Chapter 19
NINETEEN
SOFEE
“When the fuck did my clubhouse become a goddamn beauty parlor?” Owen’s deep voice grumbles as he and Ace approach the table where Max, Tatum, and I are seated. In front of me lies the assortment of beauty products Owen is referring to. He’s right. It definitely looks like a Sephora threw up in here.
Everything from curling irons to hairspray, eyeshadow to contour, and even some kind of shiny pink powder that I think Max called highlighter. Most of this junk is hers and Tate's and I'm grateful that they are letting me use it. Not only are they allowing me to use it, but they also insisted on putting it on for me. Which is a good thing because, beyond my simple nude palette that I apply almost daily, I don’t know how to use half of this stuff.
Tatum grabs another strand of my hair and begins to wrap it around the styling wand as Max giggles. She reaches for one of the many makeup brushes and pats it into an eyeshadow palette, covering the soft bristles in the shimmery dark powder. “Chill, Dad. The lighting is better down here. We have to make sure our girl here looks hot for her date.” She wiggles her eyebrows up at the grumpy leader of The Seven. He scowls down at the dark-haired pixie.
“Don’t call me dad,” he growls. Max’s smile widens playfully as she stares up at the older man who is indeed like a father to most of this hodgepodge family of misfits. Ace is silent in his usual way as he stares down at the petite female in front of me.
“Would you prefer I call you Daddy instead?” she snarks with an exaggerated wink. I can’t help but snort as his eyes flare wide and he takes a giant step away from the table. Ace remains in place, and I note the slight flare in his eyes before Owen speaks again.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” he shivers with a cringe before turning his back to us. I laugh as he looks over his shoulder once more. “Just make sure to clean all that shit up when you’re done,” he all but snarls as he walks toward the front door.
Max huffs a laugh before returning to her task. But just as she is a breath away from dabbing the shimmery powder on my eyelid, Tanner slinks up behind her. He threads his hands around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. His grin widens as he buries his nose in her neck and breathes deeply.
“You can call me Daddy anytime you want, Pixie,” he murmurs against her before pulling her earlobe past his teeth. I feel like I'm intruding on something as he flicks his gaze up at Ace suddenly. I can’t tell if I see a challenge shimmering in his hazel eyes as he stares up at the observant man, or an invitation. Either way, Ace scowls down at the blond ginger with nothing short of animosity in his dark eyes. Max’s honey-colored eyes widen before she stifles a chuckle and shrugs him off. Then she turns to face him with a playful scowl on her brow.
“I much prefer to call you Ginger… Ginger,” she snarks before turning to face me again. Tanner’s eyes ignite with heat as he snuggles in close to her back. He locks his hands around her waist again, as if refusing to let her get away from him, before glancing back up at Ace one last time. I’m not sure what silent conversation the two are having, but the moment Ace’s jaw flexes and he backs away, I know the exchange is over.
I track him as he steps around us and sits in a shadowy booth further away. I feel Tatum’s shoulders bounce with laughter as she continues to style my hair, drawing my attention away from Ace and back to the girls.
Max glances up at Tate. “Speaking of Daddy, how’s Li doing?” she asks with dulled interest. Ever since their first meeting, my brother and Max have apparently squabbled like siblings. But also like siblings, they have also shown concern for one another when the need arises.
“Ugh,” I groan as I close my eyes for her to apply the shadow, trying hard not to scrunch my face in disgust. “Please tell me you do not call my brother Daddy ,” I say as I fight against the bile rising in my throat.
Tate chuckles under her breath before placing the hot styling tool back onto the table. She then grabs one of the many hair products and unscrews the lid. “Most of the time I just call him a big jackass.” I can hear the smile in her words, and as if it’s contagious, I can’t keep my own from my lips.
“He’s doing better,” she says much more seriously as she starts running her fingers through my hair. I keep my eyes closed and listen as Max works her magic on my eyes. “The first couple of days were rough. He was super weak and could barely get out of bed.” Her voice becomes low in a way only grief can cause. Just because my brother survived his brush with death, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel sorrow.
