Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DRIFTER
Iwipe my blood-stained knuckles on a towel as I climb the stairs from the basement. I knew the fucker would come in handy to stem the overwhelming rage I feel.
But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve done this, and there is no one else to blame.
I deserve every disgusted glance and every cold shoulder she gives me.
Winning her back wasn’t proving easy so far, but living without her makes my life worthless. Pity I didn’t see that before I fucked Siren.
Since it happened, I haven’t slept properly. I replay it over and over in my head, torturing myself because I have no fucking excuse, no reason for it. I was drunk, that’s it, but I’d been plenty drunk around Siren and never once thought about fucking her, let alone actually doing it.
Hell has been my entire world since we were teenagers, and I’ve never once looked at another woman. And then I went and blew it all.
I tuck the blood-stained towel in my jeans pocket as I walk towards the kitchen. Mumma Bear is sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. She refuses to read the news on her phone, even though I’ve shown her how easy it is. She’s so stuck in her ways.
She looks up over the newspaper and smiles. It’s sincere, but I see the disappointment hiding there.
She pulls out the chair beside her, indicating for me to sit. I lower myself and before she can speak, I groan. “I know.”
She places a light hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I’ve spent weeks avoiding her, knowing how disappointed she is. I’ve let my wife down, along with the rest of the damn club.
“Do you?” she asks, placing the newspaper on the table. “You broke that girl’s heart. You’re no better than the men before you.”
“Fuck,” I stand abruptly, the chair scraping across the tiled floor.
“Sit your arse back down,” she snaps.
I hesitate, my stance stiff as I glare at her. My men wouldn’t get away with talking to me like this.
I don’t sit down, but I lean against the kitchen counter. She shakes her head and stands too.
“You need to make this right.”
“How? Rochelle doesn’t want me anymore, and I don’t blame her.”
Her expression softens. “You need to show her. Prove that you love her and that this was a terrible mistake that you’ll never repeat.” She snatches the blood-stained towel out of my pocket and places it in the bin. “You can’t keep beating the shit outta someone else for your own fucking mistakes.”
I’m the President of this club, and part of me wants to bark that I’ll do whatever the fuck I like. But I’ve got too much respect for her to throw that in her face.
I storm out of the room, knowing she’s fucking right. And that’s what stings the most.
As I push through the kitchen doors, I come face-to-face with Hell.
For a second, I swear this club is full of women who want to gouge my eyes out and the universe is throwing them all in my path.
I move to step around her, but she catches my arm. It’s the lightest touch, and it hits harder than any punch. Her fingers on my skin remind me of everything I’ve lost, and somehow give me the smallest flicker of hope that maybe I haven’t lost it completely.
I stop and turn to look at her. She immediately lets me go, folding her arms. “Could I have a word, please?”
My stomach twists. “Of course. Do you want to go into my office?”
She shakes her head. “No, it won’t take long.
” Her stance is cold, like she doesn’t want to be here talking to me.
And my hope starts to vanish again. “I just want to ask if my date can come to the clubhouse.” She looks me dead in the eye, daring me to kick off.
I clench my jaw. “It’s not really safe out there, is it?
And I don’t want to put the baby at risk. ”
I stuff my hands in my pockets, my heart twisting painfully. Can I watch her with another man? Here? Whilst she is pregnant with my child?
I inhale deeply. Fuck knows I deserve this, so I nod. A smile spreads across her face, and she practically skips off into the kitchen.
I stare after her, hating that she used to react like that over me, and now, it’s for someone else.
Fuck, I need to win her back.
I stand at the bedroom window, watching her. She’s spread a blanket out on the grass beneath the tree, far enough from the clubhouse to make a point, and she sits there like she doesn’t belong to this place anymore. Like she doesn’t belong to me.
Her hair is curled, catching the sunlight, almost sparkling as she laughs at something he says. Her feet are tucked neatly beneath her, and her body is angled towards him, deep in conversation.
She looks beautiful. Too beautiful.
My jaw locks as I watch him lean closer, like he’s earned the right to sit in my spot. Every muscle in my body tightens. I want to march down there, drag him off that blanket, knock him flat on his back, and show him exactly whose woman he’s sitting with.
But she’s not my woman right now, and storming down there like some jealous caveman won’t win her back. It’ll only prove her point. If anything, she’d probably torch my bike for the effort.
