“It’s good to see you,” he mutters quietly. “I mean … when I’m not drunk as hell and covered in blood.” He laughs, grim. “I’m sorry you had to see all that. Fuck … If I thought you’d get tied up in all of this …” He wanders over to the bed and drops into it, trying and failing to hide a wince of pain. “Come here.” He opens his arms.

  I go over to him and slide into his lap, being careful at first not to sit down too hard. But then he grabs me and forcibly sits me down, shaking his head and laughing when I protest. “You think your little ass is gonna do worse’n that bastard? I wish we got our hands on that prick.”

  “Would you torture him?” I ask, thinking of Tiffany. My best friend, and all the things she saw and heard. All because of me. But she’s safe. Surely that means something.

  From seemingly nowhere, a question emerges: who exactly am I? I can’t find the answer.

  “No,” Mason says. “I’d kill him clean and quick. But I’d kill him.”

  He shifts slightly, his pants grinding against my ass. I’m wearing shorts and a tank top to beat off the summer heat. Everything is wet and hot and close. I wriggle my ass against the motion of his cock. He’s wearing sweatpants and a tank top, his arms bulging like the muscles could just burst free of his skin. A thick vein runs along his bicep. I grab onto it on a whim, squeezing down.

  Uncertainty might plague me, but not about this. Not about how incredible his cock feels driving up between my ass cheeks. His cock presses my shorts against the cheeks, tangling them up. I rock back and forth even quicker, letting out a moan. I can’t help it. He just feels so solid, so secure.

  “Stand up,” he growls. “Take off your clothes. I wanna watch.”

  I rise to my feet. It feels good to have him telling me what to do. It feels good to relinquish control. That’s one thing I never would’ve guessed about myself before meeting Mason. Sometimes just letting go is the best thing there is. I stand up, strutting across the room. Despite the craziness, his eyes on my ass send those familiar-yet-new tingles all over my body. I bend over for him as I peel my shorts down.

  He leans forward, watching me intently. His bruised and cut face might scare another woman. It’s a scary enough sight. But it doesn’t scare me. Because mostly I just look into his eyes; his bright, wolfish eyes. The eyes devour my ass when I step out of the shorts. I don’t think there’s any other man alive whose look could have this effect on me. My panties brushing up against my pussy feel like they weigh a million tons.

  “Them as well,” he snarls.

  I pull my panties down. Wetness drips down my thighs when I hop out of them. I turn, pulling my tank top off slowly.

  He rises to his feet, walking across the room.

  “I can’t kiss you,” he mutters. “Mouth’s all jacked up.”

  “I know,” I reply, softly stroking my hand through his hair.

  “I can still fuck you, though.”

  He grabs me by the shoulders and lifts me off my feet, carrying me to the bed. He drops me down a second later. I bounce up, and then he’s on top of me. Every movement he makes is that of a predator. He crushes my body flat with his. And I am happy to be crushed. I put my hands on his shoulders and squeeze, but not hard. I am scared of hurting him. Then he growls. I understand it. I can squeeze him as hard as I want, he’s telling me.

  He yanks down his pants to just under his balls. His cock is huge, rock hard, raging like it could explode at any moment. I reach down and grab it. The veins press powerfully against my hand.

  “You’re so hard for me,” I moan, my clit and my sweet spot and my lips all screaming out for his touch.

  I guide him to my pussy, opening myself for him. He slides in half of his cock. I bite down against the momentary pain, but then he pushes in the rest of the way and the pain disappears. In its place is that burning heat, that aching. That all-consuming fire that sits right at the end of his touch. I sit down on him, using his shoulders as handholds.

  “Fuck,” I moan, when he thrusts inside of me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I shift with my hips, taking each moment of pleasure as it comes. I can just float between them, thinking of nothing else. It doesn’t exist, the past, the doubts, the future. All that exists is his cock, his massive perfect cock and his perfect body and the perfect growling sound he makes with each thrust.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I cry, slamming myself down into him.

