I open my laptop and start working, finding that being caught up is so nice. After about an hour of answering e-mails and making quick adjustments on designs, I’m back to caught up again. Then I look around and realize I have at least another two hours before Max gathers me for lunch. I don’t want to go out and look for him.
At this point, I don’t really want to see him, so I decide to snoop. Probably not the smartest idea in the world, but I’m bored.
I open the drawers in his desk, starting with the top one, but there is nothing but paperwork in there. I’m snoopy, but I don’t really want to violate his privacy, so I don’t even look at the papers, I just shift them around.
Then, when I open the very bottom drawer, my breath hitches. I pick up a picture. It isn’t framed, but it’s obviously been handled a lot.
The picture is an old one of Max.
I would recognize him at any age, even the young age he is in the photo.
He looks to be around seventeen years old, tall and lean, with a big smile on his face. He’s standing, straddling a black motorcycle, and his arm is wrapped around a woman, his hand resting on the swell of her belly. She’s got her head tipped back and resting against his shoulder, and she’s smiling huge. They’re both smiling, looking more in love than any couple I have ever seen.
I lift my finger and trace his young face. He doesn’t have any facial hair at all, and the hair on his head is about three shades lighter, blond, shaggy, and long. Her hair is blonde as well, and really long, swept to the side and hanging off of one shoulder. They’re both wearing bell bottoms, and she’s got a floral, A-line shirt on over her obvious baby bump.
I close my eyes, knowing that I’ll never have him like that. She got this boy version of him, this untamed boy who had yet to see the horrors of life. A boy who had an easy smile and clear blue eyes, not one ounce of the haunting eyes that I see when I look at him now.
It makes my chest ache. How can I be so envious of a dead woman? She’s absolutely gorgeous, and I know why he had to have her, and also why he tried to keep her away from club life. The innocence in her eyes practically jumps out of the photograph itself.
“What’d you find?” his voice asks from behind me. I jump in my chair, obviously oblivious to him entering the room.
“A picture,” I say, knowing there’s no way to hide my snooping.
“Fuck, I forgot about that one,” he says as he takes it from my hand.
I twist my head around to look at him. He’s focused on the image in front of him, and his face is completely soft, his eyes glazed over. He’s lost in the memory of that moment, and my chest aches again, almost cracking.
He grins and then I watch as he takes his wallet out and places the picture inside before he replaces it back in his pocket, breaking my heart completely in the process.
I don’t know why it affects me so damn much. We’ve only known each other for a matter of days, and he was in love with her for years.
“Ready for lunch?” he asks, holding his hand out for me.
I nod, not knowing what else to say as I try to keep my tears from leaking down my face. I stand, not taking his hand. I’m emotional, and I’m still mad at him.
“We’ll go downtown; there’s a couple places there,” he says with a shrug, ignoring my refusal to touch him or talk to him.
I climb on the back of his bike, thankful to be on it and not in a car. I need the silence. I snooped, and now I’m feeling self-conscious. He claims he didn’t sleep with another woman, yet he woke up next to her and she was naked.
He’s made it clear that I don’t have a place in his club, only in his bed, and he’s done it in a way where I don’t think I’ll ever have a place by his side in the club. Then there’s the picture, where he looks so damn happy.
I watched the memory slide over his face as he looked at the photograph, and then he stuck it in his wallet to no doubt look at again, later.
As we drive toward the restaurant, I wonder why I’m here. Why on earth are we doing this with each other? Once we arrive, we walk inside and sit down, still in silence.
The restaurant is just a little diner, but as I look over the menu, I see that they serve breakfast all day long. I gladly order a stack of pancakes. They’re my go-to comfort food, and I could really use some comfort right about now.
“I talked to Grease, who was there last night. He says I stumbled to my bed alone,” he murmurs nonchalantly.
“Okay…”
“Sometimes the girls get jealous. It’s just a part of the whole thing, Mary. They see a brother get attached to someone, and when they don’t get the attention they used to, they play games,” he shrugs.
