Chapter 8
Christina
I wake up to the sound of engines outside the clubhouse.
For a second, I think I’m dreaming. My drowsy mind misidentifies the sound as a train.
Then I remember I’m in Cedar Falls, at the Sons of Rage clubhouse.
Since the brothers like to get up early but are rarely on their bikes before breakfast, it’s likely Slate is coming back from his trip.
Katie is still asleep beside me. She has one hand wrapped around the corner of her pillowcase.
Thankfully, the noise didn’t wake her. I’ve had to be vigilant since she came into the world.
I can’t afford to fall into a deep, drowsy slumber.
My mind won’t let me. I sleep light, alert for any sound that might indicate danger.
I quietly slide out of bed, go to the window, and pull the curtain aside.
The yard below is full of movement. There’s a truck and a few men dismounting from their bikes.
One of them is Slate. This man I never really stopped caring for is easy to spot, even from up here.
He has the self-assured stride of a man who always knows where he’s going, one that takes charge and keeps things from careening off the rails.
He makes me feel safe, even when I know danger is probably closing in on us.
I’ve been getting up early to help Tessa and the club girls with breakfast, so I grab a quick shower.
Once I’m in the shower, my thoughts go back to the time I shared with Slate. Back then I used to be a truly adventurous person. I thought nothing of chasing down leads, making fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants decisions, and had a reputation for being a bit of an adrenaline junkie.
Being caught in that bomb blast in Myanmar, ending up in a coma, and being trapped in a survival mindset for years destroyed any spirit for adventure I might have once had.
Thankfully, all that’s behind me now that Slate has stepped up.
For the first time in years I feel safe and secure enough to think about something other than staying alive.
I guess that’s why I jumped at the chance to kiss him in his version of a wine cellar.
I’ve been thinking about that kiss a lot and wondering if I might find enough anonymity to start over at the Sons of Rage compound. No one knows I’m here. I can finally stop looking over my shoulder and enjoy the simple pleasure of hooking up with the one man I’ve never been able to forget.
I find my hand drifting down to do what I do when I’m naked, alone, and thinking about him.
My mind plays a reel of all my favorite Slate memories as I pleasure myself.
I remember how he looks with his shirt off and his dark hair down around his shoulders.
He’s totally ripped, with colorful, precision-dropped ink.
I can even remember what he looks like naked, with his thick cock hard and dripping just from watching me undress.
Remembering the night before we left Kabul when he nailed me against the wall.
I close my eyes and imagine it’s Slate, as my hand moves down my stomach.
My clit is throbbing in anticipation remembering how he’d make himself comfortable between my thighs and pleasure me.
Stroking my swollen clit I bite down a moan.
The water from the shower is running over my breasts and teasing my hard nipples.
My hand strokes deeper, the heel of my palm rubbing my clit as my fingers part my folds.
I’m wet already as I slip two inside me, but they’re no match for Slate’s thick cock.
I can still remember how it felt to be stretched by him.
There’s been no one since Slate. Partly because no one compared, but also because of the life I had to lead.
I work myself, my fingers dripping with my juices as I fuck them in and out.
That last time with Slate is burned in my memory.
My back was against the wall and my legs wrapped around his hips as he pounded into me.
I feel my pussy start to spasm as my fingers move faster chasing the orgasm.
Suddenly I come in an explosion, and my legs almost give way.
I lean against the shower wall for a minute to catch my breath.
I know still being hung up on my ex is not okay, but the sad truth is that I am.
And my body never forgot how it felt to be with him.
Having him making me come all over his thick cock over and over again.
I loved every single second of it. He’s the only man who ever truly got me and I’d love to recapture what we had back then.
By the time I grab a quick shower, get dressed, and make it downstairs, Tessa has the kitchen in motion.
Club girls are making coffee, someone is folding clean towels, and the door to the meeting room is standing open.
I walk over and peer inside, because I’m pretty sure this is where Slate took Rivera.
