superior brother wins, as always,” Finn mocks as Brooks rolls his neck out and takes a seat at the island beside me.