  “Come for me,” he growls. He’s already close, I can tell. He could hold himself back, but I don’t want him to do that. I want him to let himself go on me.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I whisper, running my hands through his hair.

  “Come.” He pounds into me. “For.” Again, even harder. “Me.”

  The whole bed squeals, already replaced from earlier. It threatens to break again as the orgasm splits me in half. I lie back on the bed, hardly able to move except to let the orgasm twitch through my body. I keep my eyes on his, both of us staring into each other. My entire lower half cramps up like it’s trying to hurt me, but there is no pain. Even when my toes curl so hard the backs of my calves hurt, there is no pain. Just the length of him, just that unstoppable fire at the end of his dick.

  I throw my head back, moaning loudly now. Mason clamps his hand over my mouth and drives into me with what must be close to all his strength. The bed hops as the last tremors go all the way from my toes up to my neck. I bite down on his shoulder, screaming so loudly into him that if he wasn’t right up next to me I’m sure the whole town would hear.

  His teeth graze my forehead as he comes, his growl warm against my skin.

  He rolls aside, panting heavily. One of his cuts has reopened on his face. He touches it, nods to me, and then heads into the bathroom.

  I sit up with his come sliding down my thighs.

  The armistice is over. All the feelings that the sex beat away return to me with a vengeance. All the doubt and the wondering if this is the right thing to do and Tiffany’s stare. Her vacant stare, so unlike her. The stare of somebody who has seen something they were never supposed to.

  When Mason returns, I’ll have to do something. Something that will tell me if he really cares.

  That’s what I need to know most of all. That he really does care.

  Please, Mason, please fight for me.

  18

  Mason

  I clean up the cut and then splash myself with cold water. Doc said I shouldn’t do that since it can mess up the bandages, but it don’t seem to be doing that much harm.

  Anyway, I’d rather not have dried blood crusted to my face. It reminds me too much of being back there. I splash myself again, wondering if I’m fully sober yet. That was enough whiskey to kill a horse.

  “You’ve got one hell of a stomach on you,” the doc said, shaking his head. “Damn, Wolf. Damn.”

  I grip the edge of the sink, wondering if Mickey and Bones and Junker are really dead. If we’re really losing this war.

  I went into the bar earlier. There’s a tarpaulin pulled over the gap the Pagan’s Sons left with their explosives.

  I can tell a lot of the fellas wanna move, but Yates won’t have it. This is the house, after all. We’re not just going to let them have it.

  I go into the bedroom to find Jasmin sitting with her hands folded in her lap, looking up at me with an expression on her face I can’t read. It looks like she’s in pain, almost. Maybe the sex was too hard for her. But it doesn’t seem to be physical pain.

  “You good?” I ask, walking over. I don’t sit down.

  She nods shortly. “I … I think we need to talk.”

  I shrug, going over to the desk. I lean against it and fold my arms. “All right? What about?”

  “I just … I want to talk about us.”

  The word “us” hangs in the air like a death threat. My first instinct is to leap out of the window and run away. Just keep running until I’m far away from this lady who’s got me thinking that maybe I might be more than an outlaw.

  That’s a dangerous thing for a man like me to think. Especially considering what just happened. That plan with the tracker was clever, but it could’ve easily gone south.

  “What about it?” I say. Probably it comes across too snappishly, but I don’t really give a damn.

  “I just … I don’t know, Mason. I don’t want to—” She sighs. I sense she’s looking at me, but I don’t turn to look at her.

  Instead I gaze out at the parking lot. It’s dark and depressing to look at. Or maybe that’s just me.

  “You have to understand, this isn’t my world. You know. This isn’t what I’m used to. I never normally do stuff like this, like—Well, I guess nobody does, right? Except you and everyone you know. This is your world.”

  “That’s true,” I allow. Somehow I sound calm even if I want to smash this window. Smash this whole clubhouse. Hell, smash the whole world. Is she really gonna pull this shit on me now?

