Scarred: The Ruthless Rebels MC Series Book 3

by Michele, Ryan

  “Either leave or tell me why you’re here pounding on my door.”

  He takes a moment and contemplates his next move. He’s always been a thinker even when the people around him didn’t think he had a brain. I always knew he had one of the best.

  “Who’d you drop off at the pawn shop?”

  “How did you know that?”

  Chapter 10

  She’s the most beautiful fire I’ve ever set ablaze!

  One more taste. My cock is painfully straining inside my jeans. My lips want one more taste of hers, but I have to back off.

  As much as I can still remember the guttural moans that came from deep inside her as I made her come for the first time, going down this road will be bad for us both.

  Since she moved into the kitchen, I follow and take a chair from her dining table and turn it around before I straddle it, giving me a barrier so I can’t attack like my body is urging me to do.

  “Business has me in town longer than I planned,” I give her honestly. She studies me, waiting for more. I don’t tell her that a day longer is all, but she’ll learn that soon enough.

  Roe, always patient with me and always waiting for the next the word, expression, or moment.

  “Not gonna get into my business, Roe, but who did you drop off at that pawn shop today?”

  With her arms crossed protectively over her chest, she answers. “Marie, the director of the daycare I work at. Her husband owns it.”

  My instincts scream for me to tell her she doesn’t work for Marie anymore. LaRoche doesn’t have a handle on his shit if he’s calling in the Rebels for guns. Whatever he touches is sure to hit his wife–that’s the kind of life I live. No one is safe around me. LaRoche wants in this shit, he’s bringing that to his door.

  Except now what’s at his door could touch Roe.

  I’ll die before I let that shit happen.

  “If you were mine,” I begin to tell her she wouldn’t be working at that preschool. She raises her hand and stops me.

  “Once upon a time, I was yours. For fucking years, Whitton, you had me. Long before you kissed me, long before I gave you my virginity, you had me. And when you rode out of town with your brother, you still had me.”

  Her words are a physical blow … straight to my heart.

  She steps closer to me. So close, if I turned and reach out I could pull her to me. I could breathe her in.

  “You had me, Whitton, and I just got me back. I’m not yours, I’m mine. Don’t you dare walk in here, think you can kiss me stupid, and stake claim to something I’m not giving up. Did that, felt the pain, I’m good not going there again.”

  I nod. “What I was going to say, if you were mine, this would be easier. You’re not. I can’t protect you from the variables in this.”

  She huffs. “Variables! Whitton Thorne, have you forgotten where you came from? This is Blakely, Georgia, not a damn thing bad goes on here except, sometimes, a drunk driver. Marie LaRoche and her husband are good people and run a solid business.”

  “How long you known ‘em?” I ask, and she sits in the chair beside me.

  Close. Too close. I wish she would have picked the spot across from me. In this proximity, I want to touch her.

  “Four years.”

  “What brought them to Blakely?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know. I know they are good people and active in the community. Why are you acting like they’re criminals?”

  “I’m not. I’m simply on a job and that pawn shop is on my radar. Now, you’re in that shop, you’re on my radar.”

  “Well, handle your business, whatever the hell it is, and move on”—her eyes meet mine in a determined stare—“and get me off your radar. You get on that motorcycle that’s been closer to you than any person every could be and ride the hell out.”

  “Can’t,” again I tell her honestly. No way I’ll leave until I know everything there is to know about LaRoche, his wife, and if there is even the threat of a paper cut to Roe from them.

  “Won’t,” she counters. “Can’t would mean you are somehow physically incapable. Well, way I see it, you found your way back, you can find your way out. You’re choosing to stay to handle whatever business you have found here.”

  “Can’t, won’t, bottom line, I’m not going anywhere.”

  I look around the space. It’s not large. Tidy, but I wouldn’t expect anything else from Roe. She’s always wanted everything in its place and for everything to have a place.

  “How many rooms you got?”

  Her eyes widen, and I feel my lips tip in a smile even as I fight it back.

