by Ally Vance
I don’t tell her I’d done it to save my VP, I don’t explain anything. I just stare at her until she glances away, a shudder running through her. She’s right to be afraid. I’m not a good man.
Sin huffs out a breath. “This is a fucking problem.”
He pulls his gun and points it at her. My heart jolts as she lets out a cry, covering her head, as if that could stop a bullet.
“She’s got to die.”
She does, but I can’t let it happen. Killing a man who stole from us is one thing. Killing a woman who is innocent of any crime is another. I don’t have much of a moral compass, but there are some lines even I won’t step over. Women and kids are off limits.
Before I think about what I’m doing, I step in front of her, shielding her with my body, which earns a chuckle from Sin.
“The fuck are you doing?”
“We don’t hurt women,” I remind him.
“We do when the bitch saw you committing a fucking crime!”
She’s a problem, there’s no denying that.
I turn to her. I tower over her small frame, my large bulk making her seem even smaller than she is. She shrinks back from me.
“What’s your name?”
She doesn’t answer, so I snatch the bag from her, tossing it to Sin. He rummages in it while I keep my eyes locked on hers. This close up, I can see the gold flecks in her dark brown eyes. I can also see the terror on her face. There’s a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on her upper lip and she keeps swallowing hard. I’m a monster, but I don’t terrorise the innocent, and this woman is as innocent as they come. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Can I really kill her for that?
“Amalia Carter. A hundred and fifteen A Westmere Street, Kessington.”
I peer over my shoulder and see Sin is clutching her driver’s licence between his fingers. Amalia. Her name is as beautiful as she is. I turn back to her and frightened eyes meet mine. She sees my monsters, sees the darkness in me. She might not know what it is, but her instincts, some primal urge within her warns her I’m dangerous. It’s a sixth sense that recognises predators and that’s what I am. A predator.
She saw me kill a man. If she doesn’t die, I risk her telling the police. If she does die, I chip away at what remains of my tainted soul.
“You open your mouth, speak to the police, speak to anyone, we’ll find you and you’ll end up like Max,” the threat is growled out, my voice low, dangerous.
Her throat works as she takes this in, her eyes darting in the direction of the back room where Max’s body lies. “I won’t say anything,” she whispers. “I promise.”
“We should just fucking kill her,” Sin says, as if he’s talking about the weather, not murdering an innocent woman in cold blood. “She’s a loose end.”
She is, but I can’t. I’ve killed many men, some who deserved it, some who didn’t, but I’ve never hesitated before. Not until her. I can’t watch that perfection splatter up the walls.
Amalia shrinks back, her fear palpable, and I glare at Sin.
“We ain’t killing her.”
“She saw you murder a man.”
I flinch at his words—not because I have any remorse about killing Max. I don’t. But because she’ll never be safe while she has this over me. The club will do what it needs to in order to protect me from jail.
I meet her eyes and I wonder if she can see the darkness in mine. “You won’t say anything, will you, Amalia?”
Her dark head shakes.
“You breathe a word of it, bitch, and I’ll slit your throat in your sleep,” Sin’s words make her chest heave, her breasts straining beneath the V neckline of her dress. I want to gut the fucker for talking to her like that.
“How much did Max owe you?” I ask.
Her brows draw together. “Three hundred and twenty pounds.”
I jut my chin at Sin who lets out a huffy breath before moving into the back room. He appears a moment later holding a stack of cash from the safe. He hands the money she’s owed to me and pockets the rest. I give it to her.
“I don’t want it,” Amalia says immediately.
“Take it.”
She hesitates then reaches out and takes the notes from me. Our fingers scrape over each other’s and I grab her hand, making her squeal.
“I know where you live, Amalia Carter. Don’t forget that.” Terror dawns in her eyes as I release her. “Go.”
Sin pushes up from the wall where he’s leaning as soon as she disappears through the front door. “That’s a mistake, brother. She’ll open her mouth to the pigs the moment she gets home.”
He’s probably right, but I couldn’t bring myself to kill the beautiful angel. Amalia.
Chapter Three
Fury
“A woman sees you murder a man and you just let her leave?”
Rav is pissed. He’s spitting fire as he paces his office. I don’t blame his anger, but there’s not much I can do about my situation now.
“Ain’t killing her,” I tell him, meaning every word of it. I can’t kill an angel. She’s too pure to come under my knives.
Rav huffs and rubs at the bridge of his nose, as if I’m causing him a headache.
“Ain’t saying we kill the bitch, but she knows too much. That’s a fucking problem.”
“Know that. Still ain’t putting her to the knife.” I relish pain, but doing that to Amalia seems wrong. I’ve never felt that about anyone before.
“You’re going to have to be on that bitch’s arse, making sure she doesn’t talk.” Rav jabs a finger in my direction, his voice raising an octave. “Ain’t letting you go to prison, fucker.”
I’m not keen on the idea either. Prison would be hell for me. Nowhere to play with my toys in private. Caged like a wild animal. It would kill me a piece at a time.
“Stay on her, Fury. I mean it. Do whatever the fuck you have to do to keep her fucking mouth shut.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. Giving me carte blanche is a bad idea, but I don’t tell him that. He knows what he’s getting himself into. He’s known me long enough.
