Gunnar: A Motorcycle Club Romance

by Nina Levine

  Looking at him now, I see that same hurt, but what I see more is next level hate. Twice burned, he’ll never forgive me for what I did to him.

  “You’re really going to walk past me without even looking at me?” I say.

  He closes the distance between us, bringing a hurricane of anger with him. “I’m not sure what the fuck you expect from me, Chelsea, but you broke your fucking promise to always fight for me, so as far as I’m concerned, you don’t deserve for me to even acknowledge your fucking existence.”

  It’s like he’s punched me without laying a finger on me. The thing is, he’s right. We’re done. I’m not sure why I stopped to speak to him, but the pull I feel is too great to ignore. It has a life of its own and I’m helpless to do anything but go with it.

  “God, you are so fucking cold. Three months ago, you—”

  “Three months ago, I fucking gave you everything I had to give and you threw it all back in my face.”

  “I gave you everything I had to give, too! I don’t know why that’s so hard for you to understand.”

  “No.” He stabs a finger at me. “You fucking gave up on us. You didn’t even come close to giving everything you had to give.”

  My chest squeezes with anger and hurt, and all the things I never had the chance to tell him. “Don’t you dare say that to me again. You have no idea how much I tried to save us.”

  “I know you never gave me the opportunity to save us.”

  My eyes widen. “You were arrested, Mason, and charged with serious crimes. You were dealing with club stuff. And we both know my father was determined to ruin you. There wasn’t anything you could do.”

  The vein in his neck pulses as he leans his face close to mine. So close I swear I can taste his rage. “You keep fucking telling yourself that, princess. We both know you gave up on us. Again.” He pulls his face away. “I’m better off without you. I need a woman by my side who has some fucking grit in her, and that’s something you don’t fucking have.”

  I slap him. Hard enough to redden his face. Ignoring the surprise in his eyes, I spit out, “Fuck you. At least I didn’t fuck your friend to hurt you.”

  His eyes glitter with hate. “No, you just suck another man’s dick every fucking night after promising that to me. It turns out you give away promises like you give away your lips.”

  I can’t breathe.

  Mason’s hate is too much to endure.

  And mine is twisting my heart all over the place.

  “You’re right: we’re better off without each other. I don’t need an asshole in my life.”

  With that, I spin on my heel and walk away from him a hell of a lot more confidently than I feel on the inside. I’ll be damned if I’ll show Mason Blaise just how much he’s hurt me.

  3

  Gunnar

  Fuck.

  Chelsea was the last person I expected to run into today, and now that I have, I’m ready for the day to be done so I can drink myself into oblivion. I’m staring at about eight more hours of work before I can do that, though, so I need to pull my shit together and get on with it.

  “Gunnar,” Griff calls out as he catches up to me. “You found him yet?”

  We’re at Joe Hearst’s offices, trying to locate him and having trouble doing so. The guy’s business takes up three levels of this building, and we’ve been given the run around from his staff as to where he might be.

  I jab my finger at the office I’m standing outside of. “This is his apparently, but he’s not in there.” I checked after Chelsea left. That was after I kicked myself for watching her walk away until I could no longer see her.

  Fuck, she pissed me off when she asked me why I refused to look at her. She has no fucking idea how much I crave the sight of her. But looking at her, let alone being fucking near her, is too hard. Not when I can’t have her.

  “Christ,” Griff mutters. “We don’t have time to be fucked around like this.”

  “Tell me again why we’re doing this.”

  “We need to keep these assholes close while we figure out the best way forward.”

  I know Scott’s not keen on working for Novak. I also know we don’t have many options where he’s concerned. The legislation Novak managed to get passed put so many restrictions on motorcycle clubs they practically strangled us. After the initial arrests were made three months ago, the cops haven’t done much but let us know they’re watching us. That’s frustrated the hell out of us and gotten in the way of some of our cleaning jobs. It’s also cut our cleaning jobs down because assholes who need their messes cleaned up aren’t fucking keen on hiring a club who are being watched by the cops. Keeping Novak onside by doing his dirty work is something Scott couldn’t pass up at this point. Un-fucking-fortunately, Novak and Moss have declared Hearst our point of contact, meaning I’m going to be seeing more of the motherfucker than I ever wanted.

  Griff and I head back out to reception. On our way, we finally locate Hearst, who’s watching me with hawk eyes.

  “We’ve got less than five minutes before we have to be out of here,” Griff says, his tone letting Hearst know he’s less than impressed to have been screwed around.

  “This’ll only take two,” Hearst snaps back, striding like the asshole he is to his office.

  After I discovered Chelsea’s engagement to this guy, I dug up as much information on him as I could. He comes from old money; he’s run his own highly successful financial management firm for five years; he’s been engaged once before, but she ended it when he cheated on her; he likes to fuck prostitutes; and he practically sucks his father-in-law’s dick.

  We follow him back to his office where he hands over a thick envelope of cash and says, “There’s a list of names in there; you need to pay them all a visit and remind them of their agreement with Novak over the mine.” He pauses and looks at me. “We need them all alive so perhaps only send members who can follow instructions and get the job done properly. I take it you were the one who fucked up.”

