Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
ADELINA
I liked holding onto Graff. The feel of him. The hardness of him. How he reacted to me. Even as we flew down the highway, he responded to my every curious touch.
I was a bad girl. Throwing caution to the wind, I tightened my grip on him. He flinched and then relaxed into me, and I could feel the rumbling groan escape from his chest. He pulled the lever on the left and kicked the motorcycle gear down and rolled the throttle. We soared faster down the two-lane highway, dipping into curves and flying over the hills.
Then thrill took my breath away, and I had the urge to throw my hands out and squeal into the wind. We veered onto the highway and sped even faster, but we never zigzagged through cars. Not like I had seen the others do. Not like we had done before to get through the terrible LA traffic. When the traffic slowed, Graff slowed with it, as though we were no longer on a schedule.
It seemed like as soon as we were on the freeway, we exited, but we weren’t in the all-concrete jungles of the warehouse district. Once the freeway barriers were gone, we entered into a park area. The grass was dry and dead, but that was LA proper. The concrete and blacktop throughout the city turned it into one enormous greenhouse. Dry heat blasted across my face. The tar seemed to sizzle in the sun.
The motorcycle slowed at a stoplight, and Graff put his feet down on either side, keeping us upright. I looked up and down the street. I hadn’t been to this part of LA before, but then again, when I had been to LA previously, I spent my time in nice hotels and at galas.
This park could be a nice place, but it was sandwiched between middle-class houses and buildings in need of new paint.
Graff shifted, swiping his hand across his jeans, and I tightened my grip on his chest. Again, he tensed. I was sure he would leap off the motorcycle seat if I wasn’t there, holding him down.
Granted, I needed to hold on or fall off, and he was all I had to anchor myself.
I slid my hands down his cut, and he shifted again. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t say no or push me away. So I slid them down lower until they were rested on his thighs. I felt the lump under his jeans, and he let out a soft groan. Since he seemed to like the touch, I let my fingers explore the length of his enormous bulge.
“Adelina, please,” he whispered in a low breath.
“Do you not like this?” I could feel that he did, and all the brazen frustration I had experienced in the last day emboldened me.
“You’re Sas’s future wife.”
Me. Sas. Wife.
I parsed the words that felt like a cold shock of water to my face. My hands fell off his thighs. I didn’t need to be reminded, but everything and everyone wanted to do just that.
Sas this.
Sas that.
What about what I wanted?
The arranged marriage was why I was in LA. On a motorcycle, no less. It was why I wore riding leathers and felt my lower lips buzzing in time to the rumble of the motorcycle beneath me. The sensation made me scared to get off the bike, not trusting the stability of my own legs.
After the fear of my first ride on the back of one of these beasts, this needy feeling in my lower belly had happened every time. I wondered if it would ever not be the case.
Finally, the light turned green, and Graff took off. I grabbed him quickly, nearly falling back. He reached an arm around behind me, then drew my hand back to his chest on top of his cut. I clung to him, and finally, he relaxed. So did I when I knew he wouldn’t let me fall, unlike Sas. My future husband would’ve left me on the road and waited for a car to hit me. Maybe he would be satisfied when I had become roadkill.
Graff pulled into a parking spot and turned off the engine, but I didn’t move from the bike. First, because of my jelly-like legs. Second, I liked how we were connected.
“This is nice,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. Hoping maybe he wouldn’t hear.
He leaned the bike onto the kickstand and rested both his tattooed hands over mine. “It is.”
I missed being touched like this. I hadn’t connected with someone since my last boyfriend in college, and I liked the simplicity of this.
After my father told me I was marrying into the MC, all hope for somebody who might give me a sense of loving peace vanished. I pretended to be staring out at the park, but really, I was studying Graff’s silhouette, the same way I imagined him studying something before he drew.
Did he do the same thing with his tattoos?
“Adelina,” said Graff in a kind and patient tone.
I pushed off his motorcycle, asking, “What is this place?”
It certainly wasn’t the warehouse where they all lived in like a herd of uncivilized bachelors. Actually, when I thought about it, I didn’t know where the MC guys slept. All I knew was the room they’d locked me in, the common area, and the back yard patio. I couldn’t exactly call any of that uncivilized, because the modern industrial chic said there had to be some kind of designer involved.
