Bossy: An Alpha Collection

by Levine, Nina

  2

  Chelsea

  * * *

  Mason Blaise has muscles that go on forever. Muscles I want to put my hands all over.

  That’s the only thought in my mind as I watch him bang on the door. Well, that, and wondering what he would taste like if I kissed him while getting said hands on those muscles.

  After a few minutes of him trying like hell to get someone’s attention, I curl my fingers around his bicep to stop him. Touching Mason like this is the stuff of my dreams. The moment our skin connects, desire blazes through my veins. I want this man like I’ve never wanted any other man. This time together and this brief touch will never be enough for me.

  “Give me your phone,” I say once I have his attention.

  “Why?”

  “Well, I would use mine if I had it on me, but since I don’t, I need yours. I’ll call my dad’s security guy and get him to organise someone to let us out.” This needs to be done discreetly and my dad’s guy is the only one I trust. God knows what the news headline would be if the Premier’s daughter was found locked in a room with a member of the Storm MC.

  He hands his phone over and my stomach sinks when I see his battery is dead. Handing it back, I say, “It’s flat.”

  “Fuck,” he mutters. “Fucking iPhone batteries.”

  He goes back to banging on the door and yelling out to get someone’s attention. The problem is that I dragged us into a room that’s in a hallway that leads nowhere unless you’re going to a conference room. And since it’s a Friday night no one’s attending a conference, so no one will be in this hallway. We’ll be lucky if we’re discovered before morning. The fact that doesn’t bother me is no surprise.

  Mason’s the boy I’ve loved since forever. Our families run in the same social circle, and we grew up together. I remember our first day of year one. I was scared and Mason sat with me and made sure I was okay. He looked out for me from that day on, keeping bullies like Samuel Hash away. In grade seven, when Samuel made fun of my chest still being flat, Mason got in a fight with him to shut him up. In grade ten, when Samuel spread lies about me sucking his dick on school camp (because I’d rejected him and he wanted to humiliate me like I’d apparently humiliated him), Mason once again got in a fight with him. And then when I was sixteen and he discovered my father hit me sometimes, he took on the role of my protector in a whole new way.

  I’d planned to tell him I loved him when I was seventeen, but that plan went out the window the night Mason and I were at a party that got busted by the cops for drugs. Neither of us were found with drugs, but the publicity wasn’t great for my father at a time when he was getting everything in line to one day run for Premier. He’d already forbidden me from being friends with Mason a few months earlier when Mason got into some trouble over smoking pot. I’d found ways to maintain the friendship, but when Dad threatened to ruin Mason after that party, I knew he meant it, so I’d done the only thing I thought I could do: I cut all ties to the boy I loved and pretended I didn’t want him in my life anymore. I’ll never forget the hurt in Mason’s eyes every time we passed each other at school after that. Most people would have only seen hate, but I knew it was hurt that sat deeper and more keenly.

  Mason continues pounding on the door, trying to get us out of here, while I acknowledge the fact we’re likely trapped for the night. God knows the rage this will incite in my father. He had a list of people he wanted me to talk with at his fundraiser tonight, not to mention the united family front he wanted to show the world. That bullshit is the reason I wore this red dress. It was an act of rebellion after years of trying to keep up the charade he insists on.

  My father is a lying, cheating asshole who cares only for himself. My mother puts up with his mistresses for reasons I can’t fathom. And then there’s the dirty politics he thrives on. I’ve always gone along with keeping up appearances out of a sense of duty, but I’ve reached the point where I no longer care so much about that. I want a life I choose, not one that’s chosen for me, and my father is struggling with allowing that.

  I position myself on one of the tables, slip off my heels, and sit cross legged while watching Mason. Finally, I say, “I don’t think it’s going to help.”

  He stops what he’s doing and turns to me. “Have you got a better idea?”

  I shrug. “We wait it out.”

  One of the things I used to love about Mason was his fighting spirit. His inability to give up on things. Mason would push and push and push, and then, when most people would give up on whatever they were trying to achieve, he’d push some more. By the look on his face, he’s still as determined and stubborn as he always was. “You’re kidding, right? Neither of us have the time to be locked in here all night.”

  I lean back, resting my palms on the table. “The only thing I’m missing is my father’s fundraiser. I’m down with that. Are you supposed to be somewhere tonight?” I want him to say he has nowhere he’d rather be, however, I know there’s no way he’ll say that.

  Mason rests against the door, placing the back of his head to it and staring up at the ceiling for a long few moments. My eyes are drawn to his throat and then up to his chiselled jaw and the beard covering it. I’d give anything right now to kiss that jaw and to trail my lips slowly up to his mouth.

  I may have cut Mason from my life years ago, but I never once stopped thinking of him or keeping track of him. Not in a stalkery way, but rather in the kind of way where every now and then I search him on social media and check out what he’s up to. I also check out those muscles of his and the ink he’s covered his body with. The number of hours I’ve dedicated to that ink is ridiculous. It’s like I’m looking for something, anything, that will tell me he hasn’t forgotten me, just like I haven’t forgotten him. Being friends with his sister Alexa also helps. Mason may not be close with his parents these days, but he’s still super close with his siblings. Alexa randomly drops stories about her brothers, and I hang off every word she says about Mason.

