Leave Me Breathless: The Ivy Collection

by KL Donn

  I dial the number, and he picks up after the first ring.

  “Look who it is,” he goads me.

  “Don't mess with me,” I snarl.

  I hear the noise in the background disappear. “Look, brother, I ain’t messing with you. She’s fucking sad, real sad. It's depressing as shit. She keeps looking at the gates, like if she looks long enough you’ll magically appear.” His words come like a punch to the gut.

  I curse as I pace, running my hand over my head. “What the fuck am I meant to do?”

  I hear him cursing, then a soft voice comes through.

  “Saint?” I take in a sharp breath, closing my eyes. “Saint!” she speaks again, hurt in her voice.

  “Angel.”

  She sucks in a breath. “Are you okay? I’ve been so worried. I’m sorry, Saint, so very sorry.” Her breath hitches as her words come fast.

  “Nothing to be sorry for, girl.” I sit on the bed, looking around the flea-bitten motel room.

  “You left,” she whispers, so much hurt laced in those two words. It’s as though she’s right in front of me, her words like a blade against my skin. I don’t say anything. I hear her tell someone to fuck off, which make my lips twitch. “You left because of me?” Again I don't answer. “That’s not fair,” she cries. “I’m leaving.” At her words, I sit up. “This is your family, and if you won’t come back because I’m here, then I’ll leave,” she growls, sadness replaced with anger.

  I stand, my fist curling around the phone. “You better keep your sexy ass there. It's not safe.”

  She snorts. “Too bad you’re not here then, isn’t it?”

  I growl. “I’m warning you, Angel. You stay there or I’ll redden that ass of yours.”

  Her breath hitches. “Then come home, please,” she says softly.

  With those words, I know I will never be able to deny her anything.

  “Yeah, Angel, I’ll come back. We need to sort this shit out between us. When I get back, we need to talk.” I need to tell her that I will be there to protect her and make sure she’s never hurt again.

  “Okay, Saint, I’ll be waiting.” She hangs up, as if she knows what I’m going to say. That we can’t work. My demons are too strong, my darkness like waves that will drown her, swallow her whole, and she won’t even realize it until she takes her last breath.

  A day later and I’m half a mile from the compound when I clock the black van behind me. I turn into the right lane and watch as it copies me, building speed. Reaching for my cell, I call Reaper, who answers instantly, and I speak before he can say anything.

  “Got a tail—black van.” I sneer, watching it in my mirrors.

  “Where are you?” Reaper’s demanding voice brings silence to the noise around him.

  “Mail Avenue.” I take a left and watch as they follow suit. I speed up, as do they. This fucker’s going to be hard to shake.

  Reaper growls. “Get home, son. Don't do anything stupid.”

  Like hell! I’m not taking this prick anywhere near the club, nowhere near Angel. “Ain't happening, Reaper. Get the club on lockdown.”

  I hear cursing as I throw my phone, turning the corner. The van gains on me. I can feel the heat of the engine as I lead it through the streets, further away from the club, from my family, from my angel.

  “Motherfucker,” I growl as hot pain radiates up my arm, the bike swerving as I lose control. My gaze flicks to the blood seeping through my top.

  The sound of metal crashing and glass crunching hits me, right before I feel totally lifeless, a moment in time where nothing exists. White-hot pain takes over my whole body, crushing my chest. All I hear is a high-pitched sound as I try to lift myself up, my arms failing me. I push again, gritting my teeth, holding my head as the world tilts. My vision doubles—triples.

  I stagger, lifting my head to see the back of the van doors open, a sinister smile on the man with his arm out the door, our eyes never leaving each other. The sound of gunshots ring out, and my body jerks—twice. My chest feels as if it's breaking open, hot, like the flames of hell are burning through me. Darkness washes over me as I hit the floor.

  The last thing I see is my beautiful, pure angel, right before my friend, the darkness, takes me.

  9

  Harla

  He’s coming back. My heart soars. Four days without him was torture. Knowing that I was the reason he left was even worse.