My heart plummets to the bottom of my gut at her words. Besides checking on his wound routinely, I’ve been giving Li and Tate their space over this last week. Allowing them both time to heal from the ravaging effects of his emergency surgery. We all knew it was going to be a long road to recovery for Liam, but I think people tend to forget what it’s like for others who can do nothing more than stand by and watch. I know it must still be hard for Tatum to watch him be so completely vulnerable when he has been her rock up until this point.
I wonder how Declan is handling his best friend almost dying .
The thought comes out of nowhere, and I shut it down just as quickly. It’s been almost a full week since I last spoke with that asshole, and I’ll be damned if I let the thought of him sour my mood, especially tonight - the night I’m finally taking a chance on someone other than him.
Joel, who has always been nothing but kind to me. Joel, who consistently wears an easy smile whenever I see him. Joel, who sounded genuinely excited when I called and asked him on a date. Joel, who will be arriving soon to pick me up, allowing me to escape the place that only reminds me of the insufferable man I can't seem to forget.
I mentally shake myself as Max tells me to open my eyes. I stare at her as she starts to apply my mascara. Tatum finishes styling my hair before rounding the chair to look at my face.
“But he’s getting stronger each day, which is all that matters.” She smiles down at me as Max finally finishes with my makeup and stands. She grabs my hands, forcing me to stand as well. Tatum reaches for her phone in her pocket and turns the camera toward me. I flash her a small smile before she snaps a quick picture. Her smile broadens as she looks down at the picture before speaking again. “And he is going to be so pissed that he wasn’t able to meet the lucky guy who gets to take this hottie out tonight.”
I roll my eyes at the compliment before she shoves the phone in my face. Ignoring the image of myself, I grab the phone from her and suck my teeth. It doesn’t matter how much they worked on me tonight. I’m still just ? —
My self-deprecating thoughts are cut off as I finally look at the bright image staring back at me. The woman in the picture is not me. She is a fucking dime piece I have never met before. As I stare at the image in my hand, I find myself utterly stunned by what I see.
My inky hair is perfectly curled and delicately pinned into place in a way I would never be able to recreate. The black tresses are shiny and artfully placed on top of my head as if they were always meant to look this way. My makeup is pin-perfect, flawlessly glowing, making my olive-toned skin look airbrushed. Dark chocolate-colored eyes stare back at me, sparkling just as darkly as the shimmery eyeshadow adorning them. My lips are lusciously pouty, looking shiny and soft thanks to the dark red lip stain and gloss Max applied.
And what’s good makeup and hair to do without a killer dress to top off the look? The bright white dress I’m wearing hugs all of my curves as if it were tailored specifically for me. My skin looks tanned and glowy in comparison to the starkness of the dress. The thin spaghetti straps hold up the swooping neckline. The soft fabric drapes low against my cleavage, drawing attention to the soft swell of my breasts. From there, the white dress only accentuates each and every one of my curves in a way that makes me feel confidently feminine.
Even though I have never liked the swell of my belly and this dress only clings to it, somehow, it seems to make me feel sexier than I ever have before. I love the way it hugs my pooch just as much as I love the way the slit climbs my left leg, exposing more of my thick thigh than is probably considered decent.
My lips pull tight in a smile as I stare at myself. I have only ever felt this brazenly confident once. Not that long ago, on the back of a motorcycle, was the last time I felt this type of self- assurance that only led to me making presumptuous decisions. Only this time, I’m determined to feel just as good about myself after it’s all over, unlike last time.
And as if thinking of what happened last time makes the past rear its ugly head, footsteps coming down the stairs draw my attention. As if I have a beacon for his transmitter lodged behind my eyes, I catch sight of Declan as he steps into the room.
His violet eyes lock onto mine the moment his feet come to a halt at the base of the stairs. My heart skips a beat as I watch him slowly scanning me from head to toe. He remains silent, but I can't help but notice the dark scowl that intensifies the longer he stares at me. His jaw ticks just as his nostrils flare, and his shoulders tense up.