  When he gives me his eyes again, I see torment in them. “I don’t have anywhere to be tonight, but let’s just say that being locked in here with you isn’t a safe option.”

  I cock my head. “What do you mean?”

  He stares at me in silence, not answering my question straight away. In fact, he takes so long to answer that I begin to think he’s not going to. But then he says, “Do you remember when Samuel Hash told everyone you sucked him off at school camp?”

  Not where I thought this conversation would go, but I’m intrigued enough to stay with it. “Yes. Why?”

  His eyes flash with an intensity that hits me low in my belly. “At first, I was jealous. I wanted to be the one you gave yourself to. When you told me it was a lie, I was so fucking relieved. And when I saw how much he hurt you, I’d have done whatever it took to shut him the hell up and to make him hurt just as much.” He pauses. “You were always my kryptonite, Chelsea, and we both know where that got me. Being forced into this kind of proximity with you is fucking dangerous.”

  My breathing slows.

  Or races.

  Maybe it races.

  I can’t be sure.

  The only thing I can be sure of is that Mason’s confession has tangled the hell out of my thoughts and that’s not something that ever happens to me. I’ve spent years perfecting my ability to manage my thoughts and my actions. I’m the girl that can be counted on to be rational, to be prudent, to always do the right thing. Sure, lately I’ve rebelled in small ways against my father, but I’ve simply been trying to catch his attention so that he’ll alter his expectations of me. I haven’t changed who I am at my core. I’m still deliberate in my actions after careful thought about them.

  I don’t get tangled.

  I’m not careless or reckless.

  And I sure as hell don’t lose the ability to process my thoughts.

  Yet, that’s exactly what’s happening right now.

  I’m staring at Mason while having trouble breathing, tryin
g to latch onto the thoughts running wild in my mind. And I’m not fucking succeeding.

  In the end, I throw out the dumbest question, but it’s all I can come up with. “Why didn’t you tell me all that back then?”

  “We were kids back then. I was a dumb teenager and couldn’t get my shit together when it came to anything, let alone being honest with the girl I wanted to make mine. Plus, you were my best friend. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

  “And now?” I hold my breath, waiting for his reply, hoping he’ll say the words my heart has dreamed of forever.

  He knows exactly what I’m asking. That awareness is written all over his face, and the intensity that was in his eyes before returns as he says, “And now I know better. But I also know myself well enough to know that even though you’re all kinds of wrong for me, because no one’s ever fucked me up like you did, I could never resist you.”

  I deserve the crushing hurt I feel over what he’s said about knowing better. It’s only a taste of what he must have felt when I walked away from him. This reminds me I need to remember that hoping for something to happen with him isn’t a good idea. Not when my father would destroy Mason once and for all if anything happened between the two of us.

  3

  Gunnar

  * * *

  Christ, if I survive this night without doing something I’ll regret tomorrow, it’ll be a fucking miracle. I might be done with Chelsea, but my dick seems to have missed the memo. What I’ve just told her is the absolute fucking truth. I wouldn’t be able to resist her even though she’s the last woman I should ever want.

  She licks her lips while continuing to watch me with those eyes that tell me her thoughts would lead us down a path straight to hell. When she speaks again, she changes the subject. Something I’m fucking grateful for. “Alexa told me you don’t speak to your parents much these days.”

  It’s a statement, but I know it’s also a question. And because I’d rather talk about our families than about us, I answer it. “Trying to make them happy became something I wasn’t interested in anymore a few years back, so I stopped trying. They didn’t much like my new approach to life, so not talking is where we ended up.”

  “Do you miss them?”

  Chelsea used to be a talker, and I’m getting the sense we’re in for a long night of conversation, so I slide down the door and sit my ass on the floor to settle in for it. “It’s hard to miss something you never really had.”

  She takes that in and slowly nods. “Yeah, I understand that. People look at my family and think we have it all. What they don’t understand is all we really have are some pretty photos of the three of us; we don’t really have a family.”

  “Why do you continue being the dutiful daughter?”

  “I guess we all need an anchor in life, and they’re the only anchor I have. I don’t have brothers and sisters like you do for that.”

  “What about friends?” I’ve seen photos of her online with more people than I would care to ever know. Surely she has friends to lean on.

  She lifts her hands from the table and places them in her lap. Her shoulders sag and her eyes lose some of the light they held a moment ago. “I have many acquaintances, Mason, but if you told me to call my one lifeline right now to come get me, I’d be stuck here forever.”

  That wasn’t the answer I expected, and it reveals something about Chelsea I never imagined would ever be true. She was the popular girl in school. I assumed she’d never be short of a friend. I should have known, though, that her family was much the same as mine in that we were always surrounded by people wanting to be close for reasons other than friendship. It gave off the illusion of having people by our side when that was as far from the truth as you could get.

  I’m lost in my thoughts when she says, “Why did you join Storm?”

