by Bella Jewel
Mason reads the note, muttering, “Figured he’d pop up eventually.”
Boston snatches the paper out, reading it, and his jaw gets tight. “This from that fucker of an ex of yours?”
Saskia pulls the note from his hand, and her face goes a little white. “Oh, man, I was hoping he’d just stay away. I’m so sorry, Chan.”
I take a deep breath. “Don’t be. I chose to double cross him.”
“You checked over your apartment?” Boston asks, stepping past me and striding inside.
“No, I wasn’t going to risk walking around unarmed if someone was waiting in there, though I’m fairly certain they’re not.”
Boston stops, and turns to me. “You got a gun? Any sort of protection in this place?”
I shake my head.
“Why not?”
I roll my eyes. “Because I didn’t figure I needed it.”
“This day and age, everyone needs a gun. Everyone.”
Mason steps in. “You go left, I’ll go right. You two girls stay here, don’t move.”
The two men disappear and I turn to Saskia. She looks guilty, but she shouldn’t be. This isn’t her fault. I chose to do what I did with Enzo.
“Don’t look like a sad, wounded puppy, Sas,” I say, nudging her shoulder with mine. “I chose to piss Enzo off.”
“Because I got him locked away, pissed him off, and got kidnapped. You had no choice. You were saving my life.”
I smile at her. “And I’d do it all over again. I’m not scared of Enzo.”
She raises her brows. “Bullshit. I can see you’re worried.”
“Well, I mean, I’m worried random men have been to my house. But he does not scare me.”
Saskia purses her lips, and Mason returns. “All clear.”
I exhale. “Thanks, Mason.”
Boston comes back a minute later, too. “All good.”
“What’s your security like on this place?” Mason asks.
“Just normal locks, nothing spectacular.”
He nods. “Will get Malakai to put a watch on, just to make sure no one gets close again.”
“I don’t need that,” I begin to argue, but Boston looks to me, his face hard.
“You’re not gettin’ a choice, Chantelle.”
I raise my brows. “Last time I checked, I’m a fully grown woman. I believe I can do whatever the hell I want.”
“Chan,” Saskia says, “while I appreciate your strong womanly attributes, it’ll make me feel a whole lot better knowing the bikers are watching you. Please, if you love me, which I know you do, let them have someone keep an eye on you.”
I grind my teeth. “You’re playing on my weakness for you, but fine, I’ll do it.”
She smiles. “Thank you, so much.”
“Get a gun, too,” Mason says. “Boston is right, everyone should have one. Will change the locks on your doors, check your windows, but you need to let us know if you notice anything, at all, that’s off.”
“Let’s face it,” I mutter. “If Enzo wants to get hold of me, he will. Saskia is proof of that. No amount of watching me will change that. I’m not scared of him.”
“Don’t be a fuckin’ hero,” Boston growls.
“Oh, eat me, Boston,” I throw at him, crossing my arms.
“I’ll stay here with her for a bit, check over everything. You let Malakai know what we need,” Boston says to Mason.
“Hell no,” I throw out. “You’re not staying here.”
Boston’s stare tells me not to mess with him, ever, not ever. I clamp my mouth shut.
“Well, that’s a first.” Saskia giggles. “I think it’s a good idea, even if you don’t, chicky. At least let him make sure you’re safe until we can get someone watching you.”
I exhale and cross my arms. “You’re a terrible best friend.”
She grins at me. “Love you.”
With that, her and Mason leave.
And I’m left alone.
With Boston.
Which we all know, never ends well.
Ever.
~*~*~*~
CHANTELLE
I sit on the sofa, watching Boston move around my apartment, checking every window, if they’re not screwed in, he’s screwing them in. He makes sure it is fully secured. Well, as secured as it can be. I mean, in the end, if someone wants in, they’ll get in, but at the very least I’ll probably hear it with his extra touches, and might be able to defend myself.
