by Levine, Nina
Locked Up Hearts
Locked Up Hearts
A STORM MC SHORT STORY
The biker and the politician’s daughter.
Chelsea Novak & Mason ‘Gunnar’ Blaise grew up together.
Best friends for as long as they could remember.
Until one of them was forced to make a decision that split them apart.
Now, years later, they’re reunited.
Trapped together with no escape.
Secrets will be revealed.
Promises will be made.
Their history will be changed forever.
This short story is the prequel to Gunnar, the ninth book in my Storm MC series. It originally featured in the Love In Lockdown anthology.
1
Gunnar
Rich people who flash their wealth around and party like the entitled assholes they are piss me the fuck off. Especially if their last name is Novak, their first name is Mark, and the title Premier goes in front. How the hell he‘s still our state Premier is fucking beyond me, and how the fuck I’ve ended up at the same hotel tonight where he’s throwing some fancy fucking party is just another reason to be pissed at Nash for. I’m only here because he couldn’t make it at the last minute.
“Gunnar, you dragging ass for any particular reason?” Griff asks as he turns to look back at me, annoyance written all over his face. My VP usually has way more patience than he appears to have tonight, leaving me wondering what’s going on with him.
I pull my gaze from the ballroom we’ve just passed and eye Griff. “Not anymore.”
“Good. I’ve got my woman waiting at home for me, so the sooner we get this done, the better.”
Makes sense now. I like his old lady and don’t blame him for being in a hurry to get home.
Following Griff to the lift, a flash of skin catches my attention and I allow myself to be distracted. Worst fucking idea I’ve had in a long time because the skin belongs to the last woman I ever want to see again.
Chelsea Novak.
Premier Novak’s daughter.
Slowing my stride, I take in her long tanned legs that seem to go on forever and make my way up to her red dress that only just covers her ass. It also barely covers her tits, plunging low and giving me an eyeful of the cleavage I dreamed about in my teens. Thin straps are the only thing covering her shoulders, revealing her toned arms. The dress is plastered to the top half of her body, ballooning out at the waist. I don’t want to admit it, but she looks hot as fuck. The kind of hot I doubt her father will appreciate. From what I’ve seen of Chelsea the last few years, she keeps a low modest profile designed not to do any harm to her father’s career.
As I turn to direct my attention back to Griff, Chelsea’s eyes meet mine.
Her legs stop moving.
Her mouth parts.
Her mask slips.
It’s been four years since we’ve seen each other, but eight years since we’ve had any meaningful interaction, and yet it’s like no time has passed. When her mask slips, I see the real Chelsea she hides underneath. The one I used to know better than I knew myself. Gone is the perfectly arranged expression the world gets. In its place is a whisper of uncertainty and vulnerability. Except, I don’t know her anymore, so fuck knows who the real Chelsea is these days.
Yeah, don’t forget what she did all those years ago.
“Fuck,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand over my face.
Don’t let her blind you again.
The moment is over before it even begins. Chelsea’s mask reappears, and with a shake of my head, I stalk the rest of the way to the lift where Griff’s waiting for me.
Chelsea Novak belongs where I left her all those years ago. Or should I say, where she left me. In the past, without another thought.
* * *
“He won’t be a problem going forward,” Griff says to the man we’ve come to see. Dwayne Moss, uber fucking wealthy asshole who controls almost as much of this state as Mark Novak does. Possibly more if you consider the dirty deals he does with Novak and his colleagues.
Moss narrows his eyes at Griff. “How can you be so sure?”
Griff looks less than impressed with that question but keeps his cool. Lifting his chin at Moss, he says, “Check your emails. I sent you one earlier. The kid has been taken care of, and if you can name one time I’ve let you down when I said I’ve handled shit, I’m all fucking ears.”
Moss regularly hires us to clean up his mess. Last night, he called on Griff for help with a sex tape his daughter recently made with the kid in question. He can’t afford for that shit to be made public.
He checks his emails before looking at Griff again. “Well, shit. It seems you aren’t fucking about here.”
Griff swipes the envelope of cash off the table before Moss can hand it to him. “I’m not in the business of fucking about, Dwayne.” Yeah, he’s pissed. I’m unaware of the history between these two, but I’m picking up a whole heap of tension. Griff hasn’t been himself since I met him outside the hotel. It seems he doesn’t much like this prick.