They have him sitting in a big leather armchair with a man kneeling in front of him.
He’s wearing gloves and has a first aid kit open on the floor beside him.
Slate is standing nearby, staring at their medic who’s giving Rivera the once-over.
His eyes catch sight of me in the doorway, and he jerks his chin.
“Christina, come in. Where’s Katie?”
Moving into the room, I go quickly to his side. “She was up late last night and is still sleeping. I didn’t want to wake her.”
“That was a good call,” he responds, wrapping one arm around me.
Rivera’s head lifts. His one good eye gazes up at me. He gives me a faint smile and immediately thinks better of it when his split lip cracks open and oozes a little drop of blood.
“Are you okay?” I ask, desperately trying to hang on to a shred of hope that this had nothing to do with me.
“Never better,” Rivera jokes. “Seriously, I always bounce back stronger after getting a beatdown. So, I frame it in my head as a good thing.”
The medic snorts a laugh but keeps right on pulling off crusted, bloody bandages from around his ribs.
I nod, not understanding why he’s trying to be positive when he’s clearly in so much pain. My eyes dart up to Slate for a second before going back to his friend. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
He hesitates, then says, “Yeah, I thought you were gonna ask that.”
“It was the stalker, wasn’t it?” I ask quietly.
“You’re good at the ‘guess who beat the shit out of me’ game. It was definitely the same guy that I saw following you in the parking lot that day.”
Slate speaks up. “I would have preferred not to worry you, but you have a right to know what’s going on. Leaving you in the dark might put you in danger, and we don’t want that.”
“Well, I don’t like people I consider friends getting beaten within an inch of their lives because of me,” I deadpan back.
As Slate and I stand staring at each other, Rivera’s voice rises up from the chair. He sounds choked with emotion or pain—it’s hard to tell which. “Don’t look so fuckin’ forlorn, Christina. I’m tougher than I look.”
“No, you’re not,” the medic mutters, pressing gauze against a wound on his side. “When are you guys gonna get it through your heads that you’re not indestructible?”
Slate shoots back, “Pretty sure Rivera didn’t go lookin’ for trouble. Just patch him up, Stitch.”
“Okay, brother,” Stitch states.
I try not to tear up. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I can’t imagine what he hoped to gain by doing all that.”
His lips press into a thin line, and he gives Slate an exasperated look.
“Oh my God. He wanted you to tell him where I went, right?”
“Yeah, but he wasted his time. I didn’t tell him nothin’. He eventually ditched me along the side of the road, and that’s when I called to warn Slate that this tenacious ex of yours wasn’t givin’ up.”
“How did he even know that we were acquainted?”
Rivera shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “He saw me that day in the parking lot trying to get your attention. When you disappeared, he came lookin’ for me.”
“I wish you’d never gotten involved.”
“Well, I’m not sorry. If I hadn’t noticed you were in danger and called Slate to pull you out of there, it might have been you and your daughter that deranged fucker spent days abusing. I’d take a thousand beatings to keep you and your kid safe.”
“I don’t know how to thank you. I really don’t.”
“You can thank me by not getting back with the stupid fucker. He’s obsessed with you. You know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t want to go anywhere near him,” I tell him earnestly.
Rivera nods, settling back with a groan. “Then all’s well that ends well in my book.”
Suddenly, Rock’s voice comes from the doorway. “You said you told him nothing. Wanna elaborate on exactly what that fuckin’ looked like?”
I turn to see him leaning against the doorjamb with Queenie at his side.
Rivera whips his head around to look at Rock, and a slow smile spreads over his face. “You must be Slate’s old man. The two of you look just alike.”
Slate murmurs under his breath, “Only I’m younger, smarter, and better looking.”
Rock shoots Slate a dark look. “If you were smarter than me, your friend wouldn’t have gotten the shit beat out of him.”