And then, just like he never saw me at all, he averts his gaze altogether and stalks toward the bar. As if his stare was keeping my breath hidden from me, I breathe a wobbly breath and shake my head. Ignore him. I tell myself. I will not allow him to ruin this night for me.
Forcing another smile to my lips, I grin at the girls. “You two have outdone yourselves.” I hand Tatum her phone back. “I will never be able to recreate this,” I say with a shake of my head. “Not that I will ever have another reason to.”
Max scoffs before grabbing my favorite perfume from the table. “Baby, you never need an excuse to rock a glitter lid,” she jokes as she pops the lid off the bottle and hands it to me.
My laugh is but a harsh breath as I spray my chest with the floral-scented fragrance. Once done, I replace the lid and put it back on the table. Max furrows her brow before grabbing the bottle again.
“You forgot to put this in the one place it needs to be most,” she says. At my curious look, she continues. “The only place this really needs to be is on your ankles.”
Tatum chuckles but covers it with her hand, smothering the rest of her giggles. I shake my head, even more confused now. Max rolls her eyes before crouching in front of me. Before I can vocalize any questions, she quickly sprays both of my ankles with the sweet-smelling perfume.
When she pops back up and sets the bottle back on the table, she flashes her usual playful smile. “That way he can still smell you when they’re locked around his neck later this evening.”
My brows climb up my forehead just as a crash draws my attention toward the bar. We all crane our necks to see Declan apparently cleaning glasses. He curses before bending below the bar and emerges with a few shards of broken glass. He must have dropped one while polishing . His dark scowl briefly meets my gaze before he pivots away and tosses the broken glass in the garbage.
I start to say something to Max about how I’m definitely not going to be sleeping with him on the first date when the bell above the front entrance rings and draws everyone's attention.
Joel steps through the double doors, glancing back as if making sure he’s in the right place. My eyes are immediately drawn to the flowers he holds in his hand. This time, they are a brilliant yellow and seem to mirror the light coming from the setting sun behind him.
He’s just as handsome as the last time we met. His dark brown hair is swept up in the same masculine fashion. His light brown eyes shimmer as a warm smile deepens his double dimples. I let my gaze wander over him, taking in his insanely broad shoulders covered only in a crisp white button-down shirt. Down to his pressed black slacks that I’m sure were actually tailored just for him.
He looks absolutely handsome, dapper even. And he’s looking at me with such intensity that I should feel my skin tingling in every spot his gaze gobbles up. Most women would be a quivering puddle of goo with just that one heated look.
So why don’t you feel a damn thing?
The thought is jarring, and I balk inwardly. Trying my best to ignore my inner voice, I turn back toward the girls and Tanner. All of them are grinning like loons as they stare at Joel as if he’s a tasty treat. Even Tanner looks hungry as he assesses the tall man by the door. I quickly grab my small red clutch before finally gaining their attention.
“Wish me luck,” I whisper before turning away from them. But before I take more than a step, Max grabs my hand.
“You don’t need luck,” she whispers quickly as she shoves something into my palm. I furrow my brows as I look down. “But, you may need this,” she grins before letting go of my hand, leaving a shiny, foil-wrapped condom in my palm.
I suck in a sharp breath before grasping my fingers around it. “Max,” I scold under my breath. Heat rises to my face as I hastily shove it into my clutch.
She simply laughs before grabbing my shoulders and turning me toward Joel. She pushes me with a quick slap on my ass that has me stumbling forward. I hear Tatum join in with her own laughter as I walk as fast as my deep red fuck me heels will take me. I don’t slow down as I grab Joel’s wrist and tug him out the door.
The cicadas, singing their songs from nearby trees, fill the air tonight as Joel holds my hand while walking me to the door. It’s just past midnight, and New Orleans is still buzzing with activity as our evening draws to an end. The parking lot lights illuminate our surroundings, casting a soft glow on my date's face, showcasing the gentle smile on his lips as we stop in front of the clubhouse doors. He never releases my hand, his gaze shifting past me into the clubhouse at my back.
