“I know,” I murmur with the faintest undertone of a growl under my breath. “That’s the problem.”
Kate is in Cheyenne.
I’ve been keeping an eye on her for all these years, probably more than I need to. I have an informant in Cheyenne keeping tabs on her—and keeping her phone bugged—but I go myself as often as I can. That ghost from my past has been burning bright as her auburn hair in my mind ever since we parted ways all that time ago. She hasn’t seen me in that time, but I’ve seen her. I’m watching her every step, because she’s the biggest walking liability I’ve ever let go free.
If she plays her cards right, she could cause a hell of a lot of trouble for me and my club. She might even be able to bring us down. She’s grown into an incredible woman, and I wouldn’t put anything past her, but I can’t read her mind, even if I can keep an eye on her texts.
“Prez, I know I sound like a broken record,” Big Daddy says as I cross my arms, anticipating what he’s about to say. “But we need to bring Kate in.”
“She hasn’t said a word, and you know that,” I say firmly. “Nothing’s changed since the last time we had this conversation.”
“The hell it hasn’t,” Big Daddy retorts, and I raise my eyebrows at the challenge. “The Buzzsaws are closer than ever to Cheyenne. If Buzz is avoiding it, he might know she’s there, and if he knows, he knows she’s a liability. You’re looking out for her, but Buzz might just kill her. If not that, then the second she gets a whiff of their bikes in her territory, she might get scared and go to the cops. And you know as well as I do, we don’t have jack shit in Cheyenne.”
“I’m not bringing her in,” I repeat, shaking my head. “She’s got a life, and she’s held up her side of our bargain. Six years, and I’ve kept a closer eye on her than I’ve kept on any of you, you know that.”
“All too well, Prez,” says Big Daddy, minding his tone a little more this time and nodding slowly. “I know you care about… this,” he says carefully. “Look, all I’m saying is, I know how hard it can be to keep your head clear when there’s a woman involved.”
“If you want to say something, say it,” I say, leaning forward on the table and glaring at Big Daddy with a steely gaze that he meets head-on.
Our eyes are locked for a few long moments, and inside, as angry as I am, I know he isn’t talking out of jealousy or pettiness. He’s a good man I’d trust with my life. But I know what I’m doing, and I’m not letting anyone put Kate in danger, much less myself.
Before either of us can break the silence, my phone on the table buzzes. I look down at it briefly before snatching it up and walking away from the table without a glance back.
“Meeting adjourned,” I growl, and I head to my room.
I stay in a comfortable apartment connected to our clubhouse, which I imagine was a proprietor’s place long ago. It’s effectively a cozy one-bedroom, which is practically a palace compared to what I’m used to. Motorcycle and band posters litter the walls, taking up almost as much space as there is to take up, and wherever those aren’t, I have pictures of home hanging. It’s a small touch to a place I’m not holed up at all the time, and it makes it feel like my own little slice of home.
I open my phone to check the notification, and my heart drops. The bug I have on Kate’s phone is set up to notify me whenever certain trigger words get texted. In case she’s thinking about talking to anyone about what happened or even about me, I’ll be the second person to know. And she just used one of those words:
Breaker.
Kate
“I’ve never known a girl quite like you, Katherine, and I don’t think I ever will again if you walk out that door,” declares the handsome man with the sorrowful face. He has his hands clasped in front of his chest, both clear blue eyes pleading and shimmering with that could almost be genuine, bespoke human tears if I didn’t know any better.
“Damn. He’s a good actor,” I murmur to myself as I reach my hand into the bowl of salty, buttery popcorn mixed with chocolates and nuts in my lap.
