5. Ivy
5
IVY
The clubhouse is packed tonight. The scent of whiskey and cigars and gasoline hangs thick in the air. The Heartless Bastards are in full effect tonight, their loud, rough voices bellowing like backup singers for the classic rock blasting from the speakers. Girls in lace stockings and short skirts hang over the guys like they belong to them.
But none of them belong to Slate.
Slate belongs to me.
He hasn’t said those words out loud. Not yet. But he doesn’t have to. I see it in the way he looks at me. The way he tracks my every movement, his eyes scouring my body, burning into my skin like a brand. The way his jaw tightens and his fists clench when another man even glances in my direction.
I can feel him watching me from across the room, his gaze like a hot hand against my body. I glance over to the bar, and sure enough, there he is. Leaning casually, like an Adonis statue, his broad shoulders showing through the torn fabric of his Henley. His blond hair hanging like golden vines across his face.
But even from here, I can see the dangerous glint in his eyes.
The glint that promises violence.
Why? Because Zane is talking to me.
Zane is one of the younger recruits, still not a full-fledged member of the Heartless Bastards. He’s not really doing anything wrong. He’s just chatting with me, asking me what my dad’s shop could do for a tune-up for his bike. But I can tell that Slate does not see it that way.
He sees it as another man infringing on his territory.
But as we’re technically not together tonight–having decided to keep our relationship on the downlow–he can’t exactly make a big scene.
But as Zane steps closer, just a little too close, Slate is suddenly right beside me, standing tall like an unbreakable wall of muscle and stoicism.
“You trying to ‘rizz’ this girl up, recruit?” he asks, his voice low and threatening. A clear warning that Zane does not pick up on.
“Relax, man.” Zane smirks. “I was just asking her about a tune-up.”
Slate doesn’t move a muscle. His eyes simply narrow, and a low-growl rises up from his chest. “Talk to her dad then. She’s not your mechanic.”
Finally, Zane gets it.
His smile fades, and his eyes flick to me before moving back to Slate. He raises his beer in a half-toast and nods. “Okay. Sure. No problem.” I hear him muttering a curse under his breath as he backs away, disappearing into the throng of the party.
“What the hell was that?” Slate snarls, turning to me, his jaw tight, lips twitching.
I pivot, crossing my arms in defiance. “What was what? He was just asking me about a tune-up.”
Slate leans in, grabs my wrist with his hand, and pulls me close. The heat of his body rages against me, and suddenly, I’m not thinking about Zane or the rest of the people in the room. All I can focus on is the fiery tension between us.
“You really think that’s why he was talking to you, Ivy?” he asks, his voice low. “Don’t tell me you’re that na?ve.”
My rebellious nature flares. I want to argue, get into it with him. But at the same time, his possessiveness is a total turn-on. This big, hot, enormous man is marking his territory. He doesn’t want any other guy to even have a chance to hit on me.
Hot.
“Maybe I am.” I tilt my eyes so he knows I’m teasing. “Or maybe I just wanted to see how long you’d let him hit on me before you did something.”
Slate arches an eyebrow, a sly smile twisting across his lips. “You sassy little–”
Before he can finish, a stern voice cuts through the air.
“Slate.”
I know before I look.
Saxon, the leader of the Bastards. He’s glaring at us from a few feet away, his eyes hard and lips thin. He’s clearly pissed.
I know there’s a long history between these two, but I don’t know the details. But when Slate sighs and lets go of my arm, I can tell that this is not a conversation he’s looking forward to having.
“My office,” Slate says. “Now.”
Slate turns to me and whispers, “Be right back.” He smiles with his eyes. “Don’t let me catch you with anyone else. Understand?”
I smirk, fighting the urge to plant a kiss on his lips. “Gotcha.”
My stomach twists as I watch as he and Saxon walk to the office. It doesn’t take a fortune teller to figure out what this is about.
Me.
I knew it was a mistake to come here tonight. I tried to resist, but neither of us wanted to be away from the other, so we decided I’d just show up as Slate’s guest and do some mingling.
My encounter with Zane put an end to that plan.
I know I should stay where I am–try to just blend in and avoid any more conversations–but I can see Saxon and Slate through the office window, and I just can’t help myself.
I creep over, doing my best to look like I’m just walking casually, interested in the patches hanging from the wall. When I get closer, I can hear their voices through the thin wall.
“What did I say, Slate?” Saxon asks, clearly not happy. “Ivy is off-limits!”