  “You cannot think, for even a split second, you are staying here!”

  “Look, babe, I have shit in town that I’m not sure how long it’s gonna keep me here. Seein’ as you drove your car up to a place on my radar and I ain’t sorted what I need to sort yet, it puts you on my radar. Don’t know how this all plays out, but I do know I ain’t gonna sleep for shit until I figure out a few things and while I’m figurin’ that shit out, I’m gonna do it with you on under my thumb as much as possible.”

  “Whitton!” she roars, standing abruptly. “You are not staying here!”

  “Roe, I hate what I did. Inside, I feel that burn, baby, but I had to leave. My brother, he was neck deep in shit he couldn’t handle alone. Can’t promise you that I won’t ride out of here again, but I can’t leave, Roe. I can’t let something touch you while I’m here. I leave, I do so knowing you’re in a safe town with good people so you can leave your mark on those kids freely.”

  I see her eyes glass over, but not a single tear falls. Thank fuck.

  “Whitton, what you felt, feel, it all doesn’t matter. The why’s, the how’s, don’t matter. You left. I don’t need promises. In fact, Whitton Thorne, I don’t need a single fucking thing from you except for you to leave so I can get back to my life in this safe town, with good people, and continue to leave my mark on my kids at school. What I don’t need is the man who had all the power to break me to come back and try to have even an ounce of power over me again—whether that’s over my heart or my body, it’s not yours to have anymore. I have the power and with every bit of it inside me, I want you to leave me.”

  The passion inside her is on the edge. The fire between us isn’t a smoldering pile of ash, but a flickering flame still burning strong.

  I stand. Seeing her battle herself, it’s not what I came here for. Raising my hands in surrender, I step back.

  “I just want to keep you safe. Whatever way I can do that. Know I hurt you bad, Roe.” Fuck, I’ve been hurting. “Please let me take care of you.”

  “Why do you have to stay here to do it?” The question gives me a bit of hope that she’s not going to push me away this time.

  “You need some space. I’ll let you wrap your mind around the fact that I’m here. Never lied to you, not once, not gonna start now. I got shit to do, but I’ll be back. Know I fucked up your trust, but I swear to you this is to protect you.” I take in a breath and go for the gusto. “Need a key. Waylon and I’ll be back. Can’t let anything touch you, Roe. Give me the time to sort this shit and know you’re safe.”

  She nods but doesn’t speak. Roe blinks, still fighting her tears but never letting them fall, finally getting me.

  “Key?”

  “Garden gnome beside the rose bush, lift him and slide the bottom of his feet. Hide-a-key. The spare room is the first door on the right, but it doesn’t have a bed. You two can crash on the floor or the couch.”

  Her expression is pained. The last thing I want is to hurt her any further, but I can’t fight my own instinct to know she’s okay until I can, at least, sort out what the fuck LaRoche is into.

  I take another step back only to find myself take four steps forward to her and press my lips to hers one last time before I turn and walk out of her house, not looking back.

  For the first time in my life, I know what it is to feel fear. I’m afraid if I look in her e
yes, just one more time, I’ll see the emotions between us and I’ll never be able to walk away again.

  Rebels, Waylon, none of it will matter. I won’t look back. I get to the truck and force myself to go back to Waylon so we can scout the shop for a few hours tonight. I have to remain focused and not get lost in my own feelings. We came here to do a job, and we will. Until it’s sorted, we’ll be at Roe’s place when we can. I won’t leave her unprotected.

  That feeling in the pit of my stomach—fear—it’s eating at me inside as I make my way to the hotel Waylon and I are crashing in.

  The pull I have to Roe is too much, and it scares the living shit out of me.

  * * *

  “Went that good, huh?” Waylon asks as I enter the hotel room. The entire ride here my cock has ached. Seeing her again, smelling her, fucking tasting her. Screwed doesn’t even cut it. Fuck, I want her to the depths of my blackened soul. Years and one look, one touch—it’s just not enough.