  But I don’t want to start shouting at her. That’d just be wrong.

  “I don’t know,” she whispers.

  I turn to her despite myself. “What don’t you know?” I growl.

  She flinches, looks at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “I don’t know what to do,” she says.

  “About what?”

  She throws her hands up. “About us. Aren’t you listening?”

  “Yeah, I’m listening. But you’re not makin’ much sense. I don’t know how to play these word games, Jasmin. I don’t know how the fuck they work. If there’s somethin’ you wanna say to me, just come out and say it.”

  “I’m not sure what I’m trying to say!” she hisses, leaping to her feet. She strides to the other side of the room, opening and closing her hands like men do when they’re about to do something stupid.

  I massage the bridge of my eyebrows. That prick hit it pretty good with one of those overhand punches. He really did use me like a punching bag. Between that and the hangover, I’ve definitely lost a few years of my life.

  “Just say whatever it is you wanna say,” I tell her.

  “What did I just say?” she snaps, spinning on me. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re not making any damn sense!” I bark. I end up close to her, waving my arms. I don’t mean to. “What the fuck do you want from me? I’m not wasting my damn time trying to work out what’s going on in your fuckin’ head! I don’t fuckin’ know either, so why don’t you try making some damn sense when you wanna speak?”

  She stares at me for a second. Maybe this is my chance to quickly say sorry. I ought to. Hell, part of me even wants to.

  But another part of me is getting sick and tired of these games. Life was so much simpler before Jasmin came along. I never had to worry about what the right thing to do was. It was just the club.

  But now …

  “Wow,” she says when I don’t add anything else. “Are you serious? I just put my life in danger to help save you and—Just wow, Mason. Really, that’s great. Thanks so much for that.”

  “I didn’t ask you to do that!” I snarl. I can’t look at her though. Because if I look at her, I’ll have to admit I’m wrong, and right now I’m in no damn mood to do that.

  I need to hit something. After all the punches that bastard gave me, I need to hit something, to kill something.

  “It was a stupid thing to do!” I kick the bed with my bare foot. That’s a stupid thing to do, too. But the pain is good in a twisted sort of way. It reminds me of who I am.

  I’m just a kid covered in blood, a slaughterhouse kid. My old man was right. You’ll never be more than this. Here’s the proof right here. Jasmin is trying to find a way to tell me to go fuck myself without outright telling me to go fuck myself.

  “Did that make you feel big and clever?”

  I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. It’s the same way those women in the mall look at their hen-pecked husbands. Whenever I have to go to the mall for some bullshit reason, like meeting a contact there, I’m always amazed by how many of those men are out there. Men who’ll look at the floor and quake in their damn boots every time their lady says something. “I didn’t mean it like that!” one man whined once, his teeth almost chattering. “I just …”

  I growl at her, “What do you reckon’s gonna happen, eh? I’m just gonna turn into your damn lapdog? Is that what you want, some castrated fuck for a man?”

  “What?” She stares at me wide-eyed. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about now! When did I say that? When did I say anything even like that? What are you talking about?”

  “This shit!” I wave my hand at her. “Lookin’ down at me like I’m some dog and I should be grateful just to be standing near you. Listen, if you don’t wanna do this anymore, why don’t you just come out and say it? But if you’re expecting me to fall to my knees and tell you I’m a piece of shit and—”

  “Are you still drunk?” she sneers at me.

  I want to kiss her and throttle her at the same time. There’s something sexy about the sneer, but something deadly too. I wonder how that’s even possible.

  “Jasmin, just tell me what the hell you want from me. I’m not playing mind games.”

  “I’m not playing mind games either!” she snaps. She goes to the corner of the room, grabs the framed picture of a vase, and throws it at the wall. It smashes and then crumples onto the floor. I just stare at her for a long time. Is this how those women in the mall get their way? The man is always scared ’cause any second his bitch could go crazy?

