by S. Nelson
Devastation.
What are you doing here?
“I had to see you,” he answered, licking his lips in nervousness.
You had to see me, or you were forced here to see me?
“Both,” he replied, surprisingly admitting that Ryder had dragged him to my house. “Kena,” he started, advancing on me until I held my hand up for him to stop. “I’m so sorry for the way things ended between us. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I hope we can still be friends.”
So . . . you’re not here to get me back?
“No.”
I’m not gonna lie and say there wasn’t a part of me that was distraught from his admission. While I’d vowed not to give him another chance, I at least thought he’d come to his senses and realized he had feelings for me. Feelings that hadn’t disappeared just because he had.
Now I was beyond irate with Braylen, and whatever part Ryder had played in this whole charade. Why compound the hurt I’d felt? Just to see if there was a chance he’d come back around and want to be with me again? Had they even asked him if he wanted to see me? Talk to me? Try and get me back?
It was obvious they hadn’t.
So then, what are you doing here? I asked again, fisting my hands at my sides so I didn’t rush forward and slap the shit out of him for turning me into a pathetic person, drowning in hurt all because he’d bested me. Lied to me. Made me believe he’d cared.
“I wanted to apologize for my behavior and tell you that I didn’t just go after you to get you into bed. That wasn’t my intention at all. I genuinely cared about you. Fuck,” he grumbled, running his palms down his face in frustration. “I still do. I just . . . I can’t be with you.”
I refused to beg him to explain further. He stood before me, telling me again that he didn’t want me. And no matter how much I wanted to throw myself into his arms and plead for him to change his mind, I stood strong. I valued myself too much to act like such a fool.
Then there’s nothing left for you to say. You can leave now. Besides. . . . I dropped my hands before I finished, realizing I’d only be inviting drama into my life, when all I wanted to do was forget everything and crawl into bed. Sleep until my sister forced me out of bed days later.
But it was too late.
I’d piqued his interest, his brow furrowing while he continued to stare at me. “Besides what?”
I just shook my head, refusing to fulfill his curiosity.
“Besides what, Kena?” he asked, a hint of anger lacing his voice when he’d said my name. “Are you trying to tell me you’re seeing someone else? Is that it?” His entire body tensed, the flare of disbelief lighting up his eyes. “Tell me,” he demanded, taking a step toward me, his carefully orchestrated reserve slowly crumbling.
He deserved to feel hurt, or betrayed, or jealous, or whatever emotion sliced through him right then.
“Is it Kevin?” His question shocked me, but it shouldn’t have. He’d obviously had an issue with our friendship, although he’d never given me shit about it before.
I never answered, biting my lower lip in nervousness, a tick I’d seen him do before. But it was enough to appear as if I’d answered yes. A barrage of expletives flew from his mouth before his eyes turned dark and he snarled at me in fury.
My initial intention was to make him jealous. Of course it would’ve been with a lie, but I hadn’t followed through. Although, it seemed I didn’t have to; his imagination ran wild, and I did nothing to stop it.
The wildfire of his emotions cut through the air, engulfing us both in its tight grip.
“Let me tell you something right now. If I ever see his hands on you, I’m gonna rip them from his body and beat him with them. Don’t test me, Kena. I mean it,” he threatened, stepping closer until he stood only a couple feet away from me. The growl in his voice kicked me back into the reality of the situation. He had no right at all to threaten Kevin, even if he was my fictional boyfriend. Something he’d come up with all by himself. All right, I knew I hadn’t dissuaded him otherwise, but still . . . He was the one who tossed me to the side, and in a cruel way I might add.
You have no right to say that to me. You broke up with me, so why do you care who I date? Again, I fed into the lie but I couldn’t stop myself, part of me smug that he was jealous.
“So I broke up with you, and already you’re spreading your legs for someone else? Is that it? Now that you’re no longer a virgin, you’ll jump on any cock ready and willing?”
I gasped at his audacity, but of course he could only see my reaction, not hear it. His words mixed with his hateful tone triggered me to do something I never thought I would.
Especially to him.
I slapped him so hard I’d jolted his head to the side. From the shocked look on his face, he clearly hadn’t expected it either. Clenching his jaw, trying to keep his temper in check, he turned around and strode toward the front door, whipping it open before slamming it hard behind him when he left.
Tears coursed down my cheeks that I’d been reduced to someone who would strike another person.
And Jagger, of all people.
But he’d deserved it. Hadn’t he?
Jagger
“What the fuck did you do?” Ryder roared, knocking me off the barstool before I’d even realized he was near me. Lucky for him, I was drunk. Again. Otherwise I would’ve knocked him the fuck out for coming at me like that.
Lolling my head to the side, rubbing my jaw from the impact of his fist, I slowly climbed to my feet, clutching the ledge of the bar and using it as an anchor until I found my footing.
“What the hell?” I muttered, continuing to rub my face. The man packed one hell of a punch, and like I said, he was lucky I was incapacitated.
“What did you say to her?”
“Who?”
“Kena.”
