Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
WAR
That woman is fucking infuriating.
Sending me away like I wasn’t the one making her lose herself in a climax that I fucking gave her. Like I was not the man who made her fucking scream from knowing how her body likes to be touched.
My pride still stings from the way she looked at me—like I was just another one of her problems, something to be managed then dismissed. I know that she has shit to work through but fuck me, I can help with that.
I know I was out of line, asking if she was fucking the others. I saw the flash of hurt in her eyes, that got masked by anger, and I hated myself for putting it there. Cleo isn’t that kind of woman—she’s chaos wrapped in steel, stubborn as hell, but does not fuck multiple men at the same time.
But my rage got the better of me, twisting my words until they cut deep.
Now I’m pacing the parking lot of my motel, fists clenched. I want to punch something—anything—to bleed out the frustration and regret. Instead, I just burn in my fucked-up part of hurting her again.
The worst part? I’d do anything to be the one she lets in, the one she trusts with her secrets, her scars. But I just added a fucking grenade to what could be a start to a relationship between us.
Still, I can’t stay away. Not when everything in me is wired to her, pulled by a spell that was cast that night.
I tap my left chest pocket where the black feather sits from that night. A reminder that Lilian has given me her blessing to fit Cleo into my heart.
My phone ringing pulls my steps to a stop, and I fish my phone out of my pocket, seeing Locke’s name flash across the screen.
“Locke,” I answer.
“Brother, how is Phoenix?”
“Hot as balls, brother.”
He chuckles on the other end. “Yeah, this time of year gets Satan hot, man. Careful you do not burn your cock off.”
“Fuck off and stop talking about my cock, for fuck’s sake.”
He laughs. “Brother, we have all seen enough of each other’s dicks over the years.” He laughs, and I smile at memories of the shit we used to get up to.
So many times we would be caught with our pants down and dicks out. Some would laugh it off, while others would be offended, but each and every time we were having a blast. Except for that one time we got arrested for streaking down the fucking road and a cop caught us.
“True. Good times, brother, good times.”
“Hell yeah, it was. Now we have to grow up and be serious men with Ol’ Ladies to look after.” He chuckles but I feel his sentiment through the phone.
Locke’s words linger. Our women are our lives. He’s not wrong. I thought I had my one and only, the kind you carve your soul around, but she was taken from me. Now, though, standing here with the desert heat pressing down, I know that I have another chance.
And fuck me, I’m not about to let it slip through my fingers twice. I’ll dig in and give it everything I’ve got, even if it means getting on my knees and begging Cleo to see this through with me.
Fuck me, I want this all with her. Every laugh, every smile, and every tear that comes with happiness.
I clear my throat, pushing down the emotion this call is dredging up.
“What’s the call about?”
He sighs. “Got a job for you while you are down there. A friend of Lottie’s is having some shit with her husband, and needs a way to get away. Think you can rope the Rugged Skulls into helping?”
I nod. “Yeah, I think they will definitely help. Got the vibe from them that they are not the type of club to let women and kids get hurt, ya know? I will reach out to Racer, the Pres here, on behalf of Tote.”
“Golden, man. My woman will be happy, and I will pass it along to Pres that you are asking the Rugged Skulls to help get her clear of that cunt.”
“On it.”
“How are things going with your woman?” I can hear the humor in his voice.
I grind my teeth, thinking about our last interaction that is still fucking fresh on my mind.
“Fucking slowly— this woman is like a fortress unless I am touching her. She is like putty in my hands when we fuck, but then we talk and she tells me that she doesn’t want anything serious with me. Not even wanting to fucking try but, Locke, brother, I know she can feel this pull between us.”
I expect him to laugh at me, call me ‘pussy whipped’ but he doesn’t.
“Women are complicated, but that usually means that they have had to deal with shitty men in their lives. They are not born complicated; they were made that way by men who did not deserve them or who hurt them. Force her to sit and talk to you, brother. Bring her food—women love fucking food; do not let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Food. I can bring her food. Okay, got it. Shit, I am so out of my league here. It has been years since I had to date or fucking woo a chick. Lilian was my last date. Cleo means something to me, so I need to do what I can before I walk away.”
“You’ve got this, brother. Keep me posted on the girl.” With that, he hangs up.
I drive around for a few hours, waiting for Cleo to be finished at the studio. My mind goes to the past and the future.
My past is a good one; despite losing my wife, we had a good life. The dark years that followed are a blur—random jobs in nameless towns, faces I never bothered to learn, drifting from place to place.
Through it all, my nomad patch kept me alive. It gave me something to live for, a reason to put one foot in front of the other, even when there were nights I’d have traded the world for a ticket off this planet, just to see Lilian again.
Now I find myself back in the present, waiting for Cleo to leave the studio. I stop at a diner and shut off my bike before removing my helmet and walking inside.
“Take a seat, and I will be right with you,” a woman calls out.
“I need to order to-go.”
“Be right there, honey.”
I walk over to the counter and take a seat on one of the stools.
The diner is cozy, with red leather booths running from the back to the front. I’m sitting at the counter, and there are more booths along the back wall on this side. White shiny brickwork lines some of the walls, but the main wall from front to back is red brick with photos and some artwork on it.
“What can I get you, honey?” I bring my gaze to the older lady standing in front of me.
Her long white hair is in a bun at the top of her head, her purple lips adding a touch of youth to her, along with the purple eyeshadow she wears.
“I need to say sorry to my girl with food,” I start.
She huffs.
“Boy, what did you do to her?”
“Mouthed off in front of her friends. I am the jealous type.” I wink, then she pops a hip, cocking a brow at me.
“I bet— with all that leather, facial hair, tattoos, and charm.”
I chuckle.
“What can I say, my girl loves a bad boy.”
She huffs again, before taking her pad and pen out of her apron.
“Does she have any allergies? Foods that she does not like?” I look at her dumbfounded, my eyes wide because I have no fucking clue.
Damn it.
“Oh, Jesus H Christ, you are one of those.” Shaking her head in disappointment, she sits across from me, thankful the diner is quiet right now, as it is coming to the end of the day.
“Answer me this.” I nod “Is your girl from here?”
“Yes. She works at Rugged Ink.” I see recognition enter her eyes.
“Cleo. You are telling me that your girl is Cleo?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure we are talking about the same Cleo? Blonde hair, big boobs, and legs that go on for days, with a snarky, yet quirky ball-busting attitude. That Cleo?”
I grin like a fool. “That’s the one.”
She looks at me for a split second before laughter— no hell no, she cackles like a damn wicked witch. The hairs on my arms stand on end like an electric current just ran through me. Sitting back, I look at this woman, waiting for her to stop cackling and talk to me.
After what feels like fucking hours, she stops laughing and dries her eyes, before looking me over. I feel exposed when she does this. This woman is old enough to be my grandmother, and some men are into that, but not me.
“Well, good for her.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “Nice to see I still have it.”
I frown, not sure what she means by that.
“I know what Cleo likes; I will help you out.” She is gone before I can speak.
My gaze moves to the front of the diner and I see that it has gotten even darker than when I stepped inside.
Turning back to the counter, the woman is there, and I jump.
“Fucking hell, woman, give a man a warning.” My hand goes to my rapidly beating heart.
There is not much that frightens me, but she just scared the living shit out of me.
She hands me a brown paper bag, with a moon and a witches knot.
Frowning again, I hear her chuckling.
“Go on now. Take this to Cleo, because, Mason, time has had enough of standing still.” With that, she winks and leaves.
I blink out of my daze and pick up the bag. It isn’t until I am halfway to Cleo’s house that I remember that the waitress said my name but I did not give it to her.
What the hell?