by Violet Blaze
“Avoiding you?” Glacier asks, all mild and cold and distant. But in his eyes, I can see it. I think I'm the only person who can. I don't mean to sound like one of those girls, the ones who think they can fix a broken boy like he's a toy. Because guess what? I don't want to fix Glacier. I like him, exactly as he is.
And yet … I can never have him. I can never let myself have him.
“Don't you think we should talk about this? It's been a month, Saint.”
“You think I talk to all the girls I fuck afterwards?” he snaps, and my heart crumples to pieces. “The answer is no, not even if they're virgins.”
My face flushes hot and red and I have to actually hold myself back from hitting this man right in his beautifully damaged face.
“Go find a boy your own age to chase around,” he drawls, with this fake as fuck swagger, moving around me and disappearing into the shadows of the garage. I should know better than to poke the bear, but I can't stop myself. I chase after him.
“Hey asshole,” I say as I round the corner and there he is, just standing in the doorway like he was waiting for me. Our bodies collide and then his hands are on my arms, fingers rough and bruising. I gasp—actually from pain this time—as Glacier holds me in cold hands and drops that dark, dark stare of his onto my face.
“Not everything in this world is worth chasing after, Serenity,” he says, and he squeezes me even harder, hard enough that I yelp. But he doesn't let go, not even close. “I don't know what it is you want from me, but if you keep looking, you might find something you won't like.”
Glacier releases me and I stumble, almost like I did that fateful night. But just like I did back then, I rise to my feet and face him down. He lifts his chin, his piercings glinting sharp and silver, the tattoos around his neck disappearing under the sweat soaked tank he's wearing.
“You can't scare me away,” I tell him, but he doesn't say anything to that, just stands there looking at me like he's not sure whether he wants to kill me or fuck me. It should be creepy. Maybe it is? Maybe I'm even more screwed up than I thought? “What are you hiding from, Saint?”
Glacier laughs at me because right now, well, I guess he couldn't be any further from Saint Nordin, the man hidden behind the monster. I want to know what happened to him. It must've been something bad, to put this layer of ice over such a bright, sharp spark of a man.
“Hiding?” He lifts his hands up, palms facing towards his face, his tattoos flickering as he wiggles his fingers slightly. But it's not funny when he does it, not at all. To any normal person, I think he'd be terrifying. I might just be young, dumb, and desperate, I don't know, but I'm not afraid. “Does it look like I'm trying to hide?” he asks, sounding edgy again, like he did that night. I knew if I pushed him then that something would happen; I know that now.
“Why are you so goddamn angry?” I ask, feeling desperate all of a sudden. If I could just get him to talk to me …
“I'm not angry,” Glacier says, dropping his arms by his sides, taking several slow, careful steps forward, like he's tempting me, teasing me, trying to see if I'll run.
I stay locked firmly in place, my gaze focused on the oil spotted pavement instead of on his face.
When his tattooed fingers touch the side of jaw, his fingertips burn. They scald; they melt; they incinerate. But his gaze … that's as cold as ice when he draws my face back to his, staring into my eyes without blinking. I'm so tall for a girl, we're basically at eye level.
“Anger implies some sort of passion. There's no passion on my part, Serenity.”
I look him straight in the face, lift my chin up defiantly.
“Liar.”
I echo his tone from that night, when he called me out on my bullshit.
Before anything else happens between us—because it can't, not out here where my father could walk in at any minute—I turn and walk away and he lets me go.
“Why would you lie to me like that?!” my mom screams as I stand in the middle of our kitchen and listen to her rant. It's okay; it's easy to take. Basically, I deserve this. She gets winded after a particularly loud shout and pauses to take a deep breath, leaning her hand palm out against the fridge, her blonde hair falling across her face like a curtain. Like mine, it's streaked with color in the front, just one, big wide shock of pink that her friend, Janae, put in for her after she got out of the hospital.