“None of your damn business,” I said, righting myself on the stool and tapping the bar to get Trigger’s attention. The clubhouse was practically empty, except for a few men milling around. Marek and Stone had been holed up in Chambers a lot recently, only breaking away to ensure their families’ safety. Hawke appeared every now and then, wanting to hear details of retaliation, but so far there hadn’t been any.
Marek knew what had to be done, even though some of them disagreed. Patience, although not our strong suit, had to be practiced. But I had a feeling he had something else up his sleeve, even if he denied it. I could’ve been wrong, however. I didn’t even know how to run my own life, let alone how to run an entire club, or at the very least, offer any suggestions.
“Like I told ya before, it’s my business when Braylen won’t give it up because she fears I’m just like your dumb ass.”
Finding some liquid courage, I asked, “Thought you guys were just fuckin’, so what do you care? Can’t you find another slut to stick your dick in?” Yeah, liquid courage wasn’t always the smart way to go.
No one would have ever believed I was a trained, undefeated fighter right then. Not with the way Ryder managed to grip me up and pin me against the side of the bar. “If you don’t fix whatever you said to Kena, I’m gonna make you regret it.” His fists clenched tighter, the rustle of my cut echoing in my ears.
“Fine,” I agreed. I made him believe his threat scared me, but in reality I knew I had to apologize for what I’d said to her. I was out of line, even if the thought of her with Kevin enraged me all over again.
Releasing me, he strode across the empty space and disappeared outside, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Trigger had taken off somewhere as soon as Ryder started in on me, and the other guys lounging around were now outside, probably tinkering with their bikes.
Straddling my seat once more, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and brought up the keypad. I doubted she would respond, but I had to send her a message regardless.
Jagger: I’m sorry.
Right away, my phone chimed.
Kena: GO TO HELL!!
Jagger: I’m already there. Trust me.
>
A half hour passed before she finally responded again, although my last text probably confused the hell out of her. It did me. I couldn’t differentiate my emotions. At first, my heart broke that I had to set her free, realizing the danger she would be in if anyone knew she was attached to me. Then I was enraged at the thought she was seeing Kevin so soon after we’d broke up, but it wasn’t her fault. I was the one who ended things, so why was I upset?
Because you love her.
And I did, although I could never tell her that because I knew we couldn’t be together. Telling her those three words would kill us both, offering a hope that neither one of us could grab on to.
Kena: I’m not seeing Kevin. Never was. I just let you think that because you deserved it.
I had to re-read her text five times before it fully sank in. My lips kicked up in a smug grin, happy what I’d thought wasn’t even true. The palm of my hand smacked my forehead, remembering what I’d accused her of, the reality of the situation hitting me like a freight train.
So I broke up with you, and already you’re spreading your legs for someone else? I can’t believe those words actually came out of my mouth. And just because I’d still been partially drunk didn’t excuse my behavior. Not at all. That wasn’t me, but my anger had gotten the best of me.
Jagger: I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me? Can we still be friends?
Kena: I don’t want to be your friend.
Ouch! But I totally deserved it.
Jagger: I understand. Just know that I’m really sorry.
Kena: I can accept that you don’t want to be with me anymore, although it hurts because you know how I feel about you. I’ll forgive you someday, just not right now.
I had no idea what to respond, so I didn’t, dropping my phone on top of the bar. Once Trigger had returned, coming out of the kitchen with a big fat sandwich in hand, I asked for another shot.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” he asked, chewing while talking.
“Not nearly,” I admitted, drumming my fingers on the wood and irritating the both of us.
Sliding my order toward me, he moved closer, a genuine look of concern on his face. I’d always liked Trigger, although the guy was quite intense on occasion. Mainly when it had to do with Adelaide. Protecting his niece was crucial to him, and when Stone had overstepped those boundaries, I thought he was gonna kill our VP. For Christ’s sake, he’d shot him! But in his eyes, Stone deserved it. Thankfully, they’d moved on—but only barely, Trigger still giving him shit every now and again.
My phone dinged but I ignored it, choosing numbness instead.
Kena
Over the course of the next few weeks, Jagger had texted me numerous times, asking how my day was, apologizing over and over for the things he’d said and telling me he still wanted to be friends. But again, I’d told him I wasn’t interested in only being his friend. Although my face lit up every time my phone did, it didn’t mean I’d forgiven him for hurting me.
I had a decision to make, and every time I thought I had it figured out, I’d change my mind. Wasn’t it my right as a woman? Braylen went back and forth just like I did, some days being Team Jagger, telling me I should give him another shot. Although what she wasn’t understanding was that he didn’t want another chance, he only wanted to be my freaking buddy.
Then other days, she cursed the day he’d come to our rescue, insisting he’d put some kind of voodoo hex on me. Her moods depended on whether or not Ryder had been giving her a hard time about something, pissing her off so badly she’d needed a glass of wine as soon as she stepped foot inside the house.
I figured only time would tell what would transpire between Jagger and me, but I did know one thing. I’d force him to tell me the real reason he broke it off.
So help me God . . . I had a right to know.
Snatching my phone off of my dresser, I decided tonight was the night I’d agree to meet up with Jagger. He’d asked me a few times to come over and have dinner, or for him to come to my place. I didn’t think he was suddenly embarrassed to be seen with me in public, but not once did he suggest actually going out to a restaurant. Yeah, the only options were his place or mine.