“Unless they’re carrying around tools, they’re not getting in,” I say to him when he uses the drill to drive another screw into the wooden frame on my kitchen window.
“Don’t throw sass at me, Chantelle. Keepin’ you safe here.”
“And as I said, if they want to get hold of me, they’re going to. It doesn’t matter what you do.”
He glares at me, finishes what he’s doing, and then walks over, dropping all the tools onto the coffee table. “Couldn’t give a fuck if they’re going to, or not. I’m not about to open the door wide and let them in because your attitude fuckin’ sucks.”
My attitude sucks?
I wonder if he’s figured out why yet?
Eye roll.
“I appreciate,” I grind out, “you doing all of this. But I’m fine now.”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere. Find some blankets, a pillow, I’m sleepin’ on the couch.”
I blink. “Oh, no, you’re not...”
He stares at me. “Yeah, I fuckin’ am.”
“Boston, seriously, no. I’ve had enough complications when it comes to you, I don’t need you on my freakin’ sofa.”
He shrugs. “Sleep like this then.”
He walks over, using my toss pillows to throw up one end, then he launches that big body down and puts his hands behind his head, staring over at me. I stare back, and for a moment, we just watch each other. He’s not leaving. I know that as well as he knows that. The damned jerk off.
“Fine!” I snap, throwing my hands up and launching up from the other sofa. “Fine, I’ll get you what you need. You obviously haven’t had dinner, I’ll get that, too.”
He sits up. “Point me in the direction of what you want, I’ll cook.”
I stop in my tracks and turn to him. “You cook?”
He raises his brows, then grins. “I’m a grown ass man, ‘course I fuckin’ cook.”
I turn and walk off down the hall after muttering, “Loads in the fridge.”
But I’m smiling. And damn him for making me smile.
I gather some blankets, a pillow, and a towel and place it all on the sofa. Then I have a shower and change into some comfortable cotton shorts and a tank, run a brush through my hair, and join Boston in the kitchen. He’s busy chopping vegetables, something is frying behind him, and my kitchen smells amazing. I’ve never met a man who can cook, let alone food that actually smells decent and isn’t from a box.
I sit on the stool and Boston slides me a beer.
This feels far too familiar, and it kind of sucks because I like it, it feels nice. Like we’ve been doing it a long time and are comfortable, like we’re a couple. That makes a pain develop in my chest that I really don’t need, a pain that tells me I have feelings for this man, and this is what I want. I want him in my house every night. I want to talk and have a beer with him.
But that isn’t going to happen, because he’s got feelings for another woman, too.
Which means the feelings he has for me aren’t strong enough. And that hurts.
I shake it from my mind and drink the beer, watching him. “What are you cooking?” I ask, trying to make light of the moment, because my feelings are flooding in like an angry black cloud, and a girl doesn’t need that kind of shit on top of everything else.
I’m stronger than this, dammit.
“Found some steaks, bacon, mushrooms, vegetables. So, I’m creatin’. Fryin’ up the steaks, making a gravy from the mushrooms, and goin’ to cook up these vegetables.”
“And the bacon?”
I ask, but my stomach is already more than impressed with his creation.
“Goin’ to toss it on the steaks, or beside it, either way, we’re usin’ it.”
“Fan of bacon, are we?” I ask with a smirk.
He looks at me, and damn he looks fucking fine in my kitchen, cooking, big arms free of his leather jacket and on full display. Why can’t he look like he’s been hit by a truck and maybe even missing a few body parts? I can’t handle it. My vagina certainly can’t handle it. Watching his hands move, his arms flex, is making me squirm on this stool.
“I’m a fan of food,” he murmurs back, concentrating on his chopping.
“Same,” I say, tearing my eyes away from him.
Everything falls silent for a minute, and then I say, “How’s Penelope? Saskia told me that her house got trashed by her ex. That really sucks.”
