“That’s not any news, but I do have to give him credit for at least trying to warn you,” Theo says.
“Whatever,” I snort.
Theo grabs my phone out of my hand and tosses it into my purse on the counter before wrapping his fingers around mine and tugging me to my front door.
I don’t think about the rent, what’ll happen to all my stuff when I don’t pay it, or anything. All I can think about is that my life has just been turned completely upside down. Once again, it’s Paxton’s fault.
Asshole.
TORCH
I watch the skinny brunette ride me, her small tits bouncing as she fucks my cock. My mind should be on the way she’s working me, and she fuckin’ is, too. She’s giving me a beautiful show, but my thoughts are lost in all that is Cleo and her safety.
She’s being stubborn, and it surprises the shit out of me.
Granted, I don’t know the woman she’s become, but I knew the girl that she was pretty fuckin’ well. Stubborn was not a characteristic she carried.
“Torch—oh, fuck, you feel so good,” she moans above me.
Wish I could return the compliment, but truth be told, she feels adequate, at best. She’ll do, but she isn’t doing what I wanted her to, which was take my mind off of Cleo.
I reach over to the night stand and grab my bottle of tequila, bringing it to my lips before I take a long pull. She doesn’t even realize I’m not into this. My cock is hard because a warm pussy is enveloping it, but that’s friction and nothing else.
“I’m gonna—.”
I watch with nothing more than curiosity as she completely shatters around me. Her pussy pulses and she throws back her head as she lets out a squeak. I reach over to her boney ass and slap it hard, causing her to jerk and look down at me.
“Keep going,” I order.
Her eyes wide, she whispers, “But I came and I’m—.”
“I give a fuck that you came? Ride me until I come, bitch,” I grunt, taking another swig of liquor.
She doesn’t argue with me. I watch as she musters up her strength and starts to ride me, grinding down hard through the obvious discomfort. Maybe it was mean to tell her I didn’t give a fuck, but that’s not me trying to be mean, that’s me being honest.
“Torch,” she says, her voice trembling.
I take one last swig, setting my bottle to the side before I sit up and I maneuver her so that she’s on her back and I’m hovering above her. She reaches up and wraps her small hands on my shoulders.
“Want me to be still again?” she asks, biting her bottom lip. I thrust in and out of her wet cunt a few times before I lean down to whisper in her ear.
“Only way I’m gonna come is if I fuck your ass. You want that, I’ll take it; you don’t, then you need to send Serina in,” I say, suggesting she brings in another whore. She gasps and wrenches her head back.
“I’ve never…” I pull out and look down at her, leaning back on my knees.
“Well, either I pop that cherry or you go and get Serina,” I grunt.
I watch as she sits up and then crawls over to me, her hands skimming up my thighs, my stomach and chest. She presses her small tits against my chest and her lips brush my cheek.
“Any other way you want it, Torch, I’m yours,” she whispers as one of her hands wraps around my condom wrapped dick.
“Only way I want to fuck right now is in someone’s ass. Don’t give a fuck whose ass it is, honey,” I murmur.
“Don’t you like me?” she asks.
“I don’t know you,” I state. “Now you got about thirty seconds to either bend over or run out to Serina before I kick your ass out and get her myself.”
“If you wanted me, only me, I’d give that to you, baby,” she says with wide, pleading eyes.
I can’t help myself. I try not to, but I burst out laughing. She blanches and scrambles off of the bed. I reach out and wrap my hand around her bicep, holding her loosely and giving her a slight shake.
“Hate to break it to you, honey. If I wanted to take your ass right now, if I demanded it, I’d take it. There’s not a goddamn thing you could do about it. I could keep you for only me if I wanted that, too, but I don’t.”
Her eyes fill with tears and I let out a sigh as I release my hold of her arm. This is why I don’t like to let them stay in my bed.
This is the exact reason I kick them out after I fuck them.
Attachments.
I don’t want her attached, and she’s gone and done that. Now she’s got her feelings hurt, and I’m the bastard.
“Go get Serina, yeah?” I urge softly.
She nods as she grabs her scraps of fabric and runs off. A few minutes later, my door opens and Serina is standing in the entrance, her naked flesh on display.
“You made her cry,” she frowns as she closes the door behind her.
I know Serina. She was at my old club in Idaho. She fucked up and they did a whore trade with a girl who fucked up here. She’s a good clubwhore; been around a while and knows her place, for the most part.
“Yeah,” I grunt, pulling out a bottle of lube from my cheap nightstand.
“When are you gonna learn, you can’t give those pretty blue eyes to the young ones. They’ll fall every time,” she purrs.
“Yeah, like you fell for Dirty, huh?” I ask on a chuckle. She had it bad for my brother, Dirty Johnny, caused problems with his Old Lady. That’s how her ass ended up right here.
“Hard lesson to learn, Torch,” she says with a flinch.
“Shut up and give me that little asshole, Serina. I’m ready to fill it up.”
“Yeah,” she moans as she positions her body for me to take.
Sinking inside of her ass doesn’t do what I thought it would. It doesn’t take away the thoughts of Cleo that invade my mind. She’s infiltrates my head the entire time.
