THIRTY
Splice
Goddamn. His woman felt good in his arms.
Every second without her had felt like a lifetime, and he hadn’t liked it one bit.
His lungs had ceased working the moment he saw Lisa stride into the club looking like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, but so fiery, determined, he’d nearly burst out of his seat to grab her, to bury his mouth against her pulse and drink her down like a drowning man.
But he’d forced himself to remain seated, to let the sweet bottoms fawn over him.
He’d fucking hated it all.
Hurting Lisa hurt him, and he wanted to rip his guts out and hang himself with them.
“Let me go.” She struggled, but he locked his arms tighter, unable to let go until his heart calmed down, which would be any time next year.
“Not yet,” he rasped.
“Ryan. Now.” She pushed harder, and he let Lisa put space between them. She slid out from the wall immediately and stared at him, blinking with her lips gaped open.
“You’re... you’re...” was all she said, and he advanced to her again and cupped her face, dropping that mask he’d had to wear out there in public.
Two of the longest days of his life.
“I love you.” He said, unable to hold the words back anymore.
Shitty timing? Yeah. Fuck timing. He couldn’t bear looking at the face he’d hurt minutes ago. The woman he’d been hurting for days by ghosting her.
Lisa, his beautiful, perfect goddess, blinked, and he saw rage fill her narrowed eyes. Any other time, he would have grinned to witness her demeanor changing like this, but he stood ready.
“You don’t have amnesia, do you?” she intoned.
“No, sweetheart.”
He never did. He wasn’t even in a motorcycle accident.
Everything from the moment he left the clubhouse the other night had been a fabrication, carefully constructed by him and his patched brothers around an emergency church meeting table.
One strategic call after another, he set his trap.
“Let me explain.” He whispered, keeping his voice low enough so anyone walking by wouldn’t hear him. Only those men at the church table knew the truth and why it was happening.
“You don’t have amnesia, and you never did.
” She repeated, like his Lisa had to taste the words to believe what she was saying.
And then he watched how fast her eyes brimmed with tears, and his guts spilled out onto the floor.
Trying to reach out to her, she knocked his hands away.
“You absolute little shit.” She burst out, and she was the one who came to him, going toe-to-toe like his beautiful love.
She pushed on his chest with her bunched fists.
“Do you know how worried I’ve been? You lying jerk!
How many times I cried!” She pushed and pounded on his chest, and Splice took it, hardly feeling a thing because his gaze was glued to her face as one tear strayed down her cheek.
That was his limit; he couldn’t stand not being close enough to touch her, and he grabbed her around the waist, hauling her in, trapping her pounding hands against his chest. Splice cupped the back of Lisa’s head, confining her.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. So fucking sorry.
I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m sorry for leaving you alone.
” He was so sorry. Splice had weighed his options before he’d taken this one, knowing how much he’d regret what he had to do, so it would seem he’d detached himself from Lisa for the outside world to see.
Especially the fool who had inserted himself into splitting them up again.
His one aim was to get the target off her back, to make it look like they were no longer together. Anyone who’d seen Splice in the last months would say he’d fallen deeply in love, so that a normal breakup wouldn’t cut it. Splice in love wouldn’t have left his old lady.
He had to go the hard way.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped again, inhaling the scent of her hair.
Lisa had gone slack against him, not holding back, not lassoing her arms around his waist like she usually would. He pulled back a few inches and wiped the tears with his thumbs. He then roamed small kisses over the same tear trails, loving her with his mouth.
“I’ve missed you so much; I was dying inside.”
Her lower lip trembled, “and you were lying.”
“Only for a little while, baby. Let me explain.” He pleaded.
More kisses ran over her face.
Desperate, pleading kisses, begging her to give him a chance to hear what he had to say.
He’d slit his own throat before he ever broke up with her.
He knew he was punching above his weight, earning a woman like Lisa, who the fuck in their right mind would ditch her?
But in a life-or-death situation, he sure as hell would lie to protect her. He would use his own body to shield her from danger.
Once he realized what Vince was doing—still with no reason—Splice knew his uncle could go to extremes to get Lisa out of his life. It had been a snap decision to put his plan into action. He’d chosen Lisa over Vince instantly. No thought about it. He’d choose her every single time.
“Please, sweetheart.” He begged, and he went for her trembling lower lip, sucking it between his teeth.