It’s my favorite movie-bingeing snack. Salty and sweet. Crunchy and sinful. I know it’s a bad habit but I can’t help it. I try to eat healthy for the most part. When I pack my lunch to take to the parlor with me every day, it usually consists of some raw baby carrots or celery with a tiny container of hummus or a mustardy dipping sauce, plus some low-fat cottage cheese and jam. Caitlyn, my coworker, is always teasing me for my boring goody-two-shoes lunches, especially compared to my coworkers who usually pick up Chinese takeout or pizza for lunch. But little does she know, I have a raging sweet tooth, too. At work I manage to restrain myself, but once I clock out for the day and head home? All bets are off. No rabbit food to speak of. Oh well. I work awfully hard at the parlor and I can logic myself into justifying my comfort food favorites. Sometimes a girl just needs a cozy night in on her couch with yummy, unhealthy snacks and an overly dramatic romance movie.
And if there’s a glass of wine thrown into the mix, well, that’s good, too.
I lean forward to pick up my wine glass from the little secondhand coffee table in front of my thrift-shop sofa. I give the white wine a subtle sniff before sipping it, letting the fruity, floral notes pass over me. I sigh with delight as the sweet, refreshing Riesling tingles down through my body. At the end of a long day, this is exactly what I need to loosen me up and relieve some of the crazy tension. It’s funny—I spend all day massaging my clients and reducing their stress, but I don’t have the power to do that for myself. And while some of my coworkers are less inhibited than I am and will gladly book sessions with fellow masseuses, I have always been too timid and awkward to do that. I don’t want to have to look across the big mahogany table at a board meeting and gaze into the eyes of someone who just had their bare, oiled-up hands sliding around on my naked body. That seems like a boundary I just simply don’t want to cross. Maybe that makes me a bit of a prude, but oh well. That’s just the way I am. I’m particular about who I let close enough, who I allow access to my thoughts and feelings and worries.
When you’ve been lowkey on the run for six years, you tend to be a little paranoid from time to time. That just comes with the territory.
A swell of dramatic violin and piano music floats out of the television speakers, distracting me from my thoughts and back to the screen in front of me. Now, Mr. Handsome Blue Eyes is kneeling down on the rocky edge of a cliff in front of the object of his desire, a stunningly gorgeous woman named Katherine. Her long, wavy blonde hair billows and whips around romantically in the wind. I squint at the screen, trying to figure out if they actually had a budget that would include filming on location or if this is just one hell of a convincing sound stage. After all, this isn’t some high-dollar, elaborate, Oscar-bait blockbuster. It’s a made-for-TV movie like the ones my mom used to obsessively watch in the evening after she assumed all five kids had drifted off to sleep. I think it was kind of her guilty pleasure, her way to unwind after a thirteen-hour shift at the hospital. Poor Mom. She used to come home so late at night, miss dinner, and come in smelling like sterile disinfectant and disease. I have a lot of respect for nurses. It’s hard, slogging work much of the time, and god knows they don’t get paid enough to do it all. Watching my mother struggle all the time was definitely a life lesson for me.
Find a job you can tolerate, and try not to make it your entire life.
Of course, ever since moving to Casper, I’ve had some difficulty maintaining a balance between work and play. Mostly because I don’t know enough people locally to have much fun during my ‘play’ hours. For the first year or so of living here after being forced to flee my hometown of Stonedale at the tender age of eighteen, I was simply too paranoid to make friends. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, carrying a pocket knife in parking lots at night just on the off chance I needed to protect myself. Every step I took, I feared that the mysterious but terrifying ‘Prez’ would be right behind me, ready to slip a rucksack over my head and drag me off to s
ome windowless white van where he could do whatever he wanted with me. I have a feeling that a guy like the Prez isn’t the type to forgive and forget. I know he is holding a grudge against me. After all, I’m the one that got away.
“When you disappeared that night, I assumed I would never see you again,” laments the beautiful blonde actress on the screen.
The handsome actor shakes his head vehemently and reaches up to clasp her hands.
“I could never stay away for long. I’m addicted to you, Katherine. I need you. Now and forever. I won’t let go. I won’t move on. You’re the only one for me,” he begs.