When I finally come, it’s lackluster, and I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. I fall back against the headboard and reach for my bottle, sucking the liquid back and hoping it will make thoughts of her go away, at least for the night.
“You can’t drink and fuck her away, Torch.”
“Get out,” I grunt.
I close my eyes and Cleo appears. Then, in an instant, she’s gone, and I’m back in hell, sinking my knife into the soft sandy dirt, hitting metal. A bomb. Then it happens, thirty feet in front of me—an explosion. I look up just in time to see my best friend flying through the air.
My eyes open as my heart starts pounding.
It takes me a good minute to realize that I’m not there. I’m on U.S. soil. In a clubhouse, my clubhouse, not the desert.
Fuck.
When will they stop?
Chapter Six
TORCH
I can’t shake her. Since my nightmares started, they haven’t stopped. I haven’t slept in three weeks, and I know that there is only one way to at least make them subside, if only for a while.
I need to make sure Cleo is okay. Her safety is the only thing I can control right now, and I’m tired of fucking around with her. She’s either coming with me tonight, or I’m going to be her goddamn shadow, and that means sleeping in her place, right next to her warm, curvy body.
With a semi-plan in place, I pull into the parking lot of her apartment and frown. It’s only four in the afternoon. Her car shouldn’t be here, yet it is. I make my way upstairs and knock on her door.
I don’t have to strain my hearing too much, but I do anyway. I hear absolutely nothing. I decide to break into her apartment, my gut telling me something is very wrong here.
The sight that greets me makes my stomach drop. Sure, everything is in its place, but with one scan, I can see that it isn’t. Her purse is on the counter, her phone tossed on top of it. I close the door and call out her name, but silence is the only thing that greets me.
I jog into her bedroom and see that her bed is unmade, clothes strewn on the floor; and a glance at her closet proves that all of her clothes are sti
ll hanging in their designated spots.
I walk back into the kitchen, taking her phone and noticing that its dead. I plug it in and power it on, when I see, that she’s got a dozen missed calls. They’re all from the same number.
I don’t bother listening to the half a dozen messages. Instead, I call back the number.
“Voight,” a voice growls into the phone.
“You been trying to reach Cleo Hill?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“Where is she?” he barks.
“Who is this?”
“This is Stephenson Voight, her boss. If you get ahold of her, tell her she’s fired,” he snaps before he ends the call.
My brows knit in confusion. She’s not at work, her shit’s here—her money and her car.
She’s gone.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She’s gone.
I don’t know how long she’s been gone. I haven’t been back to check on her in weeks. I needed to try and get my shit straight, try and give her time to get hers straight, too. She hasn’t called me, so I wasn’t overly worried. Now I know why she hasn’t called. She’s fucking gone.
I slam her front door closed and race down to my bike. It’s going to take me three hours to get back to the clubhouse. Maybe if I go fast enough, I can make it in two.
I focus on the highway and then the mountain roads ahead of me, pulling into the clubhouse two and a half hours later. I look around and realize that MadDog isn’t here. Pulling out my phone, I scroll to his name.
“What’s up, brother,” he grumbles.
“My wife’s gone missing,” I announce.
“You’re what?” he asks in surprise. I don’t blame him. Nobody knows I’m married, not even my brothers in Idaho.
“I’m going to need some more information, brother,” he says, his voice a low growl.
I tell him that I’ll be by his place in ten, and he agrees before ending the call. He’s just arrived back from Idaho with his woman, Mary-Anne, in tow.
They’ve worked their shit out and I’m pleased as fuck for them, but my mind is on nothing but Cleo as I climb on my bike, revving the engine before I roll over to my Pres’ house to tell him about my wife.
Fuck.
CLEO
My eyes flutter open and I roll over. Looking around in mild panic, it takes me a moment to realize exactly where I am. Though I’ve been here for three weeks, it’s still all new to me.
The circumstances surrounding the reason why I’m in my friends’ home still frighten me. It could have all been a coincidence, but something deep inside tells me that it absolutely wasn’t.
My door slowly opens and I turn to find Lisandro making his way toward me, two coffees in his hand. I quickly sit up, reaching out for a cup, and he smiles as he climbs onto the bed and settles down beside me.
“You look better,” he murmurs.
“Theo gone?” I ask.
“You know he is. Now, are you going to be okay at the shop alone today?”
I’ve been working for cash at Lisandro’s jewelry store since I arrived here in Redding. Well, since he and Theo marched me here, refusing to take no for an answer. Though, I can’t complain much.
I absolutely love working for Lisandro. Not only do we get to take lunches together, even if it’s only in the back room sometimes, but he’s actually a great boss.
He’s knowledgeable about the product, patient with teaching me everything I need to know so that I can properly inform the customer, and he’s my best friend. I love him.
“Gina will be there, right?” I ask as I take a sip from my drink.
“She will, but you know how I worry,” he murmurs.
“Go and visit with Granny B. Don’t worry about me,” I whisper with a smile, encouraging him to visit with his grandmother back in SacTown.
“You know she’d slap that smile off of your face if she knew you called her that, don’t you?” he asks, arching a brow.
