Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Melissa
We end up back in the kitchen after he shows me every room.
“I need to go back to the clubhouse, check on shit. You wanna come or stay here?”
I shake my head. “I'll stay here.”
He pulls me in under his arm, placing a soft kiss on the top of my head. “I won't be long. Food's in the kitchen, Netflix on TV.”
“Go!” I shoo him toward the door. “I'll be fine.”
As soon as the door clicks shut. I'm left with the lingering warmth of his lips on mine, and suddenly, everything seems too big. Too much.
My fingers trace the edge of a nearby table, the coolness of the wood grounding me. What am I doing in this place that isn't mine? The club emblem on a nearby jacket catches my eye, a reminder of the world I'm tiptoeing into.
My stomach twists. No whispered promises of 'old lady' status have passed his lips. I'm just... here. A fleeting moment. A shiny new toy for the big, bad biker to play with until he gets bored.
Still, I'm here, and that's enough. Whatever this turns out to be, I'll take it.
I take the stairs two at a time until I find the bathroom and the door clicks shut behind me. I crank the shower to scalding.
Steam fogs the mirror as I strip and step under the spray. His body wash stares back at me in a fancy amber bottle. I lather it everywhere, letting it sink into my pores until there's no trace of my own scent left.
The towel barely covers anything when I wrap it around myself. Water drips down my legs as I walk into his bedroom, leaving wet footprints on the hardwood.
Everything in his room is black or gray, with sharp edges and clean surfaces. No photos. No clutter. No evidence. The bed dominates the room—massive and perfectly made with military corners.
How many others have been in those sheets?
The thought hits like a fist to the gut. I could picture them if I wanted, really dig the knife in deep.
Stop. Don't go there.
His closet is rows and rows of folded shirts, stacks of cotton over a line of black and darker black. Of course.
I hitch the towel higher and reach up, fingers brushing over different fabrics until I catch on a white tee. Plain. Not plain. The club patch is sewn onto the chest; its infamous Taniwha is recognised all around the world.
I drag it down, the cotton clinging where I'm still wet. It smells like him and soap and something I can't name.
Lace bites up my thighs as I step into my panties.
White shirt. Black lace. Too much. Not enough.
Turning, I catch myself in the mirror and freeze.
The tee hangs almost to my knees, swallowing me whole, sleeves past my elbows like I'm a kid playing dress-up in a killer’s closet.
I shove the cuffs up, but they slide right back down, and something in my chest snaps.
“Fuck,” I mutter, grabbing the extra fabric at my lower back. I twist, bunching it tight until the hem lifts. My hips bare out first, then a strip of stomach, skin flashing in the gap. I knot it tighter.
Heat creeps up my neck. I look like I stepped off a biker fantasy poster. Thank God the house is empty.
I return down the wooden stairs to the kitchen and pull open the double stainless steel refrigerator doors.
“Holy shit,” I whisper. There's enough food stored in this fridge to feed an army. All of it — vegetables and meat, not a drop of sugar in sight.
There better be something sweet in the pantry. Potatoes, protein shakes, and more protein shakes.
Closing the doors with a sigh, I want to curl up and cry. I need a cheeseburger to deflate the revelation that this man takes his diet seriously. You'd know it by looking at him; there isn't a muscle on his body that isn't ripped. He's too much for me to handle on a good day.
“Melissa?” Jada calls out as the front door closes.
“Is the kid with you?” I yell out, looking down at my tiny underwear.
“Nah, he's staying home,” Jada says as she steps in with Millie, both pausing just inside the kitchen. A sly smirk curls on Jada’s lips. “Damn, check you out, barefoot, cooking, looking every bit like the wife. Hella oughta lock down.”
I splutter, beer dribbling down my chin as I set the bottle aside and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”
Chicken hits the pan with a sizzle. “So, what brings you over?” I opt to change the subject.
Jada leans against the counter, and I don't have to look up at her to know she's sniffing out all the things I'm hiding. “Got bored waiting for the guys. They're out late tonight.”
“Oh?” I arch a brow, my spatula hovering over the pan.
She nods, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Hella couldn't reach you. Got all worried and sent us to play guard dogs.”
Millie wanted to stay with Jada when I left, which is perfect. Saves me from having to gag her every time she opens her mouth.
My eyes widen as I notice the flurry of missed calls on my phone's screen. “Damn,” I mutter, snatching it up from the counter. “Give me a minute, okay?”
I hit redial, and the line barely has time to ring before Hella's voice growls through the speaker. “You trying to give me a fucking heart attack?”
“I thought I was safe here,” I answer, smirking around the rim of my beer.
“You are, but there are one hundred fucking other things that could happen to you.”
I roll my eyes, and Jada laughs, placing her bag on the kitchen counter.
“I made dinner. Should I put yours in the oven?”
“Yeah, thanks, baby.” He pauses briefly and then whispers, “What're you wearing?”
“Hella!” Beast yells in the background. “We're in church! Cut the shit and put the fucking phone down.”
“Shit, gotta go. Boss man is grouchy. Yana definitely is not hitting it right.”
“Hella!” Beast repeats, exhausted.
Hella chuckles. “I'll see you later.”
Hanging up the call, I exhale. “I think I'm in well over my head with him.”
Millie clears her throat. “Mm-hmm.”
Jada smiles. “Probably,” she says, then adds, “but I think it's the same with him.”
I admire her reassurance, but she’s way off. “Probably not, but thanks for the encouragement.” I drain the noodles and point to the bag. “What's in the bag?”
“Oh this? This is what's going to keep us company tonight.”
She pulls out a bottle of J?ger and a box of Red Bulls.
“J?ger bombs?” I ask, horrified.