That one taste of Lisa detonated a bomb in Splice’s head. It set his wiring on fire, destroyed his rational thought, leaving trails of ash in its wake, because all his thoughts were directed to one thing.
Tasting her again.
Tasting the woman he hadn’t tasted in two long days.
Splice needed to be drunk on his woman.
“Lisa. My sweetheart.” He groaned, applying pressure to her unmoving lips.
She didn’t react at first. Her hands were down by her sides; it was Splice doing all the movement, but he was happy to, nibbling her top lip, then his favorite bottom lip.
“Forgive me.” He pleaded. Kissing. Kissing. Kissing. Coaxing her to open up to him. He roamed his hands down her back, cupping her ass, and desire burst open between them. He felt it the moment Lisa caught fire because her inhale was the sweetest sound on earth.
Now, he was not a book-smart man, but he could take cues like the next moron, and he went for her mouth like he wanted to.
Like he’d thought about it non-stop ever since he’d parked his ass in the clubhouse—in this very room—and gone over his plan.
He thought about kissing Lisa, wrapping his arms around her, and letting her know everything would be alright.
When he found her tongue, he twined his around it and sucked hard until Lisa moaned, going up on her toes; she wrapped her arms around him, and Splice’s heart rang a fucking bell in his chest.
This was what contentment felt like.
Happy came wrapped in a screaming, perfect package that was all Lisa.
He couldn’t breathe without this woman close by. He felt as though he had been emptied of his soul by being away from her.
But it wasn’t about him, was it? It never was.
Lisa was his reason.
His starter pistol.
His number one.
And so, he coaxed her into sweetness by kissing the life out of her, not giving her room to breathe, even if she might slug him in the gut.
“I love you.” He said between kisses. “I fucking worship my goddess,” he groaned, biting her and then licking the sting away.
His cock nearly caught fire when she gripped his hair tight and yanked.
Oh, fuck, she made him hard. So hard, he was about to come if she pulled again.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he repeated until he heard her whimpering into his mouth.
Splice didn’t let up on kissing, keeping Lisa against the wall; he was fighting for his life.
Nobody had ever been worth dying for to him before. Or to turn his world upside down. Those emotions weren’t in him.
Or so he thought.
And then Lisa.
Lisa was his period. His complete sentence. His entire manuscript.
To stop him this time, Lisa got her hand up to Splice’s throat, and she pushed hard enough into his Adam’s apple; their mouths detached, their breaths mingled like steam.
The anger had disappeared from her eyes, but the hurt remained, and Splice frowned, resting their foreheads together. He refused to relinquish the hold on her waist; he needed the connection, or he’d die.
The dramatic fucker that he was needed his grounding soul to keep him level. He’d been coming out of his skin without her.
“This reason better be the best reason the world’s ever heard, or I promise, Ryan, your life won’t be worth living.
I will make you as miserable as I’ve felt,” she threatened, like she were seven feet tall instead of his pint-sized woman.
His heart leaked all over, and he smiled, kissing her forehead.
She tried to disentangle herself from him.
Nah, that wasn’t happening.
Splice picked her up by the waist, plopped himself down on the side of the bed, and put Lisa over his lap.
“You looked right through me,” she mumbled. “You called me babe.” She poked him in the shoulder. He deserved it and more. “You let those women sit close to you. You let them touch you! I want to burn your clothes!”
“I’ll burn them all, I promise. It was all a ruse, sweetheart. I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you.”
She looked at him for a while before she cupped his cheek, and Splice felt at home again with her touch. He leaned in like an eager puppy.
Then she said. “Explain.”
“I found out who’s been harassing you.” He started as he meant to go on.
His voice was low to keep the conversation between them and to prevent eavesdropping. Every inch of anger he’d felt for the two days returned, and he rasped, “Brace, okay?” and then. “It was Vince.”
Yeah, the way Lisa was looking at him right now, with her confused look, that was how he’d felt when he’d realized.
It had been a gut punch of the worst kind.
He’d gone through a lifetime of people he’d crossed, or exes who might get a kick out of harassing Splice’s girlfriend, and never once would Splice have put Vince on the list of suspects.
It had taken seeing it with his own eyes, Primo calling the number, and Vince, standing outside his car dealership, answering the same call.