Either way, he had no idea I planned on ambushing him with my need-to-know question. If he’d told me the truth, maybe I would’ve been more understanding. Less hurt. Although I didn’t see how the last part would ever have been true.
I still hurt.
A lot.
And I continued to suffer because there wasn’t a clean break between us. Yet, I continued torturing myself for some reason. Case in point, the message I’d sent to him.
Kena: Are you free tonight?
I wondered if he’d been waiting for me to message him, his response coming through right away.
Jagger: Of course.
Kena: Wanna cook me that dinner?
Jagger: Absolutely.
Kena: 7?
Jagger: Works for me. I’ll pick you up then.
Kena: I’ll just drive over.
I wanted to be the one able to leave at the drop of a hat, in case anything happened and I needed to make a hasty exit.
Jagger: No, I’ll pick you up.
Kena: Then I’m not coming.
Jagger: Kena . . .
Kena: Jagger . . .
His response took a few minutes to come through, no doubt hating that he had to concede and give in. He couldn’t control the situation and I knew it irked him.
Jagger: Fine. This time.
This time? Did he think there was going to be another time? The only reason I’d set up these dinner plans was because I wanted—no, I needed—answers.
Kena: See you at 7.
Jagger: Can’t wait.
I took extra time preparing for the upcoming evening, choosing the perfect outfit, a pair of dark skinny jeans paired with a billowy cream-colored top. A pair of heels complemented the ensemble, making me appear sexy yet not over the top. I wanted him to take one look at me and instantly regret tossing me aside. I desperately needed it for my ego.
I chose to wear my hair down in loose waves, while going light on the makeup. I wanted to look good, but I didn’t want to appear as if I’d been trying too hard.
Heading toward my car, I stopped abruptly when I saw that I had a flat tire. Stomping my foot, I made no qualms about cursing—inside my head, of course. Pulling my cell from my purse, I texted Braylen and asked when she’d be home. Her response was immediate, telling me not until late.
I had two choices to make. Either I could cancel on Jagger or I could convince him to just come to my house instead. No point in him coming to pick me up just to drive all the way back over to his place. Tapping my foot against the pavement for a solid minute while I thought things through, I finally decided to ask Jagger to come over.
Once back inside, I threw my purse on the couch, my phone still in hand.
Kena: I have a flat. Can you just come over here for dinner?
Braylen would be gone for hours, so there was no chance she’d run into him, probably giving me shit about letting him come over. Depending on her mood, of course.
Jagger: I made lasagna, so let me pack it up and I’ll be there soon.
As soon as I read his message my stomach rumbled.
I had a decision to make. Either I wanted to forge ahead and accept him as my friend, or cut him from my life altogether. Looking at my pathetic self in the mirror, running my fingers through my hair and checking my lip gloss, I knew I wasn’t strong enough to cut him out completely. Not yet.
Thirty minutes later, three knocks sounded. Checking my reflection one last time, I blew out a nervous breath and opened the front door. And the sight before me was worth every internal debate, every mixed emotion and every self-doubt I’d possessed over the past few weeks.
Jagger stood on my stoop, holding a tray of lasagna. He was the dish I wanted to devour instead of the carby goodness he held in his hands. As soon as he looked at me, I knew the night
would become complicated. For me, at least. The intensity in his eyes gave away his secret, one he’d probably deny if I’d asked. He still desired me, but would he act on it? Go back on his ridiculous notion of us not being . . . well, us?
Widening the door, I stepped aside until he’d entered. Without instruction, he walked toward the kitchen and placed the pan on the counter.
“We’re probably gonna have to nuke it for a few seconds before we eat. It’s still warm, but it’ll taste better piping hot. Don’t you think?” he asked.
Sure.
Reaching into the upper cabinets, I took down two plates, grabbed a couple of forks from the drawer and removed the lid from the tray.
“I’ll get that,” he offered, suddenly appearing behind me, his warm breath hitting the back of my neck. His closeness rattled me. I didn’t want to feel vulnerable around him, but I couldn’t stop my heart from speeding up, or tamp down the need to turn around and press my lips to his.
Placing his hands on my waist, he gently moved me aside, busying himself with dishing out a piece of lasagna for us both, popping them in the microwave for ninety seconds to ensure the temperature was just right.
The clattering of dishes called my attention back to the table. I’d been staring at the back of him, watching the way his muscles flexed every time he moved. His jeans fit him perfectly, teasing me with the image of what I knew lay just underneath. He’d worn a white button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing muscular, inked forearms. And so help me, I swore it was arm porn.
Clearing his throat brought my attention back to his face. Blushing lightly because I knew he’d just caught me staring, I moved to the seat next to where he stood, sitting down and focusing on the plate of food he’d set in front of me.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. I kept repeating this over and over, not wanting to give him any indication that he’d been affecting me since he’d walked through that damn door.
“Kena.” I kept my eyes on the table. “Kena,” he called a bit louder. “Look at me.”
Slowly raising my head, I raked my eyes over every button on his shirt, the skin of his throat, his chin, his lips, his nose . . . and finally his eyes.