I’m about to say something along the lines of “I had a wonderful time,” when the sound of a motorcycle roaring into the parking lot cuts me off. For a moment, my heart leaps into my throat at the thought of it being Declan until I spot the bright yellow bike driving toward the shop.
Hayden smiles brightly as he waves at us. He revs the engine quickly, filling the once-quiet area with a roar as the front wheel lifts slightly from the pavement. I shake my head at the half-assed attempt at a wheelie. And before I can stop myself, my cheeks stretch into a smile. Crazy blond fucker.
“I’ll have to admit,” Joel’s voice brings my attention back to him. He’s staring at the bright yellow Harley. Hayden finally cuts the engine, bringing back the blissful silence of the night. My date looks down at me, his lips in a flat line and eyes filled with curiosity. For some reason, his sober expression causes my grin to fall flat as I meet his gaze again. “This is the last place I would ever imagine a girl like you living,” he says. His eyes shimmer under the orange glow from a nearby lamppost as he searches mine.
“I never imagined myself in a place like this either,” I shrug.
You also never imagined yourself becoming obsessed with the man who lurks within.
I pull in a sharp breath and try to banish the unwelcome voice. And just like that, Declan makes his way between my date and me for the hundredth time this evening.
Joel’s fingers dancing on the back of mine draw my attention until I’m all but beckoned to look down. Thick, well-manicured fingers trace mine. Strong hands. Warm and surprisingly callused. The kind of hands any woman would love to have touching them, guiding them in the ways of carnal pleasure. But while most would look at Joel and immediately want these hands all over their bodies, I find them… lacking.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy, and I’m lucky to have his attention on me. I should be thrilled by the prospect of having this man fawning over me. He’s probably one of the most attractive men I have ever met—tall, well-mannered, and slightly mysterious. And he’s obviously fit, judging by the way he carries himself. There were a few times I caught myself fixating on the way he moves around me, almost protective in nature. Did I mention how hot he is?
And our date went well enough. He took me to a local fine dining restaurant, Cormiers, where he wined and dined me like a true gentleman. We had a chance to get to know each other over drool-worthy main courses, delectable wine, and the most heavenly piece of chocolate cheesecake that has ever graced my palate. It was even better when he playfully fought me for the fork, insisting on being the one to offer me such pleasure, even if the bliss was delivered on silver cutlery. As I stand here now, I can still feel the grin splitting my lips before he fed me the rich dessert.
In between him showering me with compliments and asking about my interests, I also learned a lot about him. He co-owns a company with two partners in Baton Rouge. Although I was aware he was in town for business, tonight I discovered that he makes it down to New Orleans quite often. Surprisingly, he even owns a penthouse in the city.
“And now that I have another reason to come to New Orleans, I’m sure I’ll get to spend plenty of time here,” he had said before slipping another bite of cake past my lips. His eyes locked onto my lips as I closed them around the fork holding my dessert. “Maybe for our next date, we can go away on a little trip. I can take us up to Baton Rouge and show you my city for a fun weekend?”
At his words, panic snaked down my spine and clutched me tightly in a cold fist as visions of disappointed violet eyes assailed me. To say I have commitment issues is an understatement. His offer to sweep me away on a romantic trip for two felt like a bucket of ice water being thrown on top of my head. At his proposal, I sputtered and coughed around my last bite of the velvety cheesecake. I can still feel the way my cheeks heated in embarrassment.
What is wrong with me?
Here stands in front of me a handsome, kind, eligible gentleman who would treat me the way I deserve. And what do I do? I physically choke at the thought of him actually wanting to spend more time with me. And then I have the audacity to think about how another man would react to me skipping town with him. Even now, I can feel those discontent eyes on me as Joel releases my hand to pull me in closer.