It baffles my mind how much of a shit he doesn’t give about this. These women that he claimed know the rules, that wouldn’t dare try to trick a man into having a child, he now admits that they’ve been known to play games? He’s fucking crazy.
“I’m not sure why you’re telling me this,” I say with narrowed eyes.
“What do you mean, you aren’t sure why I’m telling you this? I’m telling you that I didn’t fuck her,” he grunts, obviously irritated with me.
I press my lips together, unsure of what to say next. If I say anything about his girls, he’ll think I’m being petty or jealous, or that I just don’t understand how his club life works.
Maybe I am petty and jealous, but when I tell the man that I’m sleeping with, the man that I’m committed to, the truth, and he doesn’t believe what I’m saying to him—I just don’t know what else to say. If he doesn’t believe me, why on earth should I believe him?
“You’re acting like a fuckin’ kid right now,” he murmurs, his temper rising. I watch as his face turns red.
“Maybe you should send me back to my apartment then, an apartment I’m still paying rent on,” I calmly say.
“What is your real problem here?” he asks.
“I already told you my problem, you just don’t care. You told me to drop it, that it wasn’t my place. I’m not quite sure what you want right now,” I honestly point out.
“I forgot about this shit,” he mutters as his eyes bore into me.
“About what?”
“This relationship shit. This talking, this having to consider your feelings and be mindful of how my words and actions affect you,” he grumbles.
“You don’t have to be mindful or consider shit,” I spit out. “You can go on your merry way and say and do whatever and whoever you want.”
“Mary,” he warns.
“No, seriously; I’ll go back to San Diego, or maybe I’ll move to New York,” I announce.
His arm strikes out, his hand wraps around the back of my neck, and he pulls my body halfway across the table, so that we’re practically nose-to-nose.
“You ain’t going fucking anywhere,” he says with a growl.
I try to jerk away from him, but his hand tightens at the back of my neck.
“I’m a liar who doesn’t have a place anywhere other than on your cock. Eat shit,” I say in heated anger.
Max releases me, and I have no choice but to fall back against my seat. He silently stands and then leaves, not looking back. I watch him out the window as he straddles his bike, starts his engine, and then takes off.
I look down at the table to see a wad of cash. Obviously, I didn’t see him pull that out, but it’s enough to cover our undelivered lunch.
I call the waitress over and cancel our order, leaving the money on the table, and I too walk out of the restaurant without a glance backward.
I should call down to the clubhouse and have somebody come and pick me up. We’re too far for me to walk to the house or back to the club, the curvy mountain roads being too dangerous to walk, anyway.
Instead of calling anybody, I decide to take a stroll down the quiet streets of the town center. I’ve yet to really see much of the little town I’ve been living in. I should probably take it all in now, instead of waiting, because I doubt I’ll be here much lo
nger.
My phone rings in my hand, and I look down to see that it’s Kentlee, Max’s daughter-in-law, calling me. She hardly ever calls, but she does so every now and again.
“Hello,” I answer as I continue to walk.
“I heard about your boyfriend. I’m so sorry,” she murmurs.
“We broke up, but thanks,” I say with a shrug, even though she can’t see me.
“Tell me what’s up with you,” she demands.
I almost laugh at how freaking well she knows me. I guess that happens when you live with someone for an extended period of time.
“Just tired,” I admit.
I am tired. Tired of men that treat me like shit. Tired of falling for said men, only to be trampled on. At least Max showed his true colors earlier on, and I didn’t have to wait for a year or two to see the real him.
“You should come home and visit. We all miss you,” she practically whispers.
“Yeah, I’ll set something up.”
“Whatever it is, whatever’s bothering you, I’m here to talk,” she urges.