I’m genuine in my words, because it really does suck. Nobody deserves that. Especially not someone as nice as Penny. I have nothing against her, literally zero. She’s a wonderful woman, and it isn’t her fault Boston decided he was attracted to us both. I’m sure she feels just as shitty about it as I do half the time.
Boston looks up at me. “Can’t help but think your askin’ isn’t out of genuine concern.”
That actually pisses me off.
More than it should.
One, because he’d assume I’d be shallow and petty enough to have a problem with a woman who has done absolutely nothing wrong to me, not ever.
And two, because he actually thinks he has that much effect on me, that I’d get so snippy when it comes to him.
Okay, that’s partially a lie, because he does have that much effect on me, but that’s him. Not Penny. Never Penny.
“Fuck you,” I mutter.
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, but, honestly, I’m not sure I’d even try and stop them. Because fuck him. I don’t like people thinking they know anything about me just because I come across the way I do. I might look bubbly and even slightly air headed sometimes, but I’m not a fucking idiot, and I won’t be treated like one.
Boston stops chopping, and looks at me. “What?”
“I didn’t stutter, Boston. I said fuck you. A big, nasty, fuck you.”
His eyes flash, and his jaw tightens. “Care to fuckin’ tell me why you’re swearin’ at me?”
“Seriously?” I snap. “You seriously have to ask that? You assume that I’m so fucking petty that I’d only ask about the well-being of Penny because I’m jealous, or butt hurt, or whatever the fuck it is you think I am. Ever think I have nothing, at all, in the world against her? She’s done nothing to me. Not a thing. I think she’s a lovely girl and I like her a great deal. You, biker, are the one who decided to play your little games.”
For a moment, he just stares at me, then he moves around the counter quickly, storming over, spinning my stool around. and pinning me with his body against the counter when he gets close enough. He leans down, so our faces are close, and for a moment, I just stare up at him, mouth slightly agape, not really knowing what it is I should be doing right now.
“Listen to me, woman,” he growls, and I can smell the beer on his breath, mixed with the smell of him, and it only turns me on. “Do not ever fuckin’ speak to me like that again. I’m not a fuckin’ boy. I don’t play fuckin’ games.”
Of course that’s all he heard. Proud biker assface.
“Firstly, fuck you, again,” I challenge holding his eyes. “I’m not going to back down, not from you, not from anyone. I say what I have to say, I couldn’t give a damn if you like it or not. You judged me then, without cause. And I don’t appreciate it. At all. There is also the fact that you think you can come here, and intimidate me into doing what you want. You can’t. I’m not the kind of girl who will bend to your wishes just because you use all that sexy, biker power on me.”
His eyes flash, but not in anger now, in lust.
And dammit. I want him.
But this always happens. We look at each other like this, sparks fly, and then we fuck. And it’s good fucking, deep fucking, but it makes me feel miserable after it. When I woke up after staying the night at Mason’s, remembering how he fucked me against my car, I felt like shit. I felt stupid, and weak, because I gave in to him and I shouldn’t have. I let my body, and in all fairness, my drunken mind, do the talking for me.
But I can’t do that anymore.
I deserve to be someone’s first and only choice.
I deserve that.
At least, that’s what I have to tell myself over and over to keep away from Boston.
“There is somethin’ about you that drives me fuckin’ wild, in a way I’ve never been driven before,” he growls, hand moving around to clutch my hip. It makes fire erupt in my belly, and I want him, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
But I won’t be anyone’s little toy.
“And yet,” I whisper. “It just isn’t enough.”
With that, I slip out from the confines of his arms, duck so I can get underneath him, and walk away.
It nearly kills me.
But giving in. That would hurt a whole lot more.
A whole lot more.
~12~
NOW – BOSTON
Fuck.
God dammit.
Kills me when she walks off down the hallway. Fucking nearly kills me. She strong, and she’s feisty, and she sparks something to life in me. Something that has been long dead. I can’t seem to stay away from her. No matter how hard I fucking try. My body craves her. My mind craves her. And I’m starting to wonder if she’s been the choice all along.