“Do you want me to take you to your room?” I ask and Mom's head snaps up, her blue eyes narrowing on me as we challenge each other, locked in a deadly staring match. She had me when she was older, just three weeks after her fortieth birthday, and so sometimes I think she forgets what it's like to be my age.
“I'm not an invalid, Serenity Jacquie Westbrook,” she says as she stands up straight, little beads of sweat breaking out on the tanned skin of her forehead. “And don't think that just because I'm still in recovery that I will not whoop that lily-white ass of yours. When did you become such a delinquent? Two suspensions in one year, Serenity. Two. And if you think I'm going to let you hang around the house all day then you've got another thing coming.”
“I'll work the café,” I say, “for free.”
Because working the café … means being close to Glacier. My skin tingles, my jaw aching where he touched me with his fingertips. Somehow, that hurts ten times what the bruises on my upper arms do. Mom's already seen them, but I told her they were from the fight. I hate lying, but what can I say? If my dad gets wind of this, he'll kill Glacier. And hell, maybe I should want him to? The man's unstable; he hurt me without even meaning to.
“Damn straight you will,” Fauna says, breathing hard, pausing when she hears the sound of the front door opening and closing. “Not a word,” she whispers, smiling at my dad when he appears in the kitchen archway, frowning through his thick brown beard. It's just starting to get streaks of gray in it, like these last few months have really taken it out of him. Mom getting shot … I've never seen my dad look like that before. He probably would've died without her.
“What are you two up to in here?” he asks, but I have nothing much to add to the conversation, so I just shrug and zip up the front my sweatshirt so Dad won't see the bruises on my arms. God, what am I becoming? I'm not going to let some man push me around like that, hurt me like that.
Fuck.
“I've got homework,” I say which is a total and compete lie. I strive for straight Cs across the board with my grades. I have no idea what I want to do with my life yet, but going to college just to rack up a ton of debt? I'm not sure if I'm into that. And anyway, if I do, I'll probably start at the community college, so what's the point of killing myself for As? I think I'd rather be a writer, pen fiction novels or something. I've been writing for fun my whole life; I'm pretty damn good at it now.
I slip out of the kitchen, pretending not to notice Mom's eyes on me as I swing around the newel post and head up the stairs to my room, barricading myself in the one at the far end of the hall, as far away from my parents as I can get.
Once the door's closed and locked, I toss my messenger bag aside and flop down on the bed, letting myself fall to my back with one arm draped over my eyes.
Glacier. Saint.
Saint. Glacier.
One man, so many different personalities.
One huge mistake.
Fucking Christ.
There she is, walking across the compound like she has a purpose.
I rise to my feet and tuck my hands in my front pockets, pulling in a chestful of early morning air as I watch her, fascinated as always. Intrigued. It may very well be the first time in my life I've ever felt this way—and I've wasted it all on an impossibility.
If I was prone to laughter, I'd probably toss my head back and let a bitter laugh claw its way out.
Instead, I stand there and watch Serenity Westbrook make her way over to me.
“Saint,” she says, her voice crisp and sharp, sneaking past lips colored in dark purple paint. I stare back at her, but I don't say a
nything. I have nothing to say. If it were up to me, I probably wouldn't talk at all. To anyone.
I stand there and look over at Serenity, dressed in a pair of black jeans, boots, and a shirt that's not really a shirt at all. In that dark, empty space where my heart's supposed to be, I feel a small tug, like maybe it's struggling to beat. If it could, if I was sure I even had one, it would beat for this girl. There are bruises on her arms from yesterday, when I grabbed her. I didn't mean to, didn't mean to hurt her like that.
I really am a monster.
And that's exactly why I need to stay away from her.
“Are you … sure you're okay?” she asks and it's only then that I notice my hands are curled into fists, my black fingernails digging into my palms. “Because you don't look it.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, and in my voice, there it is, plain as day. Anger. Serenity was right yesterday when she called me out on it; I am angry. But not at her, at myself. “Don't you have school or something?” My voices oozes out between my lips, like an icy river, cold and shivering and entirely unwelcoming. Around the others, it's not so difficult to turn the charm on, to fake it. But with Serenity? She does something strange to me, twists me up in all sorts of weird ways.