I open my mouth to tell her, to tell her everything, because if anybody would understand what I’m feeling right now, it’s her. She spent years wondering, waiting for her husband to get out of prison. He didn’t communicate at all with her while he was there, embarrassed and ashamed to be seen by her while he was locked up. That man is Max’s son, so his actions, they don’t surprise me—the push and pull. Fury did the exact same shit with Kentlee.
I hear a rumbling and I look up to see Max’s bike coming down the street. I thank Kentlee and tell her that I’ll take her up on her offer when I’m ready, and then I end the call just as Max pulls up next to me.
“Get on,” he growls.
I ignore his words, choosing to just stare at him. He’s got to give me something other than an order for me to just jump on his bike and ride off into the sunset.
“Get. The. Fuck. On,” he barks.
The anger is swirling in his eyes, and I find myself doing as he’s demanded. I jump on the back of his bike, and together we ride. He’s going so much faster than he usually does, and I’m scared, especially since I’m not wearing my helmet, which goes against California law.
I grip his shirt tightly as my legs squeeze his thighs, and we twist and turn through the mountains until we arrive at this little shack of a building.
The motorcycle stops and Max pats my thigh to signal for me to get off. I do, on shaky legs, still scared of the ride he just took me on. I watch as he calmly gets off of his bike and then wraps his warm hand around mine, tugging me toward the building.
Once we’re inside, the sound of buzzing fills the air. As my eyes take in the room, I gasp.
We’re in a tattoo parlor.
I don’t say a word to her. There’s nothing else to say. She’s forced my hand, and now she’s going to be marked. I’m not about to let her just walk out of my life, not when I’ve just found her. I don’t care how short of a time period we’ve known each other. Mary is mine, and she’s about to be permanently so.
“Come on back,” my tattoo artist calls out from the backroom.
I’m not about to have my woman under the needle in the front of the shop.
“Max,” Mary whispers, her first words since I walked away from her.
I couldn’t control my anger, and I didn’t want to hurt her, so I walked away. Just imagining her leaving filled me with so much rage. I needed to calm the fuck down. I went for a short ride, my bike led me here, and I knew what I needed to do. So I went back into town and picked her up.
“You know what you want?” Nick, my tattoo artist, asks.
“Branding,” I bark.
“What?” Mary breathes.
“Where do you want it?” Nick asks, ignoring Mary’s look of surprise.
“Her thigh,” I grunt.
“Pants off, babe,” Nick says as he starts to prepare his equipment.
Mary turns to me with eyes wide and slack jawed.
“You’re branding me?” she asks on a whisper.
“You got another place other than my cock, and that’s at my side,” I murmur, low enough so that Nick can’t hear what a giant fucking pussy I am.
“Max,” she breathes.
“Pants off, sweetness.”
“Okay,” she exhales.
Her eyes are wide and she looks shell-shocked. She probably doesn’t even realize what’s really happening right now, but I could give a fuck. She’s mine, and I’m making it so the rest of the world knows it, too.
I watch as she strips her jeans off, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lacy panties. When she turns around, I groan at the sight of her ass, completely covered by the extremely see-through lace.
I look over at Nick, who is eying my woman as well. After his eyes drift up her long, lean, bare legs, they connect with mine and he pales.
“Do you want something feminine?” Nick asks.
Mary turns to me and bites on the corner of her lip, her eyes looking at me with question. I lift my chin, not giving her a verbal response. I don’t give a fuck what she gets, as long as the world knows she’s mine.
“Whatever you want,” I rumble. She smiles.
“I think… I think I want a garter around my thigh with MadDog’s name interweaved in it,” she murmurs.
My brows shoot up in surprise.
“That good?” Nick asks.
Mary’s face turns to me and she bites her bottom lip again, worrying it as she waits for my answer.
“Sounds fuckin’ beautiful,” I grunt.
I sit back in a chair in the corner of the room and switch between texting on my phone and keeping an eye on Nick’s hands. Not that he’s even going to try anything. He’s in the zone, and only focused on the way his needle sweeps against Mary’s leg. I glance up at her to see her face relaxed and calm, her eyes closed and nowhere near the scrunched up in pain look I thought I’d see.