I tried not to think about being stuck there for the rest of my life. Fortunately, there was plenty here to take my mind off that predicament. I faced a sprawling lawn scattered with people and... objects. I squinted to try to see clearer.
“It’s a sculpture garden,” said Graff, stepping off his bike. He shoved his hands into his pocket and looked at me a little sheepishly.
“I see that,” I said, though I didn’t. “But why are we here?”
“I like it here,” he said. “It’s... inspiring.”
Following his gaze, I caught sight of an abstract piece that resembled leaves blowing in a stiff breeze, but when the wind shifted, it looked like waves catching the sun.
I turned to him to ask about it, but he cut me off.
“Would you prefer to go back to the clubhouse?” His words sounded more uncertain than I had expected, as though he believed he made a mistake by bringing me here.
“No!” I thinned my lips, considering the shift in the mostly silent biker. “You seem shy all of a sudden.”
“Not shy.” He shrugged. “I just want you to like it here as much as I do.”
That brought a smile to my face. I should’ve wiped it off, but something about being here alone with him made it impossible to maintain my scowl.
I needed to play it cooler, though. My father taught me well enough that I couldn’t show emotion. No concern or weakness. And certainly not happiness if I hoped to make a mark on the world.
In the Mafia, I played the part—strong and stoic at my family’s side. Otherwise, they would have hooked their claws into me and dragged me into whatever mess they thought would hurt the most. It had to the same in the MC. Being tough was the only way they would survive in the criminal underworld.
Striding past him, I wobbled because my legs were buzzing. My leather stuck to my thighs, sweat caught underneath, and I wanted to peel the pants from my skin.
How did they stand wearing leather in the LA heat?
“Why are we here?” I asked, gesturing at the sculpture garden. I was safely on the sidewalk with enough distance between us that I could no longer smell his piney scent.
If he wanted to be rid of me, Graff could leave me here, but I knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t an ass.
“We didn’t have to get back to the clubhouse right away,” said Graff with a shrug. “I thought you might want to see more of the city that will be your home.”
“LA?” I asked.
He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. Highlights the color of honey caught the rays of the sun, and he looked sideways at me with a warm smile. “You been somewhere else in the last few days?”
“Well, no. But I didn’t expect an officer in the MC to bring me here.”
“It’s not a sanctioned field trip,” he said.
“So.” I lifted my brows. “It’s a date?”
Graff’s friendly smile faltered. He blinked and his jaw worked wordlessly.
“Or you’re going against their orders?” I teased.
When his lips pinched together, I thought maybe I should backpedal or apologize. But I didn’t truly regret the words, so I left them hanging out there in space.
“Maybe we should go back,” he said, reaching for the handlebars.
“No. I, um. I don’t want to go back. I’m not ready.” I stepped back on the lawn. I hoped my voice was inviting as I added, “Show me what this is all about?”
He hesitated, but now that he’d brought me here, he would have to chase me down to get me back on the bike right now. A day in the wide open would do me some good.
“Come on,” I said, taking back another step, coaxing him by curling a finger. “Let’s go.”
Thankfully, Graff dismounted from his enormous bike.
I waited for him to join me, because I wanted him to give me a tour. Hell, I needed him to explain this art to me. He moved toward a futuristic-looking sculpture. This was nothing like the classic art my father had taken me to see, so different from the sculptures in Florence or Rome. None of these outlandish pieces resembled the tedium of Michaelangelo, Donatello, or Ghiberti.
Those had all been strangely entrancing but watching him study the work was something altogether different. Better.
He moved to the side and said, “Come here.”
All too easily, I obeyed and moved toward him. When I reached his side, he turned me to face the sculpture and pointed over my shoulder, guiding my gaze.
“See the red on the tips of each piece?”
I squinted, but indeed, there were small splashes of deep red on the pieces fluttering in the breeze. The silver generally overpowered the darker color, so it fascinated me that he picked out the thing that most people wouldn’t notice.
“The metal reflects the sun, but those spots absorb it.”
“Yeah,” I said on a breath. “I see. Like people are drawn to the light while the darkness hides right there beside it.”
“And then see the black spikes on the arc there?”
