Chapter 19 Lucy
Lucy
The parking lot of the motel buzzed under flickering neon, half-lit and quiet except for the steady hum of a vending machine in the corner.
I stood by my car, arms crossed, jaw tight.
The cold bit through my sleeves, but I barely noticed.
Not compared to the inferno in my chest. After storming out of the clubhouse, I’d driven in circles for hours, letting my anger rule me.
The roar of a motorcycle split the night long before the headlight shone through the darkness.
Jay. Of course.
The engine died, then boots thudded against the pavement. My pulse betrayed me. His black hair caught the flickering neon, his ice-blue eyes glinting even in shadow. Broad shoulders showed easy confidence in every step, and danger radiated from him.
Hate and something far too hot warped in my chest. I drew a shaky breath, hating him for what he did, for what he was, and hating myself for noticing. He stopped a few feet away, leather creaking.
I finally turned, arms still crossed.“How did you know where I was?” I asked, forcing my voice even.
“A little bird told me.”
“You have someone following me?”
“Yeah. Soon as I knew you were back in town. Can't afford surprises, not in my world.”
I narrowed my eyes. “So, what am I? A threat? A loose end?”
He stepped closer. The smell of leather and musk hit me, and my stomach clenched.
“You’re someone who walked into my clubhouse and disrespected the patch. You came at me in front of my men. That’s not how it works.”
“I came to you for answers. You shut me out, like I was nothing... again. I had every right to demand—” I snapped.
“No, you didn’t. Not in there. That was church. No one comes into church who’s not patched, and sure as hell not an outsider. You don’t get to throw your weight around like you’re one of us. You’re not.”
I swallowed hard, wanting to argue, wanting to storm away, but something in the way he filled the space made my chest tighten.
Desire, anger, and frustration tangled together, sharp as the night air.
I wanted to shove him, to kiss him, to make him see me, but I also wanted to collapse against him.
To get lost in his arms and forget everything.
I clenched my fists at my sides. He noticed the hesitation, the heat in my eyes. I hated him yet I wanted him.
“Right. I forgot. It’s always your club, your rules. Never mind who gets caught in the fallout. Never mind the lies.”
“You want help? Then you do it my way. My terms. You don’t like it? Walk.”
I glared at him, chest heaving. “Your terms, huh? Like sending Link to babysit me?”
His jaw snapped tight. “He had no business being near you.”
My laugh was sharp. “Funny. You didn’t mind him when he was the only one standing between me and a bunch of Fangs. Or maybe you were too busy letting Gabby drape herself over you to notice.”
His nostrils flared, eyes darkening. “At least Gabby knows where she stands. Link doesn’t, and neither do you. Show some respect.”
“You think because you wear that kutte you get to talk to me like that? Like I owe you something? It’s none of your damn business if I’m fucking Link or any other man.”
Something in Jay’s eyes broke. The air seemed to thicken around us, hotter, pressing in on me.
Before I could blink, his hands clamped around my waist, and I was airborne.
He hauled me against him like I weighed nothing.
My breath caught, and traitorous instinct had my legs locking around his hips, holding on.
His grip was bruising, his breath hot against my mouth. “I’ll kill anyone who touches you,” he growled. “Don’t talk about other men. Not when you look at me like that. Not when you burn me alive just by standing here.”
My pulse roared in my ears. For one dizzying second, I almost let go of everything—the anger, grief, pride—and gave in to the chemistry between us.
But then fury surged hotter than the want. My hand cracked across his face, loud and sharp in the night air.
“Respect is earned,” I ground out.
His arms loosened around me, and my feet hit the floor. Jay didn’t flinch, just blinked, jaw flexing.
I shoved him hard in the chest. “Get the hell out of here.”
“Lucy—” His voice held a tinge of remorse.
“I said leave. You want control? Take it back to your clubhouse. Out here, in my space, you don’t get to play president.” I stormed past him, shoved open the door to my room, and pointed. “Leave.”
Jay stood there a second longer, breathing hard, then finally turned and walked away without another word.
I slammed the door behind him, pressed my back against it, and slid to the floor, furiously shaking and somehow feeling more alone than ever.
I told myself I was done, that if he came back, I’d slam the door in his face again. The ugly truth was that my pulse still beat to the rhythm of his boots, and I hated that part of me was already waiting for the knock.