  My hands are on him before I can stop myself. “You fucking asshole,” I bellow, gripping his shirt and shoving him backwards.

  “Fucking hell, Gunnar. Stop!” Griff yanks me away before I can do any damage. Pushing me towards the door, he orders, “Wait for me outside.”

  I barely hear a word he says. My focus is on Hearst, who’s watching me with a feral expression.

  “No,” Hearst says. “I want a word with him. Alone.”

  Griff’s brows arch. “You sure about that?”

  Hearst keeps his eyes on me. “I’m sure.”

  Griff forces out a harsh breath and mutters, “Fuck,” before walking to me and saying, “Try not to kill him.”

  A moment later, Griff exits the room and I’m alone with Hearst.

  He comes closer to me. “It seems we find ourselves in a difficult situation.”

  I scrub a hand over my face. “You’re shitting me, right? What, you wanna clear the air and shake fucking hands?”

  His face darkens. “No, I want to tell you in no uncertain terms to keep your eyes and hands off my wife.”

  I plant my feet wide and cross my arms. “You can save your breath, Hearst. I don’t intend to ever fucking touch her again.”

  “Good, because if I find out you’ve touched her, I’ll fucking kill you.”

  I drop my arms and move into his space. “You need to be careful who you’re threatening. Just try to fucking kill me and see what that gets you.”

  “Don’t underestimate me, Mason.”

  Fuck him. “Are we done here?” If I don’t get out of here soon, Griff will rip my balls from my body for what I’ll do.

  “So long as you understand what I’ve said, we’re done.”

  I can’t stop myself. My fist is in his face before I know what I’m doing. The fucking patronising prick. He stumbles back, but the look in his eyes tells me he was expecting this punch, and the way he comes at me with one of his own makes me think this is exactly what he wanted.

&nbs
p; I dodge his punch and land another one on him, the crack of my fist connecting with his cheekbone satisfying as fuck. He comes back at me, this time more determined and manages to smash his fist into my face.

  We spend the next few minutes trading punches, each one growing more savage than the last. His office chairs go flying, and the books in one of his bookshelves end up all over the floor as we crash into shit. The sound eventually draws Griff back into the room, and he steps into the fray, yelling at me to stop.

  I’m fucking jacked up on adrenaline, and the blazing need to make this asshole hurt, so it takes Griff wrapping his arms around me and physically pulling me away from Hearst to stop me.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Gunnar,” Griff says once we’re out of Hearst’s office. “It’d make my fucking day if for once you managed to control your urge to punch people.”

  Blood roars in my ears, fury races through my veins, and a whole fucking range of emotions I can’t even begin to understand threaten to consume me. It’s taking everything I have not to go back into Hearst’s office and finish what I started. Images of Chelsea with that motherfucker slice through my heart, adding to the bullshit in my head.

  “Fuck!” I roar as I put my fist through the wall.

  “Jesus fuck!” Griff eyes me, his own anger surfacing. “You about fucking done, brother? The last thing we need is trouble with this asshole.”

  I suck in oxygen and work on clearing my thoughts.

  He’s right, and I need to get myself under control. The last three months have been a mess of me doing whatever the fuck it takes just to get through my days. Fighting, drinking, and fucking, but mostly fighting. None of it is working, though. I’m still as fucked up over Chelsea as I was when this all started.

  I look at Griff and nod. “Yeah, I’m done. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  One of the things I respect about Griff is his ability to let shit go. He always makes it clear where he stands and what he thinks, but he doesn’t hold onto shit. He does that now and doesn’t bang on about what I just did in Hearst’s office, but I know he’s looking for me to make some changes. My club and my brothers are everything to me, so I’ll try, but fuck me, working with Hearst is going to make that hard as hell to do.

  I throw some beer down my throat as I listen to my sister go on about the long day she had at work. Alexa helps our brother, Calder, manage our family’s chain of hotels around the world, and today they had problems with the computer system that crashed and caused havoc with the reservations. It’s shit I have zero fucks to give about, because I want nothing to do with my family’s business, but I love my sister enough to listen to her have a meltdown over it.

  “Seriously, Calder can kiss my ass if he wants to treat me like shit over this. It wasn’t my fault the system crashed. I told him weeks ago it needed updating.” Alexa narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not really listening, are you?”

  I suck back some more beer while thinking I’m going to need some stronger liquor than this. “I’m listening. Calder’s an asshole. I think that about covers it.”

  She slides onto the stool next to mine at her kitchen island. Motioning at my face, she says, “Dare I ask who you punched today? I’m presuming that if you look like this, the other guy took a beating.”

  “You can ask, but you won’t like the answer.”

  “God, Mason, who?”

  “Joe Hearst.”

  Her eyes widen. “You’re not being serious?”

  I move off my stool. “I’m gonna need rum for this. You still got that bottle I left here last time?”

  She nods and points at a cupboard. “In there.”