  “We’re stayin’ at her place after our stakeout.”

  He chuckles something he doesn’t do often so it catches my attention. “What?”

  I don’t reply.

  “There, what, thirty minutes and got an invite to stay the night?”

  “Fuck no. She’s got more spine than that.”

  “Still?” He remembers her well from those days. She was the only person I had in my life, besides my brother, who really meant something. He knew it, I knew it. She was the only good I had in my life. Walking away was for her and for me. She didn’t need to get dragged down with the likes of me.

  Now, fuck, I don’t even know.

  “Yeah, same Roe just in an even hotter package than before.”

  He grunts but doesn’t say anything else. The history, my feelings—he knows it all. He’s the only one.

  “LaRoche’s woman was in the car with Roe. She’s a director at the school she works at. Roe says they’re good people of the community.”

  He gives another grunt, no doubt remembering the good standing citizens we’ve met throughout our childhood and as Rebels. That title means shit when most of them are worse than the baddest of the bad out in plain sight.

  “What else?”

  “Other than they run a lucrative business, nothin’. But that means that whatever LaRoche is bringin’ to Blakely is going to be at Roe’s doorstep because her and Marie, the wife, are tight.”

  “No one who wants that many guns is good, brother. Just gotta figure out how bad it is. What are ya gonna do if Roe’s in over her head?”

  “Pull her ass out, put her on the back of my bike, and bring her ass home.”

  He stretches his arms out. “Good luck with that one, brother. You’re gonna fuckin’ need it.”

  Chapter 11

  We’re all a little mad here…

  The water flows down my body doing nothing to cool the burn inside of it. It hasn’t lessened even a bit since Whitton left my house. I tried eating, couldn’t get much down. Tried working on lesson plans, couldn’t concentrate. Popped some damn popcorn and tried a movie, nada.

  The damn man comes in, boggles my life, and kisses me. My lips still tingle from the feel of his. They even feel a bit swollen and no matter how much water I put into my mouth, his tasted is seared inside. One face to face visit and my body is screaming to take him. The sad thing is my damn brain is on board with it, too. Which isn’t good. At all.

  I can’t believe I agreed to have him and his brother stay here. I really am a glutton for punishment, just sending out the red carpet and inviting it into my home. He knows where the damn gnome is!

  Safe. That word is the only reason I caved. Knowing Whitton, there must be something really going on for him to be in town. One, because I’m here and two, he hates this place. For him to come back. For him to be here, something really has to be wrong, and I don’t like that Marie or her husband are caught up in it. They just can’t be. His information has to be wrong, right?

  Whitton has always made me feel safe. Just before Whitton came to my school, my mom had a boyfriend—a monster of a man. I used to lay awake at night with toys pressed against my bedroom door to make noise. Only when the exhaustion would overcome would I sleep. Thankfully, my mom woke up one night and figured out what was going on. She kicked the monster out. For the longest time, I had to have her sleep with me. Then Whitton came. I saw the scars on him. I also saw the strength inside him. He never once wavered when asked about his face, he was open that his mother did it. If he could sleep at night, get up and push on, well, somehow I knew I could, too.

  I shampoo, condition, and rinse my hair, turning the water off and getting out. There are so many questions I have for Whitton, so I dress and make my way to the couch. The news comes on, and my eyes droop. Teaching takes a lot out of a woman. Not only do you worry about your children all day, there’s the paperwork, administration, and parents that you deal with. It’s exhausting yet rewarding.

  I just wish a little girl was still in my class so I could keep my eye on her.

  With that closing thought, my eyes fall and I drift to sleep.

  “You crash on the couch. I’ll put her to bed,” a sexy, deep voice says in my dreams. I’m floating up in the air as something holds on to me tightly.

  I hear rustling, and warmth comes to the top of my head.

  My eyes flutter open and it takes me a minute, but I quickly notice I’m in Whitton’s arms being carried through my hallway and into my bedroom.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, noting that he has absolutely no trouble carrying me whatsoever.