  I hand West back his cell.

  “He’s coming home,” I tell him and watch as relief briefly flashes in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say as I walk back to the bed and sit down, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my head against them.

  The bed dips as West comes and sits beside me. Over the past four days, he’s been checking in on me, both he and Callie. He’s been worried about me.

  “Nothing for you to be sorry for.”

  I give him a soft smile. I’ve a lot to be sorry for. I’ve been a burden on him when I shouldn’t be.

  “I don’t belong here,” I tell him honestly.

  His eyes narrow. “Oh yeah? Says who?”

  “Says you.” His eyebrows slam together. “Says Dad, says everyone.”

  “Harla…”

  I shake my head. “I’ve heard you. I’m not deaf. I don’t belong in this world, in your world. It’s obvious that Dad doesn’t want me here.” He’s not really spoken to me since I’ve been here. The only person who made me feel as though I belonged here was Saint, and he left because of me.

  “You belong here,” he says adamantly.

  I raise my head and look at him. “You honestly believe that?” I shake my head when he doesn’t respond. “I’m that naive girl who falls for the first guy she sees.” I repeat the words his mom said to him last night.

  He closes his eyes and scrubs his hand over his face. He knows that I heard his response: that Saint would still be here if it weren’t for me.

  “I get it, I really do.” He turns to look at me, confusion on his face. “Dad never wanted me here. You don’t need to worry about me, just go back to how things were before I got here.” I swallow back the tears. Even saying the words, hurts. I know I’ve only been here a short time and we’ve practically just met but I really care about West. He’s my brother, and when I leave, I’m going to miss him so much.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, getting off the bed. “Stop listening to shit,” he instructs me. “You’re a motherfucking West.”

  I raise my brow. “And?”

  He leans forward. “It’s time you started acting like one.”

  I jump off the bed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He smirks. “There she is.”

  I grit my teeth. What the hell is with him? “What are you talking about?”

  “That sass, use it.”

  I frown. He’s not making any sense.

  “Your name shouldn’t be West; it should be the Riddler.” I shake my head. His real name is actually Marcus West, but he hates it when anyone calls him Marcus.

  “Harla,” he says carefully. “You’ve got your sights set on Saint.”

  Heat rises in my cheeks.

  He tuts. “There's going to be some Snatches that are going to test you, others merely curious of what you’re like.” He stares at me. “They’ve been gossiping about you. You’re going to need to show that sass of yours. You’re a West.”

  I laugh. “You mean you want to make sure I don’t tarnish the family’s name by being me.”

  “That’s not what I fucking meant,” he snarls. “Look, Harla, you’re here and you’re not going anywhere. You may not like us, but fuck, you’re family. It’s time to stop wallowing in self-pity and start getting to know the brothers.”

  He’s right. I’ve kept to myself since I got here and that’s not right.

  He must sense that I agree with him because his face softens a little. “Just don’t let anyone disrespect you.”

  “I won’t.” There’s steel in my voice. I may
be naive and innocent, but I’m not a pushover.

  He smirks. “Atta girl. Can you fire a gun?”

  I narrow my eyes. Where is he going with this? “Yes.”

  He nods, looking impressed. “Tomorrow, I want to see what you got.”

  “Sure.”

  Gigi taught me how to shoot, as well as how to protect myself. I’m good with a gun, a knife, and my hands.

  I watch as he narrows his eyes at me. “Why do I get the feeling there’s a whole lot more to you than meets the eye?”

  I shrug. “Don’t know.”

  He smirks. “Go shower. You look like shit.”

  I gasp. What the hell? “Gee, thanks.”

  He chuckles as he walks toward the door. When his hand clasps the door handle, he turns to face me. “You belong here, Harla. Make no mistake. You’re family.”

  I tilt my head to study him. He’s being sincere. “Thank you.” He nods and turns back to leave. “West?”

  “Yeah?”