My heart leaps. My pulse skyrockets. Slate doesn’t respond right away. The tension is like a knife sliding down my back.
“She’s not a child, Sax,” he finally replies, his voice steady and calm. “She can make her own decisions.”
“She’s Frank Calloway’s daughter!” Saxon snaps. “Frank works with us because he trusts us. You screw with her, you screw us all over, Slate.”
Silence. Then Slate, his voice like hot steel. “I’m not screwing with her, Saxon.”
“No? What are you doing then?”
A second pause. Longer this time.
The tension is so high I feel like I’m going to pass out.
“I love her, Saxon.” Slate’s words send a shiver through me, and I have to brace myself against a chair to keep from falling to my knees. “She’s mine.”
I was not expecting that. I mean, I had my suspicions, and I was hoping to hear it one day. But directly from him. And not so soon.
He really feels that way about me?
I don’t know why I’m having such a hard time with this. Maybe it’s because deep down, I know I feel the same way about him.
When Slate’s gone, it’s like the world is somehow duller. Like it’s lost its intensity. Its vibrancy. And all I can think about is seeing him again. This big, brawny, biker man completes me.
“You love her?” Saxon asks, his tone accusatory. “You barely know her.”
Slate scoffs. “You’re one to talk. How long did it take for you to fall for Tammy?”
Tammy, Saxon’s wife. I’ve seen her around maybe once or twice.
Saxon shakes his head and sighs. “Maybe you’ve got a point,” he replies. “But as the club’s leader, I can’t allow this.”
“Saxon–”
“Too much depends on it, and Frank would kill me if he found out I knew about this.” He levels his eyes at Slate. “You either end it with Ivy or you’ve gotta be done here. I’m sorry.”
A heavy load of guilt suddenly washes over me, and I head for the door. I should have seen this coming. My dad warned me about The Heartless Bastards, and now Saxon is warning Slate. I never should have said yes when he asked me to go bowling with him.
But how could I resist?
Those crystal blue eyes, dirty blond hair, muscles upon muscles, and a jawline most men would kill for. What girl could say no to that?
But now I’m literally going to end up destroying his life. And I don’t want to be that girl. Who even knows if we’ll end up working out? I want to believe we will, but doesn’t everybody?
What if he gives up everything to be with me and then we crash and burn like a bike popping a flat on the freeway?
No. I can’t let that happen.
I’m barely outside, gasping the cool night air into my lungs, when I hear Slate behind me. “Ivy, wait.”
I’m starting to cry. God, what a mess I am.
I don’t stop. I keep walking.
“Ivy!” He races up and steps in front of me, blocking my progress with his massive frame. I drop my head and try to skirt by him, but he grabs my arms and ducks down, forcing me to face him. His eyes are wild and stormy, causing my heart to flutter like a flag in the wind.
“You heard, didn’t you?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he says firmly. He’s holding me so tightly that it hurts, but I can feel the love in his grip, and it feels good.
I swallow hard, blink up at him. “But the club–?”
“Fuck it.” He smiles. “I am not leaving you. Understand?”
A hot, joyful feeling spreads through me like a growing fire. A warm feeling twisting through my chest.
He chose me.
Me .
“I don’t want to ruin your life–”
“Ruin my life?” He scoffs, pulling me close. “Ivy, you’re the best thing to ever happen to my life.”
I crumble.
My skin starts to tingle. I’m close to overheating. I can feel my cheeks blush as my lips twist into a smile.
I don’t even think. I just reach up and grab him by the collar and pull him down to me. Our lips crash together, hot and filled with lust, instantly washing every thought from my mind.
The heat spreads between my legs, prickling with anticipation. The next thing I know, Slate has me in his arms and is carrying me over to his bike. It’s like I weigh nothing to him.
We have to break our kiss as we slide into the saddle together, and I feel a sense of loss like a hollow crater just formed in my stomach. But as Slate kicks the engine to life, I wrap my arms around his waist and lean into him, holding him close as we speed out of the parking lot, his words echoing in my mind.
“I love her, Saxon. She’s mine.”
My dad will find out sooner or later. And when he does, he might kill me.
He might kill Slate too.
But what choice do I have? I’ve fallen for Slate, and there’s no coming back. No resisting. No fighting it. All I can do is go with the flow and pray that it all works out.
Because he’s not letting me go.
And I’m not letting him go.
Not ever.