  I grin at her. “Did that make you feel big and clever?”

  Her mouth falls open, then snaps shut in fury.

  After that prick beat the hell outta me...

  After I had to watch Danny take his shots...

  After putting myself on the line to make sure she’s safe…

  After all that shit, she wants to make me her little goddamn pet.

  “What would you say if I told you this was over?” she asks coldly.

  “Is that what you’re saying, eh? Is this over?”

  “I …” She paws at her face even though there aren’t any tears there. Or she was wiping at the tears that were about to appear. “This isn’t my world,” she mutters. “You know it isn’t. You can’t expect me to just be okay with it all right away.”

  “There you go talking in fuckin’ riddles again,” I growl.

  She bites her lip. Suddenly she looks so sad that all I want to do is go over to her and hold her. But at the same time I can’t get those men outta my head, those poor bastards without any stones. Those poor pricks who spend their whole life crouching in their woman’s shadow. I want to fix this. But how can I, when that’d mean letting her know that she can pull this routine whenever she wants?

  “Mason, I’m serious now. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

  “Go, then!” I snarl. “What was this anyway, eh?” My cuts tear at my skin when I shout, trying to rip my face apart. “You keep telling me what you’re gonna do like I’m some fuckin’ …” I trail off.

  Part of me senses that we could fix this right now if we only just tried. But maybe this is for the best. Maybe it was just a cruel joke all along, the outlaw and this pretty, delicate, ferocious lady.

  “Go then,” I repeat, but this time quieter. I don’t even wanna be saying these words. Yet they come out. If she wants to end it, what does she expect from me? For me to fall on my knees and lick her damn feet and tell her I’m a worthless piece of shit next to her?

  “Wow,” she mutters, shaking her head at me like I just killed a puppy. “Just wow, Mason.”

  “Just wow?” I snap. “We just fucked, and you drop this on me, and now you wanna act like I’m the one who brought it up.”

  “So I’ll go, then,” she whispers. “If that’s what you really want.”

  “Is it what you really want?” I counter.

  She goes quiet, turning away from me. “I’m going to wake up Tiffany. How does this work? Do we just call a cab or what?” Her voice breaks. She’s crying, soft sobs that make her shoulders shake. I want to put my hands on her and soothe her, tell her it’s all going to be okay.

  But I don’t.

  “I’ll get you a club escort. I’ll need to keep protection on you until this mess is over and done with.”

  “Why? If you don’t care, what’s the point?”

  “I’m putting protection on you. That’s not up for argument.”

  “Fine, whatever you think is best.”

  She pauses with her fingers on the door handle, then she tightens her hand into a fist and pushes the door open.

  When it slams, I walk over to it quickly, putting my ear against it. I will myself to throw it open and tell her sorry, tell her to come back.

  But I don’t do any of that.

  I just stand still and listen as her footsteps quietly recede down the hallway, the door to her room closing even more quietly. After a few minutes, it’s like she was never here at all.

  I slam my fist against my chest, letting out a guttural noise.

  I slam my fist again. My chest sounds hollow.

  My heart feels hollow, too.

  19

  Jasmin

  Tiffany and I sit in the living room with the smell of wine filling the air. It mixes into the baking summer heat and swirls around like a cocktail made just for us.

  I sit in the armchair and she sits cross-legged on the couch, her elbows resting on her knees. She looks a bit more like her old self now, except for the way she’ll sometimes look over her shoulder for no apparent reason.

  “Do you miss him?” she asks. “You can be honest.”

  I take a small sip of wine and then offer her a shrug. It’s a difficult question to answer, seeing as I was technically the one who ended it.

  Even if that’s true, which it is, I can’t deny reality. The reality is that every single night for a week now, I’ve dreamt of him. It’s gotten to the point where I’ll purposefully try to think of other things.

  But my mind doesn’t care about my weak efforts. It just throws up more and more vivid images, sounds, smells, tastes. Touches, even.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18