  I take a deep breath and ask him the question that’s been playing on my mind since I spoke to Saint. “Saint and I aren’t ever going to happen, are we?”

  His shoulders drop. “No,” he says instantly, and pain pierces my chest. “I know that you two are drawn to each other, but, Harla, Saint’s…” He trails off as if he’s trying to find the right words to say. “He’s different than most, seen more shit than anyone I know. That stains you. He’s not the man for you.” He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything as he opens the door and leaves my room.

  The door clicks shut behind him and I stare at it. He’s right, Saint is different than most. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. He makes me want things I never thought possible. These past four days have been torture, not being able to see him, touch him, even to talk to him. I have a feeling Saint’s going to tell me that what happened in the garage can’t happen again.

  The thought makes me nauseous, but maybe… maybe it’s for the best.

  “You sure?” Callie asks me for the second time.

  I nod, my stomach doing flips. “Yes, it’s time.”

  She smiles brightly. “Want to get drunk?”

  “Yes.” For the first time in a long time, I actually have a friend. Maybe West was right. Maybe I do belong here.

  She links her arm through mine as we walk out of my bedroom. I’m dressed in tight leather pants and a hot pink halter top. I look like something out of the nineties, but Callie said I looked hot and had to wear it.

  “Tonight is going to be a good one.”

  “Where are you?” Dad’s voice is loud as we reach the bar. I frown as the room descends into silence. Who is he talking to?

  “Get home, son. Don't do anything stupid,” he growls, and it has everyone sitting up straighter.

  “Fuck,” he snarls, his knuckles white from the grip he has on his cell. He turns to face the room. “West, Milo, Hammer, Ace, you ride. Saint’s got a tail. Go to Mail Avenue.”

  My blood freezes at his words. Someone’s following Saint. Callie’s hand squeezes mine.

  “He’ll be fine,” she tries to reassure me. My focus is on the men leaving the bar, and each one of their faces are set in stone. No emotion at all.

  “We’re on lockdown,” Dad says, and I glance at Callie, wondering what the hell that even means.

  She sighs. “There goes our fun.” She smiles as she waves at the guy behind the bar. He doesn’t even blink when he picks up the bottle of vodka and hands it to her. “Just because we’re on lockdown, it doesn’t mean we can’t drink.” She leads us toward the kitchen.

  “What’s just happened?” I ask, my stomach tight with anxiousness. What about Saint?

  She doesn’t answer me straight away. She leads me into the kitchen and glances around, making sure no one else is here. “We’re on lockdown, which means we’re not allowed to leave.”

  My brows tighten. “Why?”

  She places the bottle down on the countertop. “Because something’s happened. We’re here so that we’re all safe.” She looks at me. “You’re safe here, Harla, don’t worry.”

  I nod. But I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about Saint. What if the people who were following him, got to him?

  “Here, drink this,” she tells me and passes me a glass. “It’ll take the edge off.”

  I take the glass from her and down it in one. The burn makes me shudder but it feels good. I hand her back my glass and she smiles. “Another?”

  “Please.” I’m hoping it’ll take the edge off. I can’t shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen. My stomach is in knots and my heart won’t stop racing.

  She refills my glass, handing it back to me. The sound of footsteps pounding on the stairs has me frozen to the spot. “That’ll be the ol’ ladies. They stay here when we’re on lockdown.”

  Dad’s thundering voice echoes through the compound. “How bad?” I grip the glass harder as I listen to him speak. “Fuck! Get him back here. I’ll call Doc.”

  I swallow back the fear. Who’s hurt? What’s happened? So much emotion is running through me that I’m not sure what to do. My first instinct is to run to Dad and find out, but I know that’s not how things are done here.

  There’s a lot of movement coming from one of the rooms, and I glance at Callie. Gone is the look of happiness and in its place is one of fear. We have no idea what happened or who it happened to, so we’re thinking the worst. Dad’s talking, but I can’t make out his words. Right now, I feel so helpless, and I hate feeling like this.