He eyes me. “Time to go.”
“Tell Cole I’ll be in touch next week with another job I need taken care of,” Moss says.
Griff nods but doesn’t say another word before heading for the door. I follow him out to the lift, and we ride down to the ground floor in silence. As we exit the lift, Griff says, “You still good for tomorrow?”
“Yeah. You said ten, right?” I agreed to help him with some landscaping at his new place. He and his old lady are holding a housewarming party next weekend, so he needs this landscaping finished in time for that.
He nods.
“I’ll be there, brother,” I say.
His phone sounds with a text, drawing his attention from me. Once he’s read it, he glances back at me. “I’ve gotta go. Thanks for tonight. I appreciate it.”
As I watch him walk away, the sound of two people arguing shifts my attention to the right.
Fuck, it’s Chelsea and her father. Judging by his dark expression and the way he’s jabbing a finger in the air at her, he’s livid. When I see him grip her arm and force her hard against the wall so he can get in her face, I move in their direction. I might not want anything to do with Chelsea, but I draw the line at what’s going on here.
“You will do as I say, Chelsea, and if you ever turn up to one of my functions wearing a dress like that again, you’ll wish you hadn’t,” Novak snarls as I get closer.
Chelsea’s lips flatten. “I’m twenty-five, Dad, and not a kid anymore. I told you that Joe and I would never work out, and I meant it. That’s not something I’ll ever agree to. And trust me when I say there are plenty more dresses like this one about to hit my wardrobe.”
Novak jerks her arm, pulling her closer so he can speak quietly against her ear. I can’t hear his words, but Chelsea’s body language lets me know it’s nothing good.
I take this moment to cut in. “Careful, Novak, I’m pretty sure I saw some reporters hanging around. You wouldn’t wanna get caught manhandling your daughter outside your fancy party.”
Chelsea’s eyes cut to mine, the brilliant blue in them flaring with surprise. “Mason—”
Her father cuts her off as he looks at me. “This has nothing to do with you, Mason, so I suggest you leave us alone to deal with family business as we see fit.”
I arch a brow. This motherfucker is just as fucking smug as he was back when I hung out with Chelsea. The difference these days is I have zero fucks to give about telling him what I think of his asshole personality. “The problem with that is your way of dealing with family business involves you hurting your daughter, and I can’t stand by and watch that shit happen.”
Novak’s eyes flash with a warning as if that will scare me off. He doesn’t know me anymore; he doesn’t know that nothing fucking scares me off anymore. “Unless you walk out of here now, I’ll make sure you regret this conversation in the same way I made sure you were no longer a threat to my family all
those years ago.” He leans closer to me. “Get the fuck out of my sight now.”
I don’t know what the hell he means by that, but I don’t have time to get into it with him before Chelsea says, “Mason, I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about me.” Her eyes plead with me like she wants me to stop what I’m doing.
Fuck, I’m annoyed at myself for caring about this spoiled princess. I swore I was done with her when she tossed me away like I was the shit on her fucking shoes back in high school. And I am done, but apparently there’s this one fucking part of me that can’t help but care when her father’s treating her like shit.
Squaring my shoulders, I ignore Chelsea and direct my attention to Novak. “I’m not the kid you walked all over, Novak. Not by a long fucking shot. And I’m not leaving until I’ve had a word with Chelsea. Alone.”
His face twists with contempt. “I know exactly the kind of man you’ve grown into, Mason. You would do well to remember that I know who you are and who you associate with, and that I can make life hard for you in an instant.” He looks at Chelsea. “I’ll give you five minutes. If you’re not back in the ballroom after that, we’ll be discussing many things, the least of which will be your failure to agree to marry Joe.”
He stalks away without another glance in my direction. I’m still watching him when Chelsea says, “Jesus, Mason, I’m capable of looking after myself. You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”
My head swings back to her. “Are you fucking kidding me? He looked like he was about to deliver some serious damage to you. And we both fucking know what he’s capable of, so—”
“So nothing!” The wild look in her eyes confuses me. I can’t tell if she’s pissed off or stressed or what. One thing’s for sure, though: I’m annoyed at her reaction to me trying to help her.