Queenie quips, “Both of you need to stop playing around and answer your father’s question.”
Rivera lurches to his feet. “You want to know exactly what was said? I told him the fuckin’ truth—that I didn’t know where she went. That she’s someone I barely knew, and we don’t stay in touch. Eventually, he got tired of beating on me and turned me loose.”
“You saw his face, and that made you a loose end. Why didn’t he kill you?”
Rivera doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens. Slate looks at me, and I can see what he’s trying so desperately to hide.
“They wanted to see if he would call Slate,” I whisper. “That’s the only possible explanation. They saw Slate take me away on his motorcycle and thought I might still be with him.”
Slate’s voice is quiet. “That’s my thought as well.”
Rock gazes at Slate. “You realize he probably followed you back to our territory, right?”
Slate lifts his chin. “I sure as hell hope so. I ain’t a big fan of chasin’ this stupid fucker all over hell and half of California. If he’d come to me, that would make my life a whole lot easier.”
Gasps could be heard from several brothers. But Rock was still as a statue, still staring at Slate like he was seeing him with new eyes. “And…” Rock prompted.
Slate steps forward, blading his body in front of me.
“You want the rest of my rationale? Fine. It makes more sense to lure him here where we’ve got weapons, brothers to join the fight, and a place to secure the womenfolk.
This asshole has been stalking Christina for a long time.
I’d prefer to have the home court advantage when we throw down. ”
Rock’s eyes glitter with pride. “Smart you might be, but not smarter than me.”
I release a choked laugh. Slate’s father approved of luring a stalker right to their doorstep, saw it as good strategy. And it did make a certain kind of sense.
Slate grins back at him. “Since when did you start rhyming and shit? Ma, you should take him to get a checkup. He’s not right in the head.”
Even I could tell that Slate was just teasing, so I wasn’t too surprised when everyone laughed. It took the edge off a really tense moment.
I excuse myself to check on Katie. In truth, my head is spinning. These rough bikers inviting trouble to their door really shouldn’t surprise me, yet it does. I climb the steps quickly, wanting to get back to his suite to decompress for a bit.
Upstairs, I close the door behind me and lean against it, trying to wrap my head around everything I just learned.
I can’t manage it right away, so I go into the bedroom to find Katie still sleeping.
Easing down onto the edge of the bed, I cover my face with my hands.
Slate still thinks this man stalking me is my ex.
I’ve let him believe it because it’s easier than telling him the truth.
The truth is much worse, more complicated, and magnitudes more dangerous than the kind of trouble he thinks he’s courting.
I should tell him. I need to, before he gets in over his head. I’m genuinely worried about my situation dragging them deeper into something that even the Sons of Rage can’t handle.
Katie stirs in her sleep, and I reach out to gently rub her back.
She’s so young and vulnerable. I’m all she’s got.
We both took a hit that day when a pipe bomb blew up and sent me hurtling through the air ten feet away.
I ended up in a coma, not even knowing I was pregnant until I woke up.
My recovery took a few months, and by the time I gave birth, the doctors said she was small for her age because of the coma, and she never quite caught up.
Right now, she’s coming up on her third birthday but looks like your average two-year-old.
It’s probably why it’s never occurred to Slate to think Katie might be his daughter.
I pull my knees to my chest and whisper to myself, “I can’t run again. Not this time.”
No matter what, I need to keep my daughter safe.
It’s becoming increasingly obvious that I can’t do that alone. I need to break down and trust someone.
I already know that it’s going to be Slate.
He took us in and really cares about us.
He said he wants more than a fling this time around, and I’d love to give him more, but it has to be for the right reasons.
I can’t pull him into a relationship just because I need protection.
Deep down inside, I know that I’m not ready.
It all goes back to who I can trust and whether I’m willing to do what it takes to earn their trust back in return. I know I can trust Slate, his family, and his club. But I’m withholding vital information they need—not only to keep me safe but to keep themselves safe as well.