Again, I followed his instruction and noticed how they made the light seem to pool around them. “They make the metal around them look like a droplet hitting water.”
“Exactly.” He wrapped his arms around my waist and just stared. “And people notice the rings without seeing what’s at the core.”
I shivered. “You’re really good at this art stuff.”
He shrugged. “That piece gives off different vibes at every hour of the day. It’s fascinating.”
“Do you have work here?”
Graff chuckled and shook his head. “I’m no sculptor.”
“But you have an eye for what these artists are trying to show.”
“Maybe.” Graff laced his fingers with mine and tugged. “This way.”
I glanced down at his big, inked hand engulfing mine and then back up to meet his gaze.
“Unless”—he raised his brows, eyes flicking up to the statue of two intertwined swirls—“you want to look at that one longer? Or this one.” He stopped before a white sculpture that looked like a bunch of swirls coming to a point at the top.
I tilted my head.
“You like the Unity design?” he asked.
I had zoned out, taking in a few moments of fresh air and the sun. “No,” I said. “I’m not even sure what I’m looking at until you explain it.”
“Oh,” Graff said with a spark of passion in his eye. “Well, there are many things you could pick out of this simple design. It could be a mother and baby swan with how the s-curve sits here.” His hand ghosted along the said curve in front of us. “Or a human mother picking up her child. Or perhaps a couple where one is significantly larger than the other.”
I sucked in a breath. “Did you go to school for this?”
He shook his head. “Just something I’ve picked up over the years.”
“But you don’t want to do anything with the talent?”
“You think I’m talented?”
“Of course.”
Graff smiled—a warm, inviting, and infectious smile. Like idiots, we stood there grinning at each other until it got quite uncomfortable.
“Where to next?” I asked.
Once he’d pointed out lovers with great size differences, I felt a distinct urge to move along.
Graff took me to another sculpture, streams of red reaching toward the sky. If I squinted, I could see a person dancing in flames. The hole could’ve been a thigh gap, and it could’ve been a finger pointing toward the sky. Graff let go of my hand and knelt beside the sculpture, reading the small brass plaque at the base.
“How does this one make you feel?” I asked.
A small curious smile touched Graff’s lips. “Why do you want to know?”
“Aren’t we supposed to feel something when we look at art?” At least that’s what my art appreciation teacher had told me.
“Do you feel something?”
“I asked you first.”
He looked back at the artwork, pursing his lips.
For a long moment, we stood there in silence. People passed us, looking at the sculpture and then walking on. It seemed like we should’ve been doing that too. After my initial thoughts on the red sculpture, I felt nothing.
I wondered if I stared at this long enough or thought hard enough, the sculpture would actually move.
“Not sure I can say,” he said.
I snorted. “I doubt that. I’ve seen your art. You could probably talk about anything artistic.”
He laughed at that, and warmth spread in my chest. “Thanks, but I meant critiquing art. I can point out what I see, but I can’t really say how it makes me feel.”
“Why?” I searched his face for answers.
“Other than that first piece, which fascinates me with the color play, I only see what I would’ve done differently.”
“Isn’t that a good way to learn?”
“It’s not a good way to enjoy,” he said. “What do you feel?”
I shrugged. “I guess I don’t feel a lot. But that may be what I’m familiar with.” Or my life in general.
“Okay, then what can you pick out in this piece?” he asked.
I studied it again. “I guess I see a person dancing.”
Graff’s eyes roamed over the red lines, and he nodded contemplatively. “Yeah. I can definitely see that.”
“You didn’t see it before?”
“Like I said, some pieces speak to me. Others, I only see what I would do differently.”
His reaction made me genuinely curious now. “Such as?”
“I wouldn’t have used that red or would’ve made the hole here”—he pointed—“a little larger.”
I snorted, a laugh bubbling out of me. It was unladylike, and I didn’t mean to laugh at him, but he took it well, laughing too.
“What is it?”
“You sound like me,” I said through giggles. “Tough to impress.”
He shook his head, red tinting his cheeks. “That’s not true. I saw how you were enthralled with my bike up at the canyon when you thought none of us were watching.”
“Oh, really?” I scoffed. “And you think you know me sooo well?”
Graff frowned, and then he worked his jaw like he should say something but didn’t know what.