“I got suspended,” she says, “for fighting.”
There's a long pause as she wets her lower lip, that perfect pink tongue of hers sliding across the shiny purple gloss slathered across her mouth. I want to lick it all off, nice and slow, make her tremble and scream and beg for more. I want to use my hands to bring pleasure instead of pain, manipulate the human body in all the right ways, create art with my fingers. I want Serenity to be my canvas, and I want to paint a picture with her gasps, her moans, the hot juices between her thighs.
Breath, one single breath, out, out, out.
These thoughts, I have no idea where they're coming from, but they rush up on me and turn my stomach in a strange way.
“Some girl accused me of fucking her boyfriend.”
There's another long pause as Serenity flicks her blue eyes up to mine. We're both blonde, fair skinned, blue-eyed, but we couldn't be anymore different. A beast and a beauty, their paths never meant to cross. Because what they don't tell you is that at the end of all the fairytales, the beast eventually corrupts his beauty, bleeds his ugliness out on her and ruins her forever.
I can't let my poison infect this girl.
I blink at her.
“Did you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side and hating that she smirks instead of answers me.
“Wouldn't you like to know,” she says, tossing her hair and turning away, the skin of her bare back drawing my eyes, teasing me with the low ride of her jeans, the barest hint of ass crack.
My teeth clench hard and my jaw starts to hurt. Inside my own jeans, I feel the thick, warm stirring of my cock as it hardens, lengthens.
“Saint.” It's the vice president of the Alpha Wolves, a man called Dober, yelling at me from the deck. “Boss wants to see you and quick. We've got a problem.”
My nose wrinkles up in a scowl and my lips twist in a snarl. One of the prospects walking by pauses and almost drops the box in his hand when he sees the expression on my face.
“Of course we do,” I breathe out and then turn, hating the hot desperate heat filling my body, making me feel like a wild animal, one that's liable to do something that he'll deeply, deeply regret. “Isn't there always a bloody problem?” I ask as I sweep past Dober and down the hall towards the back, towards the chapel.
I can only hope this little problem has something to do with actual blood because I feel like I'm going to crack if I don't get my hands dirty and soon.
That … that girl. And that's all she is, just a girl. Too young for me by a whole lot of years.
I pause in the bar and find a couple of the groupies—the chicks that Royal calls leather lovers and everyone else calls Omegas—hanging out in the corner with a couple of out of town boys. When I look at them, nothing stirs inside of me, but if I have this hard cock, then I might as well use it, right?
After, when I'm finished with whatever Royal wants from me, I'll fuck one of them.
With Serenity, third's the charm. Maybe the fourth will be even better?
“We know of at least six cartel lackeys that are still in the area,” our sergeant at arms, Smoky Brennard, says as he stands behind his chair, arms crossed over the back. His red hair is a bright shock on the top of his head, his cut hanging loose at his sides. On his right, his brother, Mug, sits. On the other side, Dober. Then there's me, our secretary Mick, and Serenity's dad, Jack. The officers in the club. At the head of the table is our president, Royal McBride.
I lean back in my chair and lace my fingers together behind my neck.
“They've been pushing product from somewhere. Since there's no way in hell any new product's getting into the city without us knowing, my guess is that they've got some stashed away from before, some hidey-hole in the park that we didn't find last time we went out there.” Smoky pauses, his eyes scanning the green swath of forest on the map that's spread out across the table. Up here, in our secret little Northern California alcove, there're a hundred times more trees than there are people. The 'park' that Smoky's talking about, it's really a national forest in the hundred plus thousand acre range. If some rat wants to hide in there, he can stay hidden. Doesn't surprise me at all.
Last month, the club pushed hard to rid our territory of Saldaña loyalists, but it looks like we missed a few.
A smile stretches my mouth, but it's not exactly an expression of joy.