  “Puttin’ you to bed, baby.” Damn that voice turns me into a puddle of goo. Dammit.

  I wiggle out of his arms, or attempt to. He clutches me tighter and I can feel the strength in his arms, which stops me from moving.

  “I can walk, ya know,” I smart, not wanting to be this close to him, yet wanting to all the same.

  “You can? Didn’t know that.”

  A slow laugh catches me off guard. This is the Whitton I remember. The one who made me laugh at the smallest things. The one who took care of me, until he didn’t. I missed that. Missed it so much.

  He lays me on the bed and I swing my legs off the side, sitting there. “Thanks,” I whisper. “Did you lock up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, I laid out blankets and pillows in the guest room. I’m gonna use the bathroom and go to bed.” I move to my attached bathroom and do my business. I even take a little extra time making sure he’s well gone before I open the door.

  Except when I open the door, Whitton lays in my bed. No shirt on, displaying tattoos that my curiosity wants me to explore. The light blue sheet rests on his abs, which I have to admit have grown incredibly nicely over the years. Looking to the floor, his clothes are in a pile and I note no underwear there. Thank God he’s leaving them on, I need him to not show me his package.

  “You need to get up and go in the guest bedroom or couch. Now, Whitton,” I order, staying by the door, for no other reason except it could be an out, if need be. Never has Whitton been a pushover, so I’m stupid.

  “Come to bed. I’m wiped.”

  He looks nothing but calm, cool, and collected from where I stand. Wiped my ass.

  “Couch.”

  “Waylon’s on it, and I’m not sleepin’ on the floor.” He pulls the sheet over, exposing my side of the bed, and I find it funny he knows this information just from stepping into my room.

  “You’re not sleeping in here. The deal was the guest bedroom.” There is absolutely no way I can lay next to Whitton all night. No way I can feel his heat all night. It’s been way too long since I’ve had a man in my bed. Never did I think Whitton would be in it.

  “Not gonna argue. I need shut eye. Get over here and lay down.”

  Hand cocked on hip, I say, “Don’t order me around.”

  “Sleepin’, babe.” He closes his eyes, and I debate my options. Oh, who the hell am I kidding. I move to the bed and lay down on th
e very edge of the mattress. Damn, I’m acting like a child, and I know better than that shit. At least my kids at school would be proud.

  The bed shakes a bit like Whitton is laughing. Screw him. I move further on to the bed, still turned on my side so my back is to him. If I don’t look then he’s not really here invading my space, right? Stupid.

  Flipping to my back I look up at the ceiling, then reach over and turn out my bedside lamp.

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re here, Whitton. The real reason. Why do I need to be kept safe?”

  His hands dart out and before I can get my body to fight, he’s got my head on his chest and his hand sifting through my hair.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” I tell him honestly.

  “We’re just sleepin’. You workin’ tomorrow?”

  “No, it’s Saturday. Surely you remember that we don’t have school on the weekends.”

  He chuckles, “Good. Tomorrow, we talk. Tomorrow, we get all this shit out that needs to be. Tonight, we sleep with you here in my arms.”

  It sounds so wonderful, and I shouldn’t comply. But me being me. With the history we have. I shut my eyes and give nothing else. His hand continuously sifts through my hair and lulls me to sleep.

  A flood of warmth caresses my body, lovingly. It begins at my feet and makes its way up my legs, tortuously, slowly lighting fire in its wake. Up and down as if someone is using their hands, then their cool lips on my flesh. My eyes won’t open, but I don’t want them to. It feels too good. All I want to do is feel.

  The callouses of fingertips follow the softness of lips down to the crook of my kneecap, stopping and taking its precious time as if I’m the best thing tasted. Heat blooms in my core, sending sharp tingles and an ache in my pussy. Wetness coats me, and I clutch the sheets as the fingers and lips move back up my body.

  The cloud I’m floating on is soft, but the more I arch my back, the more coolness hits my skin. Almost like before a rainstorm, only this is my body.