Maybe I should say something. I had cut him to the bone, and I hadn’t meant it. Not really. I was just so accustomed to cutting people off when they thought they already knew me. They always think they know what they should expect from a Mafia princess.
A rich bitch.
A slut.
Just like Sas had accused me of being.
“Is it so bad for people to know you, Adelina?” He picked up my hand again, and I let go of the breath I’d been holding.
I hadn’t realized how much I was waiting for him to say something, but the walls I’d been building wouldn’t fall so easily. “It can be.”
He continued, “I think I’m starting to understand you, but I’d like to know more.”
I nearly barked “why?” because why would anyone in the MC want to know me? I wasn’t anything more than a burden, thanks to my heartless father.
“Okay.” I stood straighter.
Graff stiffened, like he knew I was about to do something ridiculous. Maybe he did understand me. What I did next might’ve been dangerous, but I took off anyway.
Running between the sculptures, I was acting like the child they seemed to think I was. They wanted a brat; I would give them one. What I didn’t expect was to feel so free with the stupid little defiance. A squeal bubbled out of me.
Graff gave me a three second head start as I sprinted through the sculptures.
Others gawked at us.
Was this stupid? Yeah, it was stupid. I was stupid.
We looked crazy. A tatted-up biker dude chasing a neon pink Italian Barbie in goth, thigh-high boots. But I couldn’t care less. The run sent blood pumping through my veins, and it felt amazing to be frolicking.
A green hedge rose above me, cutting through the lawn to be taller than I could reach—maybe ten feet tall. It felt like we were caught in the gardens at Versailles—and I sprinted in. Shadows covered me almost instantaneously, blocking out the relentless sun.
Graff called after me.
And I goaded him on. “Come in and find me,” I sang.
The hedges shifted as a stiff wind blew through, and I stopped after I made a sharp turn to the right to look back. When he neared me, his massive boots seemed to shake the ground. People scattered out of his way, like pigeons. When he made it halfway down the run toward my corner, I laughed and scurried deeper into the maze. He had size on me, but I had agility. Despite that, I swore I heard Graff’s deep chuckle behind me. He liked this too—no matter how foolish and stupid this game was, it reminded me how young I was.
How much I had left of life to experience.
I had been trying to be mature, the long game of a woman about to be married off for a family alliance. But I was only four years into adult life. I had been in college and seen how wild some girls went after high school. Many people older than twenty-two years had done really stupid shit, and I wanted a taste of that before my life was no longer my own.
Zigzagging through the tall hedges, I dashed left and then hooked a right. I moved here and there until I was lost in the hedge of fake green, painted and smelling like grocery-store pine. I slammed my back against the hedge and breathed heavily.
My gasps came loudly, and I slapped my hand across my mouth.
I had lost Graff somewhere, but I knew he would be like a cat, stalking me. Prowling.
Goosebumps rose on my skin as a chill slithered down my spine. Finally, the relentless heat had fucked off, but the cold realization that I wanted him hunting me had me shivering.
Tension had wrapped around my body, and I peeked out, trying to see Graff. Where had he gone? Did Graff leave me here?
No , I told myself, because if he was going to leave me anywhere, it would have been in the empty canyon. In the desert, where I would never find a way out and would starve and wither away from dehydration.
Yet, as irrational as it may have been, I feared being left.
Would he really do that?
Abandon me in a strange place?
Turn an ice-cold shoulder.
Like when my father kissed Caterina on the head before he left, but not me. He would always give me a couple of words like “Be good, Adelina,” or “Don’t get into trouble,” but he never kissed me goodbye in the morning. I told myself it was just because Cat’s chair was near the door, but that was a lie.
Mamà and Nonna would coo over my sister too, making sure her dresses were smooth and her hair was always in place. They were nice enough to me, Nonna more than my own mother. Mamà took care of my hair when I asked, but my younger sister had always been the real family jewel.
When I’d been upset over it, Nonna had always said, “Sii forte e coraggioso, Adelina.” Be strong and brave .
The expectation had been so clear—I was to be the strong one while she was the pretty one. The loved one. I had fawned over Cat too, thinking that’s what everyone should do. I adored my sister, but I also envied the attention she drew.
“Got you!” Graff latched his arms around me, and I let out a shocked but delighted squeal.