Bellatrix, or Granny B as I call her, is Lisandro’s very well-to-do grandmother. All of her good friends call her Trixie, which means that Lisandro calls her Trixie, because she refuses to be called anything else.
I’ve taken to calling her Granny B behind her back solely, of course, because, as Lisandro said, she’d slap the look off my face if she knew I called her that.
She’s a very sweet woman, if not eccentric and exciting all rolled into one teenie tiny, four-foot-eleven package of dynamite.
She’s had five husbands, each one wealthier than the last, and none staying for too long—mostly because when they annoy her too badly, she divorces them.
Lisandro visits her the first weekend of every month. This is his weekend, and I’ll be damned if he’s missing it for me. He loves the old coot.
“Give Granny B hugs from me, okay?”
“You know she only accepts cheek kisses,” he murmurs. It makes me giggle.
“Well, give her those from me, and throw in a dah-ling or two.”
“Theo will have his phone with him, glued to his hand, all day long. You can take my car, just make sure to pick him up on your way home from the shop after you close,” he instructs as he hands me his car keys.
“You’re taking Theo’s to town?”
“Theo has a Beemer, and Granny B say’s it’s much more comfortable than the American made trash I drive,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“I love your Jeep Cherokee. I’ll gladly drive it around,” I grin.
Lis eyes me, all joking escaping his face, and he looks so serious. I gulp down a drink of the hot coffee in my hands and wait for him to speak, knowing that when he does, he’s going to be completely honest—and possibly downright scary with me.
It doesn’t happen often, but when he decides he needs to lay something on me, he really lays it on, and with a tone that assures me he means every single well thought out word.
“You need to make peace with your past. That means Paxton. It’s obvious, from the conversations you’ve had with him recently, that there are still some things between you unsaid, untouched, and unshared. You’ll never be able to move on, to be happy, or even just to be content until you do. I know Theo said his group was dangerous, and I’m sure it is, so maybe this is a good time for that divorce and to sever ties with him completely. It’s not as if you’ve been truly married. Not really,” he says.
I know he’s right, and this isn’t the first time he’s said these same words, almost verbatim. The time has come, and even though I know it’s going to hurt, hasn’t the pain always been there anyway?
Anytime I’ve thought of him, it’s felt like the wound has been shred wide open. It’s never quite healed. After eleven years, it still feels as fresh as it did on day one of his leaving me.
“When you get back, maybe we can meet him together? I don’t want to go alone. Every time I’m alone with him, we argue and he kisses me and I let him. Then I want more,” I say quietly.
“I got your back, sweetie pie,” he whispers as he slides his arm around my shoulders to comfort me.
“Why does he still affect me the way that he does?” I ask, not really looking for a direct answer.
“Because you’re a woman who, when she falls, she falls deep. You’re a woman who sees the good in everybody. You’re so fucking loyal and sweet, it’s almost sickening,” he grins.
“Thank you for being…everything,” I whisper.
Lis doesn’t say anything else. He leans down, presses his lips to my head, and then walks away. I have a feeling he’s crying but doesn’t want me to see him, and that’s just fine. As soon as the door closes behind him, tears fill my own eyes.
The shop is slow this afternoon, so I decide to send Gina off to lunch, fairly confident that nobody will even chance a walk inside. We’ve not had one customer all day long as it is.
I choose to take the quiet down time to clean the glass cases. The tops are smudged from fingerprints, and it seems like I’m the only one who is anal enough to clean them several times a day.
I’m just finishing up my first case when the bell above the door rings. I look up and my eyes widen. There’s a hulking man with a full beard, leather vest, worn jeans, and black boots walking inside, thick black glasses on his face hiding his eyes.
“How may I help you?” I ask, my eyes staying glued to the man’s vest. It looks exactly like Paxton’s, patches and all.
I try to calm my breathing, clenching my fists and attempting not to freak out and run.
“Here for a wedding ring. Whatever she wants,” he murmurs gently. I jerk slightly to look at the woman at his side.
She’s about my age, making her at least half his age. She’s also tall and very slender, with long dark hair and shocking blue eyes. She’s absolutely beautiful, and I feel like a troll just standing in front of her.
I shake myself out of my creepy staring long enough to ask her what she has in mind. She says that she wants something simple, nothing too fancy, and I lead her over toward the engagement rings. If we have something close to what she likes, I can always have a ring made or ordered to her taste.
I pull out a very small stone solitaire ring to show her first. It’s definitely not fancy, and it’s the smallest diamond we have in stock.
“There’s no budget,” the gruff man announces.
I jump, having forgotten that he was even standing in front of me. I don’t know how—he’s the most intimidating man I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, that one. Can I please see that one?” the woman asks, pointing to one of our most expensive vintage inspired pieces. The clarity is the best we carry, and it’s designer—completely outstanding.
“Put it on,” he grumbles. I hand it to her to try on. The man nods and then orders me to ring it up.
“Sir, this ring is forty-five thousand dollars,” I whisper as my brows knit together.
I know that I shouldn’t judge the amount of money people have based on their clothing, or anything at all. I try really hard not to judge people in general, but this is almost fifty-thousand dollars. It’s definitely not peanuts.
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