By the time I leave Rav’s office, my ears feel like they’re bleeding. My president likes the sound of his own voice when he gets on a rant, not that I blame his caution. This is a situation that could get out of control, but I’m not worried. I don’t think Amalia will talk. She was too scared to open her mouth, and I’ll keep her that way.
I head outside and climb on my bike, pulling my bandanna over my face before I tug on my helmet.
As I approach the building, I stop at the kerb and rev the pipes. I want her to hear that noise and know I’m watching her. I want her to be afraid. The more scared she is the less likely she is to talk.
My eyes move to the building, taking in the red brick and the large bay windows. There are flowers in the front yard. Everything about this woman is the opposite to me. She’s light to my dark, colourful to my grey. There’s something that interests me about that, something beautiful I don’t understand.
My eyes stray to the ground floor window as something moves. Then she comes into view. Her gaze finds mine and even from here I can see the fear in her eyes. Good. Afraid will keep her alive. She lets the curtain drop and then moves away from the window and my stomach sinks. I want her to come back. I want to see my angel again, even if it is only for a moment.
I sit outside her flat for an hour, just watching for any sign of shadows moving, but nothing stirs again. I wonder if she’s hiding from me. I wonder if she’s inside, terrified. Usually, I would relish that thought, but with her, it turns to ash in my belly. It makes me feel even more covered in filth. It doesn’t feel right.
But I don’t move from my spot. I just keep watching the flat, my heart rate picking up every time I think the shadows are stirring, that she might be moving inside. It’s just my eyes playing tricks on me, making me believe things that are not true, but that little thrill is worth a thousand murders. It makes me feel alive in a way I’ve never felt.
I expect the plod to turn up, but they don’t. She keeps her word to keep them out of this. I sit there for hours, watching. The cold air gnaws at my gut as I light a cigarette, but I ignore everything but the window where I last saw her.
When I’m sure I’ve sent my message loud and clear, I head back to the clubhouse.
The next night, I’m sitting outside her flat again, and the night after that. Every night for a week, in fact. It becomes part of my routine, a necessity before I can find a restless sleep. Some nights, she doesn’t know I’m there. Others she’ll be at the window, watching me back. I watch her intensely, and I know I’m falling into a hole so deep I can never crawl out of it. This is different to murder. This is something else, a new type of obsession I can’t wash off my skin. She’s embedded under my skin in a way I’ve never experienced. It started as a necessity, but my watching has moved into something more. Something darker, and I don’t know how to control it.
I pull my bike up outside the petrol station a week later and climb off the back. My eyes are gritty as I reach for the pump. There are a couple of cars parked at the other pumps, and their owners give me a wide berth, eyes wide with fear as they see the Untamed Sons insignia on the back of my kutte. I’m used to this reaction, so it doesn’t faze me. Even before I put on the kutte, I was viewed as something to be afraid of. In my forty-five years of life that has been my one constant.
I deserve the fear I get from others. I’m a scary motherfucker with deep-rooted psychological issues. I would freak out even the strongest psychologist. The things that get me excited are deeply disturbing.
That’s why my growing obsession with Amalia scares the shit out of me. I’ve never had a woman consume me like this. Last night, for the first time, I sat outside her flat until the sun started to come up. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Every time I tried to something would stop me. I tried to convince myself it’s because I’m worried she’ll talk to the police, but that’s not it. It’s something… more.
It’s been eight days since she witnessed me putting a bullet in Max. It’s been eight days since I started camping outside her flat every night. I have no idea if she knows I’m there. After the first couple of nights, she stopped acknowledging me. It makes me more determined to glimpse her. Every sighting of her is like heaven. I wish I could study her face, see her perfection up close. The longer I sit outside her place, the more I feel like I know her. I’ve noticed her quirks, her routine.
I finish pumping my petrol and stride into the kiosk to pay. When I head back outside, I see her across the street and my heart stops dead in my chest.
Amalia.
It takes me completely by surprise, throwing me off kilter. She isn’t supposed to collide with my everyday life, but there she is and she looks stunning. She’s wearing a pale-yellow summer dress that finishes just above the knee and shows off her tanned legs. It hugs her tits in just the right way before it flares at the waist. Everything about her screams innocence and I shouldn’t corrupt her, but my feet are moving before I can stop them.
I cross the road, keeping a distance behind her, and when she disappears into a store, I stop.
Leaning against the wall of the building, I pull out a cigarette and light it, my hands needing to keep busy while I wait for her.
When she finally steps out of the shop, a bag is looped over her hand. As soon as she sees me, the smile fades from her face. I don’t like that it does, but she, like everyone else in my life, sees the monsters in me.
Her arms fold over her chest and her lips pull into a pout as she approaches me, and I brace, ready for anything, but not sure what to expect.
She stops in front of me, keeping a little distance between us. “How long are you going to keep following me for?”
I drop my cigarette to the ground and crush it under my boot.
“As long as it takes.”
“For what?”
I meet her eyes and this close up I can see the flecks in her brown eyes. I want to get lost in them. “To know you ain’t going to talk.”