Before I knew it, he was picking me up from the ground and swinging me around. I kicked my legs out, flailing, and Graff laughed. Thunder rumbled overhead. His hot breath pulsated next to my ear, and more chills skirted across my arms, this time not from a cold. Graff engulfed me in his warmth, his arms locked around me, and the front of him rubbed against my back. He pressed himself against me.
We both froze, his arms relaxing. It allowed me to put my feet back on the ground slowly twist around in his arms. He glanced down at my lips.
I hesitated, but he didn’t stop me. Didn’t pull away.
I was so close to kissing him until a louder crack of thunder echoed above our heads. It was a split second before rain pelted down on us.
“Shit!” Graff grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a small leaf-covered awning in the hedge.
I stumbled into him, ducking my head. My wet hair caught across my neck and hair, and I peeled them off. The rain was thick and heavy, turning everything into a haze. I couldn’t see through the downpour, everything still darkened by the hedge maze and now the clouds overhead.
Graff peeled off his jacket and held it over the two of us. The heavy rain that seeped through the foliage splattered against his vest. It leaked over the lip and plopped onto my bare skin. I wasn’t ready for the rain, but neither was Graff by the looks of it.
As a biker, he must’ve been caught in freak storms from time to time, and in LA, this was definitely a fluke. However, he was trembling like a soaked puppy, peeking out from under the makeshift leather umbrella.
This close, his tattoos were on full display. My breath hitched in my throat, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Instead, I reached out and touched his arm, tracing my fingers over his tattoos. Graff glanced down, his mouth dangling open. Did he like me touching him as much I enjoyed my tentative exploration?
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started, but neither of us moved. I wanted to touch him more, or for him to touch me.
“Isn’t this cute?” asked a male voice, lilting with a Latino accent.
Graff jerked his arm back, but I didn’t understand who could make Graff act this way in a random place like this. It certainly wasn’t Sas. I didn’t recognize the voice, so I turned to look. Unfortunately, seeing him didn’t help me place him. Names were like faces in the MC—they all were the same. Well, most of them. I always recognized Sas and Graff. And, of course, I could pick out Rafe any day of the week.
Graff slid me behind him, shielding me with his body, and I peeked over his shoulder, something I could only do thanks to the four plus–inch platforms. Everything in my life now seemed to be MC related or cartel related, or both. This guy had to have it in for the MC based on how stoic Graff had suddenly become.
The man lowered his cell phone after taking a picture of us, and I tried not to flinch. Graff and I hadn’t been doing anything indecent... yet.
“What are you doing here, Rojas?” asked Graff.
“I feel like I should be asking that of you.” The Rojas brother—now I recognized him but couldn’t remember his name—peered at me. “And who is this pretty-in-pink princess?”
The guy moved to the side, apparently trying to get a better view. Graff had me though and rotated us to keep his body between me and the henchman from the cartel. I had had many guys stare at me with lust in their eyes, leering and basically salivating at the mouth. I had even counted on it in the past to achieve what I needed to, but something had changed. The small shift in me was now monumental.
Every muscle in Graff’s body was taut as he stood in front of me. “She’s none of your business.”
The Rojas brother smirked. “Don’t be that way, hombre.” He spread his hands. “Sharing is caring.”
“Not with you,” I said, and Graff shot me a look over his shoulder that said I should be quiet.
“That’s what you think now, but you’re one of the new puta.” He slipped his cell phone into his pocket. “I know how club bunnies all get passed around, like shipments. In warehouses. Money.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
I had heard what the Rojas brothers speaking about with Sas and the MC. I had basically thrown the thought of using my money at the situation. Maybe I should regret that now.
“What do you want, Cazador?” growled Graff.
“I’m taking in the art. Just like you, amigo.” But the Rojas brother’s eyes were only on me as his tongue darted out. “Enjoy the gardens. And her pussy.” Then he strode off, stomping through the rain.
Graff took a step out of our hiding spot, but I pulled him back. A fresh splattering of rain glistened on his skin. He stared at where the Rojas brother had gone, but I didn’t let him go any further.
“We should go back to the clubhouse,” said Graff.
I frowned. “It’s still raining.”
“You’re in an MC, Barbie. You better get used to riding in the rain.”