“Doing great. It’s going to be hot as fuck once I’m done,” Nick mutters.
I stand up and walk over to where he’s working.
The design on Mary’s leg is intricate, feminine, and it looks like delicate lace, which is interwoven through my name—MadDog. He’s almost finished, and I notice that there’s no bows or anything else, just a simple band around her leg. Fuck, I can’t wait to trace it with my tongue.
“What’s your full first name, Max?” Mary asks as she opens her eyes.
Nick is rubbing some shit on her leg and wrapping it up.
“Maxfield,” I murmur.
“I want his name somewhere on my body. Somewhere only he’ll see,” she says to Nick.
“Only a couple places that could be, honey, if you ever plan on wearing a bikini,” Nick chuckles.
I ask Max to leave, wanting to surprise him with my next little tattoo. He narrows his eyes, but then warns Nick that he’ll be right outside of the room, listening.
I almost laugh but decide that we’re on too shaky ground for something like that. Though the ground we’re on might be a bit shaky, I know that this is the man for me, that this is part of my journey and where I’m supposed to be.
“Where do you want it?” Nick asks.
I don’t want to say it aloud, because I know Max probably has his ear to the door. Instead, I spread my leg a little and point to the area I want Max’s name, Maxfield, permanently marked on my body. He looks up at me, blinking once before looking back down, then up again.
“You sure? It’s gonna hurt like hell,” he mutters.
“I’m sure,” I say quietly.
“Okay,” he sighs before he prepares his needles and ink again.
I slip my leg out of my panties. It’s only one side, my non-tattooed side. Nick exhales before he looks at me again, I nod in assurance and he nods back as he draws up the design, a simple cursive, clean with no frills.
I nod when he holds a mirror up for me to see it, and then the needle presses against my skin as he begins. I hiss. True to
his word, it hurts like hell.
Luckily, it only takes about fifteen minutes, and then he’s finished. He shakes his head as he rubs some ointment on it and tapes some plastic wrap to it. I quickly get dressed and regret the placement of both of my tattoos as soon as my jeans slide up past my knees.
“You might want to go home and just be pant-less for a while,” Nick chuckles. I can’t help but giggle as well.
We walk out of the little room, and I see Max waiting just on the other side. His back is to the wall, one foot bent, and the sole of his boot pressed against the wall as well. His head is bent, and he’s looking at his phone.
“Are you ready?” I ask. He looks up as if I’ve startled him.
“Yeah, sweetness,” he murmurs.
I stand to the side while he gives Nick a manly handshake, and then he walks over to me, sliding his hand to my lower back as he guides me out of the tattoo parlor.
“We need to talk,” I announce as I slide onto the back of his bike, hissing in pain as I do.
“Yeah, but we’ll be doing it at home,” he grunts before he starts his engine and roars out of the tattoo parlor’s loose gravel parking lot.
I hold on tightly, thankful that he gave me a helmet this time as we wind our way toward his house. Now, apparently, our home.
Once we pull up, I see that the house has been painted. It’s white with black trim and shutters, and a dark teal front door. It’s absolutely perfect and gorgeous all at the same time.
“Max,” I whisper as I climb off of his bike and just stare at the house.
“The guys started first thing in the morning. You must have just missed them when you left. So how did you get to the clubhouse?” he asks, as if it’s only just dawned on him that I was there, even though I have no car.
“Colleen gave me a ride,” I shrug.
“Of course she did,” he grunts as we walk inside of the house. “Talk.”
“I’m still really pissed. I’m mad at you,” I announce.
“Yeah, you’re gonna have to get used to that feeling. I think it’ll probably stick around for a while,” he mutters. I know he’s not trying to be funny, but the bastard is anyway.
Rough & Ruthless (Notorious Devils Book 4) Page 12