His aftershave becomes stronger as he pulls me into him, but all I can smell is Declan’s scent of leather and whiskey surrounding me. Joel’s dimples are winking at me as he leans in closer, but all I can see is Declan’s demeaning smirk taunting me. Joel’s softly whispered request to kiss me fills my ears, but all I can hear is Declan’s harsh demands. At my slow nod, Joel’s gentle lips seal against mine in a swoon-worthy kiss, but all I feel is Declan’s teeth biting me. Joel’s warm fingers brush the bottom of my jaw as he cups my face, but all I feel is Declan’s rough grasp in my hair as he bends me to his will, placing me where he wants so he can fully devour me.
The kiss ends before it really even starts as Joel slowly pulls away from me. My eyes flutter open, half expecting to see the man in my thoughts standing in front of me. I shouldn’t feel so crestfallen to find my actual date standing there instead.
“I had a great time tonight. I hope it’s okay to call you so we can do this again?” he asks with a sheepish smile that makes him look ten years younger and so far opposite to the man in my head.
Clearing my throat, I nod quickly, afraid that if I speak I’ll choke again. The knot in my throat, which accompanies irrationally erotic thoughts of a man I hate, is making speaking impossible now.
With that, he nods and turns away from me. I watch him saunter back to his car as the overwhelming feeling of guilt consumes me.
You’re leading him on. My inner voice chimes in again.
“No, I’m simply keeping my options open,” I mumble to myself as Joel backs out of his parking spot. Staying rooted in place, I watch him from afar as he drives the black car to the parking lot exit and merges onto the busy highway. And as his vehicle finally disappears, my smile deflates just as quickly as the rest of me does.
I roll my neck from side to side as I shift on my heels. My thoughts race through my mind as I finally turn and grab the door handle. Pulling it open, the bitch that resides in my head becomes impossibly loud.
Yes, you are! He’s a nice guy who respects you and treats you with some fucking dignity. The exact thing that Declan has never done for you. Is that what you want? You want someone to treat you like shit for the rest of your days? Or do you want to maybe give the nice guy a chance for once?
The bar is dead silent as I enter the building and scoff at the silent question. “I have had nothing but nice guys.” My rebuttal is but a mumble as I glance around the large empty room. The dim lights above the bar are the only source of light guiding me toward the liquor shelf.
Now it’s my psyche's turn to scoff. As if you call Declan Morelli a nice guy?
My snort is loud as I reach up and grab the bottle of Cormiers off the top shelf. Still holding my clutch, the chain rattles against the bottle as I pop the cork. I pour myself a generous glass, desperate to silence my thoughts for the night.
“In what world have I ever had Declan Morelli?” My question reverberates quietly against the glass as I press it to my lips and sip at the rich bourbon.
“You say something, Brat?”
Declan’s voice coming out of nowhere causes me to suck in a startled breath. I sputter and cough as the liquor goes down my windpipe. My lungs burn as I cough and gag, trying desperately to catch my breath.
I turn around quickly and face the man I feel as though I’ve spent the entire evening with. His violet eyes sparkle with silent laughter as he steps up to me. The crate of bottlenecks in his hands is placed aside before he starts patting me on the back. I cough as he helps dislodge the alcohol stinging my lungs.
“Jesus, how bad was your date that you have to come back here and get sloshed afterward?” he says as I finally get a handle on myself.
“What?” I rasp, my throat burning as I speak. I try to compose myself as I’m finally able to stand tall again. Placing my glass to the side, I fully face him now. A hot zap of awareness shoots through my core as I look him over.
His hair is messy as usual, his short beard trimmed and looking as soft as ever. His vest is gone, replaced by a simple black V-neck t-shirt. The lower-cut material allows me to catch a glimpse of his tanned, tattooed chest just below. I swallow thickly and squeeze my thighs together. A single glance fills me with lust, the thought of all that tattooed flesh just out of sight sending desire coursing through my veins.
“I’m just saying, that had to be one hell of a bad date to send you to the bottom of a bottle,” he shrugs before turning his back to me. I track him until he disappears into the MC room hidden beyond the one-way mirror behind the liquor shelves. Only to reappear seconds later with another crate of beer in his hands. As he lays the crate next to the other one, I find my words.