“Yep.” She places them on the kitchen counter.
“Well, we better eat enough food since you’re trying to kill us.”
After dishing out our stir-fry and putting Hella's away in the oven, the three of us walk out onto the outside porch and take a seat at the table. “It's so beautiful out here,” I say, twirling noodles around my fork.
Jada nods. “It is.”
Fairy lights are strung around the waterhole, throwing soft gold across the water. My chest tightens—something about the warmth of it. Of everything about the cabin. “I would have killed for a place like this growing up.”
Jada stops mid-step. “For some reason, I thought you both come from a nice, normal home.”
Millie goes still beside me, and my shoulders lock up.
Nice. Normal. Right. Because that's what we project—two well-adjusted girls who definitely didn't grow up in a house with a father who was fine until he had a bottle of Jack in his hands and then he was someone else.
Someone distant, unfamiliar. Not because he beat us or my mother, but just… different.
I force my mouth into something that might pass for a smile. “Nah, the opposite.”
The front door swings open behind us, cutting through whatever confession was about to spill from my mouth.
Some stories are better left buried.
Hella's boots stop on the deck. His eyes lock onto mine with a slight tilt of his chin, acknowledging something unspoken. He eats up the distance between us, and my chair creaks as he leans down, his lips finding the crown of my head.
My chin lifts, angling toward him until our mouths meet. His hand slides to my neck, fingers curling around the base of my skull, holding me in place as his tongue traces the edge of my lips before slipping inside.
Jada clears her throat.
Hella's lips curl against mine as he releases his grip, but the smile fades as his gaze rakes over me.
His shirt rises up over my hip, my legs a tangle of mess, and a primal rumble vibrates through his chest, his eyes darkening in a way I’ve become way too familiar with.
I quirk a brow, gesturing towards the kitchen. “Your plate's warm. Go eat.”
He clears his throat before turning back the way he came.
Jada's face flushes crimson, and Millie suddenly finds the ceiling fascinating, the floor interesting, the wall absolutely fucking riveting—anywhere but in my direction.
“What?” The word comes out sharper than intended, aimed at both of them.
Jada shakes her head, bringing her glass to her lips with a knowing smirk playing at the corners. “That was sort of hot.”
Jesus Christ. Heat crawls up my neck. These two are not going to make any of this easy for me.
My first night at Hella's house was... eventful.
We didn't get much sleep—couldn't, really, not when he was determined to test out every possible way my body could bend, break, and shatter beneath him.
This morning, my legs feel like someone replaced my bones with jelly.
Everything between my thighs throbs with that specific ache that makes walking feel like both punishment and reminder. Raw. Used.
And I fucking love it.
“Hey.” His hair falls over his forehead, wearing nothing but loose jeans unbuttoned at the top.
My eyes drag down his torso, and damn—every ridge and hollow brings back exactly how each muscle felt under my tongue.
The memories hit harder than they should.
I had fun with his body last night, worked him over good.
“Hey, what're you doing today?” I ask, kicking the blanket off. Cool air hits my bare skin, making me hyperaware of every mark he left behind.
His hand wraps around my chin, tilting my head up to face him. The grip makes my pulse jump. His lips skim over mine, barely there, before he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. I hate how my body responds as if he owns it. Maybe he does.
“I gotta go sort through all this shit for the Southland chapter coming in.” He drops onto the bed, and the mattress dips under his weight as he pulls on his combat boots. The casual dismissal stings more than I'll ever admit.
I crawl over to him. “And I can't come?”
“Nah, you're coming. The girls are waiting for you to help them around the kitchen, so get ready.”
I look at the alarm clock that sits on his bedside table. “But it's only seven a.m.!”
“I know.” He smirks. “I woke up early to work out.
Get up. We'll have breakfast, then leave.” He pushes off the bed and disappears through the door.
I have no idea what the fuck is going on, but it's like we're suddenly playing house.
The thought leaves a flutter of butterflies in my belly, but now I'm not sure I want them there. He's going to hurt you.
I squash my thoughts down, but they're right. I need to approach him and see exactly what it is we're doing.
“You cook?” I ask, pulling out a barstool and taking a seat.
He dishes out pancakes, placing them in front of me. I chuckle lightly at him wearing his big bad colours and cooking me pancakes with strawberries, bananas, and maple syrup.
“Someone has to build this masterpiece,” he replies smugly, looking down at his body.
I roll my eyes and tear off a piece of pancake, shoving it in my mouth. The second it hits my tongue, I'm spitting it back onto the plate. “What the fucking fuck is this bullshit?”
His laughter fills the kitchen, deep and unrestrained. “Pancakes, the protein-kind, made with no flour. Just bananas, egg, protein powder, and cinnamon.”
Jesus Christ, it tastes like disappointment wrapped in false advertising. My face twists, nose wrinkling as the aftertaste lingers. He laughs harder, the sound bouncing off the walls.
“That is just, no—” I push the plate away like it personally offended me. “That's appalling.”
“Baby, if you want to keep up with me, you're going to need all the stamina you can get.”
I pick up the disgusting excuse of a pancake and throw it at his face. “My stamina is just fine and fuck you and your stupid-ass pancakes. I'll eat at the clubhouse. Maybe Garret didn't eat all that cake.”
He chuckles again, stuffing an entire one in his mouth. Actually, they need a new name; they bring shame to the pancake community and should be eliminated from our existence. Jesus, that shit was bad.
“Come on, grumpy,” Hella mutters with a smirk, sucking butter from his thumb.
I take his hand and follow him out.
He stops short of the door, turning to give me a once-over.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just make sure you leave with Yana. You, wearing that? You'll start a war.”