  The ol’ ladies walk into the kitchen, their faces somber. They make a beeline for the vodka and forgo glasses, drinking straight from the bottle, passing it between them.

  “One good thing about lockdown, I’ll be in Reaper’s bed,” Rhonda says, and I try not to gag. I don’t want to know about her and my dad. She doesn’t miss the way I cringe, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Saint’s been shot,” she snarls, and my heart breaks. “He could die.”

  “Rhonda…” Monica’s voice is full of warning.

  “What? I’m just saying. We all know that he should have been here with his family. Instead, he left because of h—”

  “Enough!” Monica yells. “Saint’s going to be alright. Now quit your bitchin’ and start drinking.”

  Callie’s hand entwines with mine, squeezing it, offering me support. Everything Rhonda said was like a direct hit. He should have been here, but because I’m fucking stupid, he’s not, and now he’s been shot.

  The rumble of motorcycles tells me that the brothers are back.

  “There’s nothin’ we can do except wait. He’s in good hands with Doc,” Monica says softly to me. “There’s no sense in getting yourself worked up. Sit down and drink,” she instructs me.

  I walk over to the table and take a seat, and Rhonda glares at me. I ignore it and reach for the bottle. After taking a mouthful, I hand it to Callie, silently saying a prayer that Saint’s going to be okay.

  Four hours later, some of the brothers join us. Dad comes into the kitchen.

  “He’ll be alright. Doc took care of him,” he informs us, and my shoulders slump forward with relief. He nods and Rhonda smirks as she gets up out of her seat and saunters over to him. As soon as she reaches him, she places her hand on his chest and presses a kiss against his lips.

  “Bitch, move,” he growls, pushing her away from him and into the hall. He follows her, and I want to throw up.

  West walks into the room and points for Callie and me to follow him. “He’s fine. He’s been shot, lost some blood, but he’s fine.”

  “Thank you.” I’m grateful that he’s told me.

  He nods. “Go get some sleep,” he instructs me. “Tomorrow’s a new day.”

  I nod. “Goodnight.”

  “Night, Harla,” Callie says, giving me a hug, a huge smile on her face when she follows West to his bedroom.

  My feet move toward my room, but just as my hand touches the door handle, I can’t br
ing myself to go in. Quickly turning around, I make my way into Saint’s room.

  He’s lying on the bed, pale and bloody. But he looks so peaceful. I walk to the chair and sit down. I’ll watch over him tonight, make sure that he’s okay. I need to be close to him. I could have lost him.

  10

  Saint

  I blink at the harsh sunlight, and movement in the corner of my eye has me turning to see West at the end of the bed, grinning.

  “Aww, look who decided to join us.” His voice is a whisper.

  Why the hell is he whispering? A hiss escapes me as I try to sit up. “De la Madre,” I growl, spotting the two bandages on my chest. Just two more scars to add to the list.

  As I go to stand, I realize the reason as to why West is whispering. Harla. Long, dark hair covers her face as she sleeps, making my fingers twitch to push it away. She has a small furrow between her brows and her full lips are puckered as if she’s not liking something.

  I turn my head to see West leaning against the wall. He shrugs. “No one could move her. She’s been here since we brought you back. She wiped all the blood away. You were fucking out of it.” His lips twitch.

  I take another quick look at Harla before turning back to him, rubbing my hand over my head. “How long was I out?”

  A flash of something passes through his eyes as he stares at me, his lips tightening.

  “Three fucking days,” he growls, and that’s when I notice the black shadows under his eyes, his hair unkempt. Something burns in my chest as I nod.

  Checking one more time on Harla, I nod toward the door. He follows me out and I close the door softly behind us, leaning against the wall as my whole body aches.

  “It was Spider,” I growl.

  West nods, anger shining in his eyes. “Yeah, Hack got into the security cameras. We saw the fucker. Got a lead, and the boys are out now.” He smirks, and it's not the one he puts on for the women, for Callie, but full of evil, a look that would make even the devil shudder.