But then I think of Penny, and my heart twists.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I wish I could understand what in the ever loving fuck is going on in my mind right now, but I don’t. I can’t make sense of it. I’m drawn to Chantelle, without a doubt, probably more so than Penny. I like the fire, and the spark, and the way she challenges me. She makes me feel alive. But when I think of Penny, my heart softens, and I feel protective, and kissing her made me feel like I was home, and that fucked with my head.
They’re fucking with my head.
Only, they’re not doing anything.
I’m doing it to myself and that’s even worse.
But I owe Chantelle a fuck of a lot more than to judge her because of the way she comes across. And that’s exactly what I just did, which was fucked. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s been a solid for me since the moment we started talking, and she’s always been there when I needed her. One way or another.
Can’t be treating her like shit because I can’t make sense of my own fucking feelings.
I finish up dinner and put it on two plates just as she returns to the kitchen, holding my eyes, her fire not even close to being dimmed. Nothing dims her shine, fucking nothing. She’s strong, stronger than people give her credit for I’m sure. She rarely lets anything get the better of her, and fear never shows in her eyes. She’s rock solid, and that’s a hard thing to come by in a woman. A fucking hard thing.
She stops and stares at the food on the plates, then looks to me. “This looks great.”
And that makes her even better. That right fucking there. She’s hurting, I know she is, and she’s angry, but she puts it aside and steps up. She holds her own. She doesn’t carry on or complain. That takes a hell of a lot, and my respect for her just went up.
“Thanks. Sit down.”
She sits down and I place a plate in front of her then place mine down and sit, too. For a minute or two, we eat in silence, then a soft, fucking sweet ass moan leaves her mouth and she looks up at me. “Wow,” she murmurs. “Seriously, wow. This is amazing. What did you put on those vegetables?”
“Butter,” I shrug. “Salt, pepper ... nothin’ fancy.”
“Wow, I never thought to do that. I always just steam them and eat them. These are amazing. And the steak is so tender.”
I watch her eat, loving the way her mou
th moves and her eyes fill with enthusiastic pleasure as she chews each bite. Knowing it makes her happy makes me feel fucking good inside.
“Listen,” I say to her, placing my fork down. “I’m sorry for assumin’ before. You’re right, and you didn’t deserve me to judge before I even thought about it. Know you got nothin’ against Penny, and I know that what is happenin’ isn’t on you, it’s on me.”
She stares at me and, for a moment, her eyes are still protected by that barrier she has up around her heart, but after a few minutes, they soften, and I see a side to her I didn’t know existed. Slightly sensitive, gentle, womanly. And it’s fucking beautiful. “It hurts, Boston. It hurts because I really like you, and I’m trying so hard not to. It hurts because when we’re here, sitting together, it feels normal. So normal. Like we’ve known each other forever. Like it’s the most natural thing under the sun. But mostly it hurts because I’m not enough, and that sucks the most.”
Fuck.
Fucking dammit.
“You’re enough, Chantelle. Fuck me, you’re enough. You’re so much good, so much fuckin’ perfect, so much strength. You’re enough.”
“Just not for you...”
I stare at her, and fucked if I don’t want to grab her out of that chair, lift her so her legs wrap around me, and kiss her until it fucking burns. I want her so bad it aches. From my chest right to my fucking dick. But I can’t do that, because that’s cruel and fucking unfair and I’ve done enough.
“I can’t give you the answers you want right now,” I tell her honestly, because I can’t. “But it has nothin’ to do with you not bein’ enough. Fuckin’ not even close. It has to do with me bein’ conflicted. But don’t ever, for a single second, doubt that you’re one in a million.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t say anything more about it, either.
“So, after all of that,” she says, her voice back to being strong, and sassy. Just like I know her to be. “Is Penny doing okay?”
And still, after it all, she honestly wants to know if Penny is okay.
Admire the fuck out of her for that.