  I locate the rum and pour myself a glass. After I drink some, I rest my ass against the kitchen counter and look at my sister. Out of all my siblings, Alexa’s the one I’m closest to. There’s only one year between us and we were inseparable as kids. She might be younger than me, but she doesn’t act like a twenty-four-year-old; she’s far more responsible than I am. “I have to see Hearst due to club stuff going on, and he pushed my fucking buttons today.” I take another sip of rum. “He wanted to get into it with me.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t understand men. Why is it so hard to walk away instead of getting your fists out?”

  “And I don’t fucking understand women.” I drain my glass and pour myself another drink. “Because I’m sure she’ll tell you and you’ll bust my balls for not mentioning it if I don’t, I also saw Chelsea today.”

  Alexa frowns. “I spoke to her about an hour ago and she didn’t mention it. But then again, I’ve noticed she’s stopped talking about you to me. I think maybe she’s worried about our friendship now that you two aren’t together.”

  Alexa and Chelsea have been friends for years, but became really close while I was with Chelsea. I encouraged it at the time because while Chelsea knew a lot of people, she didn’t have the kind of friends she could rely on when she needed someone by her side.

  “Fuck, you women worry too much about shit that you shouldn’t.”

  Alexa purses her lips. “For the record, we don’t. Also for the record, most men could afford to worry about shit a little more. Now tell me you two didn’t have another fight today.”

  “This is the reason I wasn’t going to mention it to you.”

  “So you did have a fight.”

  “We had a discussion.”

  “When you say discussion, that means something vastly different to almost everyone else.”

  “A fight involves yelling and screaming. There was none of that.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Don’t you think you guys did enough fighting three months ago? Why couldn’t you just walk on by and ignore your burning desire to have another go at her?”

  “I fucking tried. She initiated it this time.”

  “Oh.” That shuts her up for half a second. “So, what happened?”

  “Nothing new. It was the same old shit.”

  “Okay, wait, let’s back this up. You walked past her without saying anything to her?”

  I take a gulp of rum. “Yes.”

  She grins. “This is good news because it means you should be able to get through my birthday party without losing your shit.”

  “What birthday party?” My gut’s not feeling good about where she’s going with this.

  “The one I sent you an invitation to this morning. Check your emails.”

  I shove my fingers through my hair. “I take it you’ve also invited Chelsea.” And her fucking husband.

  “Yes, she’ll be there, but there will be so many people at the party that you two won’t even need to be in the same room or see each other.”

  “Fuck.” If it were anyone else, I’d say a flat out no, but it’s Alexa, and I can’t do that to her.

  “Also, Mum and Dad will be there.”

  I’m not sure which is worse, having to see Dad or having to see Chelsea with Joe.

  “Right,” Alexa says as she slides off her stool, “I’m ordering Thai for dinner, and we’re going to watch the new episode of Yellowstone. Oh, and”—she smiles sweetly—“I need you to please clean my air conditioning filters and fix the tap in the kitchen.”

  “Of course you do,” I mutter, but I wouldn’t care if she wanted me to renovate her entire fucking apartment. I’d do it without complaint. I might not be close to my parents these days, but I love the hell out of my brothers and sister, and would lay down and die for them if I had to.

  4

  Chelsea

  Eight hours after seeing him at Joe’s office, I’m still thinking about Mason. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever stop thinking about him. God, I’m beginning to wonder if he’ll send me crazy.

  “You’ve been quiet all night,” Joe says, joining me in our library.

  During our whirlwind engagement, we bought this house after inspecting twenty-three other houses. Joe is the kind of man whose attention to detail is so great it’s actually infuriating. He found the smallest things w
rong with each house we looked at, so when we found this place, and he didn’t have any problems with it, I didn’t bother to tell him I hated it. I couldn’t take another house inspection. We moved in a week later after he rushed the sale, and I’ve since become adept at lying to him. Joe thinks I love this library and the furniture he filled it with. I don’t; I detest everything about it, especially the brown leather armchairs. Who wants brown furniture? Not me, and yet here I am with a whole fucking house full of it.

  I look at him. If this wasn’t an arranged marriage and I wasn’t in love with another man, I’d admit to the fact my husband is one of the best-looking men I’ve ever met. Tall and fit with dark hair that’s always perfectly styled, a strong chiselled jaw, and piercing blue eyes, Joe turns many heads, just not mine. That could also have something to do with the fact he’s a cold and ruthless man who in just a month I’ve learned to always be on guard with.

  “I’ve got a lot of work stuff on my mind,” I lie as I take a sip of wine and note the bruises on his face. I don’t know who he got in a fight with, and I don’t want to know, so I don’t mention it.

  “Stuff you don’t need to fill your mind with.” God, I hate how condescending he is.

  “My mind likes being filled with my work.”

  He sighs. “How many times are we going to have this argument, Chelsea?”

  “As many times as you keep initiating it.”

  “There will come a time I won’t initiate it. I’ll simply make it clear I’ve reached the end of my patience.” The way he says this scatters goosebumps over my skin, not the good kind.

  I sip some more wine. “Let’s not discuss this tonight.”

  He appraises me for a long moment before granting my wish. Sitting in the armchair across from me, he says, “Your father is pleased with the way the campaign is coming together.”