Still, watching another man make her smile feels like someone’s reached inside my chest and twisted.
And he’s nothing like me. If we were standing in the same room, we’d be complete opposites of one another.
He’s dressed in a shirt and tie, for a start.
There’s zero ink on his skin, and his hair is practically glued into place.
I scoff. He’s not even in the same league as her, and he’s definitely not competition for me.
He strokes her hair out of her face as she leans into his touch. I stiffen, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste metal. Fuck, I wanna break every damn one of his fingers.
She looks over her shoulder, glancing around the courtyard until her eyes land on me in the window. Then she turns her attention back to the wet wipe sitting in front of her. I mean, is this bloke even out of fucking nappies? There isn’t even a stubble of facial hair.
And then, as if it’s happening in slow motion, I watch as she leans in and kisses him.
Fucking kisses him! I inhale sharply until my lungs feel like they’ll explode.
My fists are itching by my sides, needing to feel flesh under them.
I’ve tried to stay calm, tried not to lose my shit, but this . . . this is too far.
I storm down the stairs and shove the clubhouse door open. It bangs against the wall as my boots hit the gravel, crunching hard beneath my steps.
Hell turns at the sound, and her brows draw together the second she sees my face. The kid sitting opposite her looks like he’s about to pass out. His eyes go wide, like a cornered animal who’s realised the predator is out of the cage.
I stop a few feet away, chest heaving, nostrils flaring. My whole body is coiled, ready to snap. I’m already picturing dragging him off that blanket.
Then Clay’s hand lands on my arm.
“You go over there like a bull in a China shop,” he mutters quietly so only I hear him, “there’s no coming back from that.”
“She fucking kissed him,” I grind out, my chest tight, my eyes still locked on them.
“Pres,” Clay says calmly, “I get it. I do. But you know Hell better than any of us. Is this going to fix it?”
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face. He’s right. Charging over there isn’t going to win her back. It’s just going to prove her point.
I need her to trust me again, to choose me, but this isn’t the way.
I tear my gaze away from them and turn back towards the clubhouse.
“Thanks, brother,” I mutter.
Clay clasps a hand on my back. “You know I’ve got you.” We head to the bar, and Clay nods towards Hazel. “Get the Pres a whiskey.”
I shake my head. “Make it water.”
Clay’s eyes snap to me.
“I need a clear head,” I reassure him. “I’m not about to win her back with a head full of whiskey. That’s how I got into this mess.”
He nods as Hazel passes me a bottle of water. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to prove to her I’ve changed and that she can trust and rely on me again.
Twenty-minutes later, Hell strolls past me. She throws a sideways glance my way before heading straight for Bella and Red, who are sitting at one of the tables doing crafts with Noah and Meli.
Like nothing’s happened. Like I’m invisible.
I don’t stick around. I don’t need to hear about her fucking amazing date.
I step back out into the courtyard, and that’s when I see him.
He’s leaving. Perfect. If she’s too busy inside, this is my chance. He needs to understand that she belongs to me.
I lengthen my stride, closing the distance between us. Once we’re out of sight of the clubhouse windows, I break into a jog.
He can hear my boots catching up with him, and he turns to face me. His colour pales, and the smile he was wearing when he was sitting with my woman soon fades.
He puts his hands up in a surrender.
“I don’t want any trouble,” he rushes to say. Jesus, he really is a fucking wet wipe. Even Bella’s kids have more balls than this fucker.
I push him against the wall, gripping him by the scruff of his neck.
“You’ll stay away from her,” I grind out.
“She’s mine, and no fucker touches what’s mine.
” I slam him slightly harder than necessary.
“Next time she messages you, ghost her. Or make your fucking excuses not to ever see her again. Because if I catch you sniffing around her, I’ll fucking kneecap you.
” His eyes dart around, looking for an escape. “Did you fucking hear me?”
“Ye-yeah,” he stutters.
I shove him away, and he almost stumbles in his eagerness to escape. “Now, get the fuck outta here before I change my fucking mind and end you now.”
He starts running, looking behind him, panicked. I laugh as I make my way into the compound. Too fucking easy.
Clay’s leaning against the wall, his eyes on me. He pushes off and steps closer. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He laughs, shaking his head.