Royal gives me a look, slowly sliding a cigarette between his lips. He thinks I live for the chase; he's not completely wrong about that. When I'm out there, hunting somebody, it's like there's this tiny hole in my ice, just enough for me to press my lips against and breathe. I'll still drown eventually, but it almost makes me believe for a minute there that I might get through.
“How do you want to handle this, Boss?” I ask, hitching up my smile into a grin. My teeth still hurt; my cock's still hard. Fucking Serenity. What a mistake. I should never have let her get to me.
“Do you think you can take care of them on your own?” he asks, but he already knows the answer to that question. Six scumbag drug dealers selling crack to kiddies? Yeah, I can handle that.
“I'll get my crossbow,” I say, studying the crossed ankles of my riding boots as they rest against the top of the table. From across the wooden surface, Dober glares at me, but I'm not sure why. I stare back at him.
“No rush,” Royal says with a long sigh, tapping his fingers against the tabletop, their surfaces decorated in roses and vines. “Discretion is the better part of valor here. We have the FBI breathing down our neck still and I don't like any of this news I'm getting from down south about the Villarreal Cartel. Stay cautious, go slow, take your time and don't let anyone know what the bloody hell you're up to out there.”
After the meeting, I head back into the clubhouse and pause at the doorway, my eyes raking across the small crowd of women at the bar, laughing and chatting with Serenity's mother, Fauna. They toss their hair and lick their moist lips, cross and uncross long, lean legs.
When I look at them, nothing. Nothing happens. I feel just as cold, just as empty as I always do. Still, when I make my way over there, they pause and glance over at me. One of the girls, this redhead I've never met before, stands up boldly from her stool, green eyes flashing.
“Well hello there,” she says as she takes a tentative step towards me. I've never seen her before; she must be new. That's probably a good thing. The other girls, they're afraid of me. Maybe because those two times before, the only two times I ever tried to fuck, I wasn't exactly a gentleman in the bedroom. Rumors must've spread.
Fauna's giving me a look across the surface of the bar like she thinks I'm losing my damn mind, but she doesn't say anything, shaking her head and looking away. If she only knew what I'd done to her daughter, she'd probably have quite a
different expression on her face.
I look back at the redhead.
She's biting her glossy red lower lip with her teeth, reaching her hands out towards my belt buckle. I let her curl her fingers around the metal as she steps in toward me, dressed in a skintight black dress and heels, this cloying feminine smell surrounding her in a cloud.
“Well, don't you just have legs for days,” I tell her, sliding an arm around her waist as she giggles appreciatively and melds our bodies together, pressing her front against mine. I'm only repeating words I've heard before; I don't feel anything right now, not even with a pair of full ripe breasts against my chest, not even when I cup the girl's ass in my hand and give it a squeeze. “How old are you?” I ask absently, tilting my head slightly to the side, blonde hair falling across my forehead.
“How old do you want me to be?” she asks, and I have to fight back this random surge of anger. Why would a question as stupid as that make me angry? I stare down at the girl for a moment, long enough that I think I make her slightly uncomfortable. Hmm. Maybe she has heard the rumors of what I did those two nights in the dorm rooms? Two nights, two fucks, both disasters. Until Serenity.
I squeeze the girl tighter against me and she gasps, a pleasant burst of breath fanning across her lips as her eyes widen and her left hand finds the growing bulge in my jeans.
I close my eyes as she touches me through the denim, thinking of Serenity, of the way she straddled my lap, placed my hands where she wanted them to go, called out my name when I drove my cock inside of her.
“You're a big boy, aren't you?” the redhead purrs as she runs her palm across the curved bulge of denim, leaning up on her toes to kiss the angel wing tattooed on the side of my neck. The feel of her lips against my skin, her hand on my dick, I don't like it. Not at all. In fact, suddenly, all I want is to get her the hell away from me. But then I hear footsteps behind me and the other officers are pouring into the bar, pausing like they've been slapped. They never see me with girls. Never.