I groaned. I didn’t want to go, and it had nothing to do with the possibility of getting drenched. I had been having so much fun with this little game of Graff chasing me. I had new desires begging to be sated.
Graff held out his hand for me. “You’re already wet. Let’s go”
He had no flipping clue.
Reluctantly, I slapped my hand in his and followed him back to his bike. There was no sign of Rojas as we walked, which made having to leave so much worse. I climbed on the bike and in only a matter of seconds, Graff had the beast started and we were rolling out. The initial bite of wind made my blood run cold. But by the time we veered onto the highway, the sun parted the clouds and shone down on us. It dried my leathers and stopped my shivers.
Back at the clubhouse, only semi-dry from the rain, Graff left me to my bedroom. He would barely look at me now, even as he asked if he could have something brought to me.
I shook my head and hugged myself around the middle, preparing to be alone. Again.
“Hang up the leathers. I’ll send in some honey.”
“Honey?”
“Leather conditioner. You should’ve done that before you wore it.” He grinned as he looked my fit up and down and stroked his chin.
“What?” I asked.
“Your skin might be pink.”
My eyes went round.
Before I could ask, he clarified, “The leather dye will seep out if it’s not properly conditioned. I assume it’s real leather.”
“I wouldn’t buy anything less.”
“Then don’t be surprised if you’re hot pink underneath too.” He made for the door. “You sure you don’t want any soup or tea?”
I shook my head again. Graff’s sweetness hurt my teeth, and it made me sad that he was leaving me alone. He was too kind for this club and for me.
Stopping, he glanced back. “I need to talk to Sas. You should take a shower. Warm up.”
I followed him to the door and slapped it shut behind him, needing the wall between us. Otherwise, I might’ve reached out and pulled him close and gotten him beaten—or whatever the MC would do to him for kissing another’s promised wife.
When we had been on the motorcycle, flying down the road, I had felt the hum of the motorcycle in my bones and my core. Graff had been situated between my inner thighs. I wanted more of that ride and more of what almost happened in the park. But the fucking Rojas brother ruined the nearly perfect moment.
My little stunt had been carefree and stupid, ignoring all the danger at hand. But Graff had made me forget, if only for an hour. The draw to him was dangerous and ridiculous, and if I was smarter—and I liked to think I was smart—I would turn away from him. And this.
I would escape this life once and for all.
But back in reality, all I managed to do was peel off the wet leather and stare at my now hot pink skin in the mirror.
I watched myself as I let my hands run down my body toward my wet pussy. When my finger slipped between my lips and brushed my most sensitive spot, a small tingle ran up my spine, pleasure echoing in me.
I was too wound up. Too bottled up. All I wanted, or thought I did, had slipped through my fingers. I wasn’t a Mafia princess anymore, just a random bunny or sweetbutt. So I would do what a bunny did best.
Leaving the leather in a puddle on the floor, I laid down on the bed. For the first time since I arrived, I ignored how the blankets were itchy—definitely not Egyptian cotton—and how lumpy the mattress was. Instead, I focused on the pressure building between my thighs, stroking myself, as I closed my eyes and remembered how Graff had felt pressed against me in the maze.
How my thighs had fit around his on the bike.
The hard ridges of his muscles.
I pictured how he’d looked at me when he told me my skin would be pink... with curiosity and fire in his gaze.
My mental images scrolled through the day and how he had licked his lips from time to time.
In the maze, his eyes had lingered on my lips.
At the stoplight, his rock-hard bulge under my palm.
I rocked on my fingers, the pressure and pleasure building, as I sank my teeth into my lower lip. I imagined his lips on mine, trailing down my skin. His bulge finally bursting free. I dropped my jaw, imagining how I could take him in my mouth, and then I worked my hand faster against my clit. He would move inside me and fill me so deliciously. And then... Then, I would scream out his name as I fucking came—like I did now.
The orgasm ripped through me, stealing breath. I gasped and moaned, then flopped over.
Spent, but still craving more.
I couldn’t dream of ever having my fill of the pleasure I was certain Graff could draw from my body. He would be so different from Sas. But the thought of them both drove me mad and had me reaching between my legs again, wishing I was so full I would lose every ounce control I fought so goddamn hard to maintain.