“Actually, it was a great date,” I lie, crossing my arms over my chest and planting myself in my deception. “Could hardly keep our hands to ourselves.” My tone carries a smugness I don’t truly feel.
His eyes narrow briefly as he studies me. I nearly melt in my place as his gaze slowly travels down the length of my body before flicking back to my eyes.
“Bullshit,” he simply states.
“Bullshit?” I ask with a frown.
He grins slightly. “Bull. Shit.” He enunciates each syllable before turning his back to me again.
My temper flares as a burning sensation floods my gut, and before I can stop the venomous anger from rising, I stomp after him. My dark red heels slap angrily against the hardwood as I round the bar and follow him into the MC room. The urge to fight with him has become all-consuming as I’m greeted with the sight of him bent at the waist, picking up another case of beer. I angrily toss my clutch to the custom burnt table and turn to face him completely.
“And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I ask in a rush. He stands tall, gripping the heavy crate. I try to ignore the surge of arousal that floods my center as I admire his elegantly crafted forearms and biceps pulled tightly with exertion. The only thing marring his smooth forearm is the scarred flesh created by a burn wound inflicted not long ago.
He steps into my space, the only thing separating us is the case of beer. I back up at his advance until my ass bumps into the table behind me, yet he continues to push closer. His jaw feathers as his hard eyes meet mine. My gaze strays from his eyes and lands on his lips instead. I quickly dart my tongue out to moisten my own lips as they become impossibly dry.
“It means that if you two really couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves, he would be here,” he growls and steps closer still, the crate pressing into my belly as he does, leaving no room for escape as I become trapped between him and the table. His eyes lock onto my lips. “He would already have this tight little excuse for a dress on that floor and his hands unraveling your hair as all that pretty makeup runs down your cheeks,” he murmurs. I can barely hear him over the rushing blood in my ears as he continues. “He would be in here right now with you bent over this fucking table with his cock buried so deeply inside your tight little pussy you forget your own name, La Mia Alba ,”
My breath catches in my throat as he utters the same term of endearment he used when he was fucking me with the vibrator. The sound of it rolling off his tongue brings back all those memories of that day until I’m all but quivering for him again.
His chest rises and falls rapidly as he finishes speaking. His dark eyes seem to gobble me up as I stand here. “So, I call bullshit. If it was such a good date, then where is he?” he smirks, and I feel my temper rise within me anew.
“And how the hell would you know what a good date looks like? It’s not like you’re going on any these days,” I retort, trying to stifle my smile as his smirk fades. When he remains silent, I press on. "What's wrong, mi noche ?” I taunt him with my own peculiar term of endearment. I pout as his eyes narrow. “Can poor Declan not get anyone to come home with him?” I change my tone as if speaking to a child.
The bottles in the crate between us rattle against one another as his grip tightens. Besides his hands, he may as well be a damn statue as he remains completely and utterly still as if he’s physically restraining himself from fighting with me. And his refusal to engage only makes me want it even more.
“Are you having intimacy issues?” I whisper as if it’s a secret.
“You’d shut up if you knew what was good for you,” he growls, the threat sounding more like a dark promise dripping from his lips. His eyes gather a dangerous gleam as he stares me down. Maybe it’s stupidity or sheer interest in the way he reacts, but I just can’t stop myself as I continue to bait him into the fight I seem to be craving.
“Or what?” I coo in a condescending tone, actively trying to get a rise out of him now. Feeling an odd sense of arousal coated in arrogance coursing through my body, I place my hands over his holding the crate and lean forward. When I’m less than a breath away from his lips, I go for the kill. “Is little Declan too shy to come out and play, Papi ?” I croon in a deep, sultry voice I’ve never heard come from me before.
Suddenly, his eyes flare, and his grip releases the crate. I barely have time to move my feet out of the way before it explodes against the floor between us, sending beer all over our legs. And before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, Declan lunges for me.