The camera zooms in on his face just as one perfect, fat, crystalline tear squeezes out of his eye and rolls down his cheek. I pop another handful of candy and nuts into my mouth, staring at the screen intently. I know it’s cheesy, but I have a soft spot for these flicks. Maybe it’s because of my mom. Or maybe it’s just a weird genetic predisposition to love romance movies. Who knows? Either way, I find myself disappointed that the movie is almost over.
“Oh, Alexander! You know just what to say!” exclaims the blonde woman. She flings her arms open and the guy called Alexander jumps to his feet. He wraps his strong arms around her and spins her around right there on the precipice of the cliff, her poufy dress swaying in the breeze. He sets her back down and cups her face lovingly, gazing deeply into her eyes.
“Wow. That’s some serious chemistry,” I remark out loud to nobody but myself.
The couple embraces and kisses each other very chastely, their mouths not even slightly open. Still, it’s enough to get my heart racing. These days, I’m kind of existing on a hair trigger for romance and excitement. I get so little of it in my day-to-day life that even a soft, pure kiss between actors on a screen can get the adrenaline pumping.
Wow. Maybe I am a prude.
I watch as the ending of the movie unfolds—a big, elaborate white wedding with hundreds of guests (who even knows that number of people?). Complete with thousands of flowers and bows and course after course of the most delicious, aesthetically pleasing food. A cake towering high with five tiers, topped with the usual pair of bride and groom figurines holding hands. Everyone is happy. Everyone is smiling. The whole family is there, and yet there’s no drama to speak of. Everybody is just supportive and loving and having a good time. I have a feeling that’s never how it works out in real life. I feel a pang of sadness, realizing for the umpteenth time that I will probably never get to experience something like the opulent affair going on in front of me. I have not spoken to my family in six years and to be honest, I don’t know if they have even been looking for me. After all my parents do have two other daughters and two sons besides me. Maybe they just think of me as an ungrateful runaway, someone who betrayed the family by disappearing into thin air. It breaks my heart to think of it that way but if there’s anything that I have learned over the past six years on my own, it’s that you can’t depend on anybody. Only yourself.
The scene on the TV in front of me shows all of the hundreds of guests dancing and laughing to a live band deep into the night. The happy couple shares a moonlit kiss and then it fades to the credits. I find myself strangely unsatisfied by the ending. It was too routine. Too expected. I need a little bit more excitement than that, personally.
With a heavy sigh, I grab the remote control and flip to a different channel, hoping to find something a little more compelling. I search through the channels until I land on something that looks promising. My heart skips a beat. There are motorcycles rumbling onscreen. All of the characters standing around are dressed like typical bikers. And one of them, I can’t help but notice, looks a hell of a lot like Breaker. Incredibly handsome in a rugged sort of way. Rough around the edges just how I like it. He’s wearing a plain white T-shirt loosely talked into his black jeans which are loosely coughed at the bottoms to show off his big, heavy riding boots. I can see the muscle rippling underneath the fabric of his clothing and it makes my heart beat just a little bit faster. I can’t help but be reminded of the fateful night six years ago when I ended up on the back of a motorcycle, first when I was drugged and kidnapped by that guy. And second, when I was rescued by the mysterious and sexy man I know only as Breaker. It’s strange; sometimes I feel as though he might be close by. Like I can feel him, his raw and powerful energy in the air. Sometimes when I go out to the grocery store or to work, I can’t help but look around for him as though I’m going to suddenly see his face in the crowd. I am still conflicted on whether or not I want to see him again.
God knows I could use a little excitement. But breaker? He could be a little bit more exciting than I need.
On the screen, the sexy biker slips an arm around the girl with shiny brown hair, pulling her close. With a mischievous grin, he leans in and presses a decidedly not-chaste kiss to her lips. Open-mouthed. Passionate. Forceful. I can feel my body heating up just watching it. The romance movie earlier made me feel all mushy and gushy inside, but this motorcycle show is really revving my engine. I can almost put myself in the place of that pretty brunette. I imagine Breaker putting his arms around me, holding me against his hard, muscular body. I still so vividly remember the way he kissed me that day. I can still taste him, if I think hard about it.