She jolts at my words and shakes her head. Then she leans in, her eyes scanning the busy pavement before she hisses at me, “Believe me, I’m doing my best to forget that day ever happened. I’m not planning on going to the police, so you can stop camping out in front of my place, you can stop following me around town. You’re freaking out my neighbours. You’re freaking me out.”
I watch her rant, not saying a word.
She interests me, which is something a woman has never done. I never cared either way if they were interested or not, but she makes me… feel. I can’t remember the last time I felt anything. That fire in her belly is consuming.
“You done?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not even close.”
Amalia surprises the hell out of me by poking a finger in my chest.
“You need to stay the hell away from me.”
Her touch blazes across my skin, burning everything in its wake. Panic assaults me and I grab her wrist immediately as her lightness touches my sullied darkness. I see the fear rear its ugly head in her eyes, but this time she’s right to be afraid.
“Don’t,” I growl out, releasing her roughly.
She pulls her hand back to her and peers up at me. For a moment, I get lost in her eyes. “Sorry.”
Her apology surprises the fuck out of me. People don’t apologise to me. They don’t acknowledge when they’ve wronged me.
“I won’t talk,” she promises, her head ducking, her dark hair curtaining her face. I want to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, but I don’t. “You can stop watching me.”
I shake my head. “Not going to happen.”
“Why?”
I don’t reply. I don’t tell her she’s become a compulsion I can’t shake. Instead, I watch as her eyes go to my kutte. She swallows hard. I don’t like seeing that fear in her eyes, but I know why it’s there. I’m a creepy fucker. I thought… I hoped… maybe she’d see me differently. She’s just like the rest of them.
I push a booted foot against the wall and straighten.
“Watch yourself, Amalia.”
Then I turn and walk back to my bike, ignoring the confusion niggling through my mind.
Chapter Four
Fury
“You can step down,” Rav says. His words lance a hole in my chest. I don’t want to step down. It’s been a month, and I’m completely infatuated with this woman. The compulsion to see her has made me an addict, desperate for his next fix. She’s like my own drug, and I can’t rest until I see her.
“Prez?” I let the question linger in the word and he glances up from the head of the table.
For the past hour we’ve been in church, discussing mundane shit like money dues, runs we’re set to go on. I watched Titch and Levi going back and forth, joking around like arseholes. I held my tongue while Sin spewed his shit, and I ignored the talk of money from Daimon, barely focusing on his words. Until Ravage said I need to step down from watching Amalia.
“Why?” I demand, sounding a little desperate. I feel it. Claws dig into my stomach as I realise that I may have no more moments with her. I can feel the brothers’ eyes on me as the room falls silent.
“Bitch ain’t talking. Ain’t no reason for you to keep going over there every night.”
“She could still talk.” Desperation leaches into my cells. The need to visit her isn’t something I can erase. It could be the order, but I won’t listen to it. She’s embedded inside me too deeply. I can feel her flowing through my veins. Ravage put me on this path the moment he gave me permission to watch Amalia, now, I can’t stray from it. I’m addicted to her. Obsessed.
“Doubt it. You scared her enough.”
I don’t like the idea I might have scared her at all, but I’ve done my job. It’s been four weeks since I put a bullet in Max and the plod haven’t come sniffing around. She could still talk, but I doubt it too. She doesn’t seem the type t
o spill her guts to the police. Not that I have a clue what her type is, but I feel like I know her from the nights I’ve spent watching her. I know when she comes home from work, which nights she has takeout on and I know she barely has any visitors. She either doesn’t have a lot of friends or family in the area or she’s a loner, like me.
That resonated with me on a level I couldn’t explain. Two peas in a pod, two opposite ends of the spectrum. One broken beyond repair, the other damaged but better at hiding it. I’m not ready to give her up yet. Ravage doesn’t know she has a fire in her. I love how her eyes blaze with it, how it fucking burns.
“Might need more time to make sure.”
Rav eyes me, something close to suspicion crossing his face. “It’s done.”
Sin grins. “What’s the matter, Fury? Caught some feelings for the bitch?”
I don’t react, just glare at him. My fingers itch to touch my knives. There’s laughter from around the table at Sin’s question, but they don’t understand. They haven’t seen her looking like a fucking angel.
“Just making sure I protect the club,” I mutter, irritation flaring in my belly. I hate this cunt. If I could kill him, I would, but he’s a brother, and he’s also Prez’s brother by blood. We all know he brought him up and looked after Sin his whole life. If I touch him, I won’t just lose my patch. I’ll end up in the ground. Ain’t willing to do that, not for the three seconds of satisfaction it would give me to slam my knives into his chest.
“Club’s protected,” Rav interjects.
I leave church, my chest feeling like a ten-tonne weight is sitting on it. The thought of never seeing Amalia again gnaws on my guts, fills me with dread. She’s become an important part of my life. I need her in it.
As the day wears on, I become more unsettled. I go out with Titch, our road captain, to collect dues from businesses we protect. It’s something I usually enjoy. The uncertainty of what might happen, the fact someone might fall short on a payment and need teaching a lesson always keeps me on my toes, but I’m distracted.