“You really are a spoiled fucking princess, aren’t you? Taking what you want whenever it suits you, and then the minute you no longer need it, walking away.” I shove my face close to hers, all the unresolved feelings of her betrayal years ago consuming me. “Maybe I should have just left you to fend for yourself… yeah, I probably fucking should have, but it’s not in me to stand by and watch a woman being treated that way.” I take a step back and blow out a harsh breath, frustrated to be in this situation again. “Christ, Chelsea”—I rake my fingers through my hair as I look away from her for a moment before bringing my gaze back—“just tell me he doesn’t lay his hands on you these days.”
She stares at me in silence for a moment too long. It’s a moment that tells me everything I need to know. And then she opens her mouth and feeds me bullshit that pisses me off even more. “He’s my father, Mason—”
“That doesn’t give him the right to hit you!” I thunder, unable to keep my anger in check another second.
Her eyes widen at my outburst and before I know what she’s doing, she grabs my hand and pulls me down a hallway. When we come to a door, she quickly opens it and drags me inside.
“The fuck?” I demand as she lets my hand go. The fact I instantly miss the contact does not escape my attention and I do my best to ignore that. Fucking hard to do when I’m standing this close to her. We’re in a small room, surrounded by chairs and tables and a few whiteboards, but all I can see is Chelsea. She’s all I can fucking feel, too. Not with my hands, but deep in my soul. This girl may have exited my life eight years ago, but as much as I tried to force it, she’s never left my heart.
“He doesn’t hit me like he used to, okay? You need to get that thought out of your head.” She jabs my chest. “And you need to stop losing your shit like that in public.”
I grab her hand, startling her with my strong grip. “How does he hit you, then?”
“He doesn’t hit me, Mason.” She looks down at the floor. “He gets his way using other methods these days.”
I’m not sure if it’s the wobble in her voice, or the way she’s avoiding looking at me, or her confession that does it, but the walls I’ve built around my heart when it comes to Chelsea experience the first crack in eight years. I tilt her face back up to look in her eyes. “Do those methods slay you as much as his old methods did?”
She swallows hard while holding my gaze. Chelsea appears to be just as proud as she always was. Fiercely so if the glint in her eyes is anything to go by. “I’m not the girl you used to know. I’m stronger and able to deal with him.”
I recall a part of the conversation I overheard between Chelsea and her father. “He’s trying to force you into marrying a guy you don’t want to?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to stand your ground?” The fact I want her to say yes irritates the hell out of me.
She nods. “I’ll do a lot for my family, but I’ll never give up the chance at love by marrying an asshole my father tries to force upon me.”
“Good.”
Her eyes trace my face and she smiles, and fuck me, when Chelsea Novak smiles I feel it in my bones. Not even the years sitting between us or how she cut me from her life can dull what she does to me. How she makes me feel.
“You’re even better looking than you were four years ago, Mason. And that’s saying something because you took my breath away then.”
She threatens to take my breath away.
Suddenly we’re too fucking close.
I need to get out of here.
Chelsea is fire and I’ve already been burned; I won’t go back for seconds. But when she’s this close and she’s saying shit like that, she threatens to wipe my memory clean of all reminders to avoid her.
I reach for the door handle. “I hope you stick to your guns about not marrying that guy. Politics and money aren’t everything in this world.” Even after everything that went on between us, I still want her to be happy, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned since leaving the world she still inhabits, it’s that money and power don’t make a person happy.
She doesn’t respond to that; she simply watches me leave.
However, I’m unable to open the door. It’s locked, which is odd because it wasn’t when we entered.
I jiggle the handle, trying to get the damn thing to open. “How the fuck did it get locked?”
“Shit,” Chelsea says. “The door wasn’t fully closed when I opened it. The lock hadn’t caught. I guess when it closed behind us, it locked shut then.”
Fuck.
I bash on the door to catch the attention of anyone walking by. “Hey! We’re stuck in here!” I’m hopeful a hotel staff member might be around, but anyone will do. My efforts intensify as I think about being locked in here with Chelsea.
I need to get out of this room.
Being trapped with Chelsea for any length of time is not something I want right now. Not when I’m feeling the shit I’m feeling. Shit that might make me say or do something I’ll regret later.
Chelsea Novak is the girl I loved in high school.
She’s the girl I never got the chance to make mine, though, and I’m not looking to change that anytime soon.
Hell, I’m never fucking looking to change that, because if she could break me when she didn’t know she owned my heart, I can only imagine the damage she’d inflict if she did know she owned it.
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.