I lick my lips, watching the screen with rapt attention as the biker pins his brunette girlfriend against a brick wall. He wedges a leg between her thighs and ruts against her, both of them grunting and moaning with desire. Against my better judgement, I slowly let my hand slip down my body, sliding underneath my silky turquoise pajama pants to my slick flower beneath the fabric. I bite my lip as my fingertips start to gently circle and massage my clit, exhilaration pumping through my whole body.
Outside, I swear I can hear the telltale rumble of a motorcycle engine. It certainly isn’t coming from the TV. But I must be imagining it, right? What are the chances?
Either way, it turns me on even more. I roll my hips, working my clit until I’m nearly dangling over the edge of no return. It feels so good, and it’s so easy to imagine that it’s Breaker touching me like this. I can picture his dark eyes gazing into mine as his hands work their magic on my body. I close my eyes, losing myself to the steady waves of pleasure and the fantasy in my mind. The engine revs louder and more aggressively, the sound getting tougher and more intense in tandem with my mounting pleasure. I can almost smell Breaker’s masculine, musky scent. I can feel and smell the leather. The fuel. The desperation between us as his hands grope my body and I give myself up to him. I can feel his rock-hard abs and his rough, stubbly jawline as he kisses me deeply. My fingers press harder against my sensitive clit and I let out a whimper of bliss.
This is so bad. It’s so wrong. I shouldn’t be thinking of Breaker this way. But I’m just so starved for attention, for touch. And I can’t think of anyone I desire more than him. I fear him almost as much as I lust for him. It’s foolish, but I can’t help it. He weaves his way into my every sex dream, my every vivid fantasy. I want him now even more than I did six years ago. I just can’t seem to shake my desire for the gruff, mysterious stranger who saved my life and changed its trajectory forever.
I rub tighter and harder circles around my clit, rocking and rolling my hips. The bowl of snacks tumbles and spills all over the floor but I don’t care. Right now, all that matters to me is chasing that sensual high.
To my dismay, the sexy TV show cuts to commercial, but then it hits me that the motorcycle engine is still rumbling outside. In fact, it’s getting louder, getting more intense along with the building tension in my body. It’s getting so close now, and so am I. But then, before I can come, it stops suddenly. I sigh with disappointment, my climax dissipating before I can reach it. Now it’s just curiosity that has me listening for the motorcycle outside. Suddenly, I’m overcome with the need to look outside and see it with my own eyes. So, I get off the couch and wander over to the window, peering down at the street below.
“Oh my god. No. No way,” I gasp.
It’s Breaker, and he’s gazing straight up at me as though he knows exactly which apartment is mine. As if he’s known it along.
Breaker
I feel electricity crackling through my body as those green eyes lock onto me for the first time in six long years. It feels like a lifetime ago that I first saw those scared, shimmering eyes looking out at me from the inside of that shed back at Buzz’s old place. It may as well have been. The second thought in my mind is how she’s changed over the years, what kind of person this girl has become.
The first thought on my mind is what she was doing that has her blushing so furiously.
I’ve seen her plenty of times, of course. I’ve watched her, both in person and from afar. I’ve seen her at cafes and out shopping in the city. I’ve followed her to job interviews and meetups with friends alike. I’ve always kept my distance, always stayed a few steps away, just enough to stay out of sight. She doesn’t know just how well I know her life.
I have to stay close to her. If I lost track of her, she would be a far bigger liability than Buzz could ever be. And I bet she knows that. I’ve gotten to see just how smart she is over the years. I could sense it when we were together, like an aura, but I’ve gotten to see it firsthand.
Watching her is one thing. My eyes have devoured her silhouette for years, watching her move, laugh, frown, and I know her maybe better than I even know myself. I’ve even been so close that I can see the whites of her eyes.
Having those eyes turned on me is another thing entirely.
Breaker: Heartbreakers MC: Book 1 Page 11