  “There are a lot of answers to that question.”

  She smiles. “I have all night.”

  I scrub my hand over my face as I think back to the time three years ago when the club first came into my life. Shit had been rough, even with my siblings then. I’d met J through a friend at the pub and after we’d been friends for a few months, he’d introduced me to the club. For the first time in my life, I’d felt like I belonged. I no longer felt like the fucking outsider trying to figure out my place.

  Meeting her gaze again, I share my truth. “They accepted me in the way I’d only ever felt accepted once in my life.” She has no way of knowing I’m referring to her. Except, she does, because fuck it, she seems able to read me in the same way she always did.

  Understanding washes over her and she slides off the table. Moving to where I am, she sits facing me, those beautiful eyes of hers searching mine. “I’m sorry for what I did to you, Mason.” Her apology breathes out of her like it’s been trapped inside for years. “I wanted to be with you, too. You have no idea how much I wanted that.”

  I stare at her in confusion. Her words make no sense. But even if they did, it’s too fucking late for them to mean anything. Chelsea is from another lifetime as far as I’m concerned. One I’ve well and fucking truly left behind.

  4

  Chelsea

  * * *

  Mason’s staring at me like I’ve just uttered another language. When he doesn’t respond, I say, “There were reasons for my actions that you know nothing of.”

  That gets his attention. “What kind of reasons would be worth ending the kind of friendship we had?” His words arrow pain into my heart. He’s right to ask this question, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.

  “Reasons I wish never existed.”

  Anger paints his face and grips his body. “Fuck, Chelsea, stop talking in fucking circles. If you want to discuss this, fucking discuss it and tell me what your reasons were.”

  I take a moment to steady my breath and collect my thoughts. This is the conversation I’ve dreamed of having for years, but I’m not entirely convinced it’s a good one to have. Mason was always impulsive and ready to take on anyone who threatened him. Or who threatened me. I don’t know how he’ll process this information. I don’t know whether he’s grown into a man who doesn’t care about what happened when he was a teenager or whether he’ll go after my father for what he forced me to do. I don’t care what he does to my father if he chooses that course of action; I only care about what my father can do to him.

  When I take too long to gather myself, he spits out, “Right, so from your silence, I’m taking it your reasons are bullshit and you just smashed my heart to fucking pieces because you—”

  “My father made me,” I blurt, desperately needing him to know I’m not the bad person he thinks I am. Desperately needing him to understand how much I loved him and never wanted to hurt him. Desperately needing him to know I made that choice for him, not for me.

  His mouth snaps shut.

  His nostrils flare.

  His eyes narrow at me.

  “The fuck did you just say?”

  Shit.

  I swallow hard and look down, trying to avoid his gaze.

  “Chelsea,” Mason says fiercely, “repeat what you just said so I know I heard it right.” When I keep my eyes down, he reaches for my chin and roughly forces it up so I have no place to look but at him. “Start talking and don’t stop until I know every-fucking-thing that happened.”

  “A few months before that party, the last one we ever went to together, Dad told me to stop being friends with you. He knew you were doing drugs and he thought you were a bad influence. I let him believe we weren’t friends anymore, which wasn’t hard because he was so busy with work that he didn’t notice what I did most of the time.”

  The look in his eyes tells me he’s piecing things together in his mind. “That was when you started insisting we hang out at my house instead of yours.”

  I nod. “Everything was okay until the cops raided that party and our parents were called. Dad was furious when he found out we were still friends. He was also furious over the bad publici
ty that party gave him. He threatened to ruin you if I didn’t end our friendship straight away. I knew he’d make good on that, too, because I’d seen the way he ruined men when they didn’t fall in line with what he wanted.” I stop for a beat, my eyes boring into his, my voice cracking as I continue. “I couldn’t let him do that to you, Mason. I had to make sure you were safe from him.”

  He works his jaw, something I remember from when we were teens. It was what he did when he was pissed off over someone trash talking me. Always my protector. “So you decided that cutting all ties was the best way to do that?” He’s pissed all right. At me. “You decided that never talking to me again, never looking at me again, never fucking taking the time to explain why, after over a decade of friendship, you no longer wanted a fucking bar of me was the best way to keep me safe from your asshole father.” He pushes up off the floor and stabs his fingers through his hair as he paces. “That’s not what friends do, Chelsea. Not by a long fucking shot.”

  I push up off the floor, too, my own anger surfacing. It’s mostly at myself, but also at the situation. Grabbing his arm, I stop him from pacing. “I know that now. God, do I know that. But I was a seventeen-year-old girl who didn’t know better back then. All I knew was that my father scared me and had more power than anyone I knew. I honestly believed he would make good on his threat.”

  The fury radiating from him should be a caution to me, but it isn’t. I’m drawn to this man in inexplicable ways. We’re a mess of first love and broken hearts and angst, but I don’t want to be anywhere but here. With him. When he gets in my face, I should pull away, but I don’t. I can’t. “You’ve had eight fucking years to fix this. Eight!” He rips his arm free of my hold and paces away from me again.