“I’ll be okay, Theo. I promise,” she says gently.
“You call me and I’m there, do you understand? I don’t give a fuck about Billy-Badass here. I only care about you,” he growls.
Cleo slips in front of me and wraps her arms around his middle, hugging him and whispering something to him. I can’t hear her as blood rushes through my ears at the sight of her touching another man.
I clench my fists and try to calm down. Thankfully, two seconds before I pummel the fuck out of this dude, she takes a step away from him.
“I have to pick up a few things from Theo and Lis’, then we can go,” she says, tipping her head back to look at me.
I wrap my hand around her waist and give it a squeeze before dipping my chin down to look into her eyes.
“Yeah, all right, sweetheart,” I murmur.
She looks tired, stressed, and on the verge of turning into a sobbing mess.
I don’t do crying bitches.
In fact, the last time I held a woman when she cried, it was her. Cleo unloaded her life story on me when we were dating, the defining moment when I knew I needed to make her mine, and she cried. I held her and comforted her, back when I had a fucking heart.
Chapter Eight
CLEO
I never thought that I would ever, and I mean ever, be sandwiched between two big ass, albeit hot as shit, bikers. Yet, here I am, sitting directly between them, in a single cab pickup truck, on my way to what Paxton called his clubhouse.
“You sure you don’t wanna take her somewhere else?” the man Paxton calls Camo asks.
“Nope. Got a room and a bed there—kitchen, tequila and protection,” Paxton rumbles.
I glance up at him to see that he’s staring straight ahead of me and at the window.
“She ain’t in the life, brother,” he informs.
“She’s also sitting right here,” I snap, looking up to the handsome, young, bearded man.
“Sorry, babe,” he chuckles, grinning down at me before he turns back to the road.
The rest of the ride is silent. It does nothing to calm my nerves about going to this mysterious clubhouse of Paxton’s. I have zero clue what to expect, just that Theo warned that the group was dangerous.
When I was packing my small bag to leave, he gave me a long hug and whispered to call if anything happened, if I needed him at all, and he’d come get me. He told me to watch out for myself and try to stay out of sight in general. He did nothing but make me even more nervous.
The pickup pulls up to a gate, and without touching a button or rolling his window down, it opens and Camo continues to drive straight through, parking the pickup.
My eyes widen when I take in the big, plain, solid stone building. It looks like nothing. It’s all brick with a metal roof. To the left is a huge metal building that looks like a warehouse, storage, or shop area—I’m not quite sure what it is, but it’s big.
“C’mon, babe. I have a killer fuckin’ headache,” Paxton grunts.
I didn’t even realize he’d opened the door. He‘s now standing outside, holding his hand out for me. I was taking in my surroundings and not paying attention at all. He’s got my bag dangling from his fingers, and his light blue eyes are looking at me with nothing but impatience in them.
I slide out of the pickup as quickly as I can and step onto the gravel and dirt as I wait for him to close the door behind me. His hand presses against my lower back, and I fight the smile that’s threatening to form on my lips from his gentle touch.
We walk inside of the building, and my smile dies. It’s only around seven in the evening, but there is loud music playing, men drinking or playing pool, and smoke fills the air.
Even still, that isn’t what kills my smile.
It’s the women.
They’re either naked or practically naked. Some are walking around, a couple perched on men’s laps, and one is on her knees in front of a man lounging in a chair. My eyes widen and my feet refuse to move.
“C’mon, Cleo,” Paxton practically growls, pressing his hand a little harder to my back and propelling me forward.
This.
This is his clubhouse?
This is where he expects me to live?
Where he lives?
The further into the room we walk, the sicker I feel. My stomach is tied up in knots, and I can feel the bile rising in my throat.
The women—holy shit, the women. This is where my husband has been for the past decade? No wonder he hasn’t given a shit about me, where I am or what I’m doing. He’s had his pick of skinny, young women every night of the week.
Why would he want me?
Paxton pushes me into a room, and I glance around. It’s a plain room, with a dresser, a bed, a nightstand and a closet. It’s nothing special at all, but it’s decently clean, which was more than I expected from the activities happening in the main room.
“I’m going to call Theo. This isn’t going to work,” I announce as I turn around to face him.
Paxton flips the lock closed and lifts his eyes to look at me.
“Why’s that?” he asks, arching a brow.
“I can’t live here, Pax. I didn’t know this is the way it was going to be. Protection or not, I’ll just take my chances with Lisandro and Theo,” I try to explain.
“Can’t let you do that, sweetheart,” he murmurs gently. His tone is actually very sweet.
“You can’t really expect me to live here,” I whisper.
“Get some sleep. You work tomorrow?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“No, I don’t.”
“Good. Lock up behind me. I have a key,” he barks before he turns, walks out of the room, and slams the door behind him.
“What the hell?” I whisper as I lock the door.
I try not to think about where I am, what’s happening just a few feet away from me, or the fact that Paxton just left me to go to where all the action is. Instead, I change into my soft, cotton, bubblegum pink sleep shorts and tank before I crawl between his sheets. I close my eyes and cringe, trying not to think about the last time these sheets were laundered or what has been done on them.
Rolling to my back, I look up at the ceiling and am unable to stop the tears from rolling down the corners of my eyes to my temples, and then the pillow beneath my head.
This is my life.
Paxton has had a hold on me since the day I met him at eighteen years old. He’s had a hold that I fear will never subside. He left me for over a decade, and I never moved on.
I tried, in my own way, but I never let go of the hope that he would come back to me. Then he came back, he brought a mess of danger when he did, and here I am, completely dependent on him, once again.
I hate it, and I hate myself for allowing it. I didn’t fight him, not really, and he knows I won’t. Like the fool that I am, I still love him. I probably always will.
He’s my weakness, my Achilles’ heel—the one person that I always forgive; that I always let walk all over me; and that I always seek out.
He was the one person, aside from my Gram, who showed me affection, and who took care of me when not even my parents did.
He held me when I cried and told him about my childhood; he held me when I cried about my Gram passing. He’s always felt, right, good, and comforting in times when I hadn’t ever felt that way before.
I roll over to my side and close my eyes, hoping and praying that eventually my exhaustion will take over and I’ll fall asleep in this strange place, in this strange bed, and all alone.
TORCH
I shouldn’t leave Cleo alone in my room, but I do. I can’t be with her right now. The look in her eyes when she realized where I live, and undoubtedly what and who I’ve been doing the past eleven years, was too fucking much for me to take. I decide to get some green and some tequila to relax.
“Got any green?” I ask Soar as soon as I walk into the bar.
“Always for you, brother,” he chuckles as he pulls out a bag and hands i
t to me.
“Pre-rolled, nice,” I comment.
“Know you don’t want to waste your time when you’re feelin’ the urge to smoke,” he grins.
“For someone who acts like he’s not paying attention, you do, don’t you?” I ask him.
Soar always appears to be high as a kite. I don’t doubt that he usually is, I just think that he’s way more aware of his surroundings than he lets on. Most of his incapacitated state is nothing but a pure act.
“Brother, I’ve been getting drunk and high since before puberty. It’s when I’m sober that I got problems,” he chuckles as he reaches for the little brunette I sent crying from my room a couple weeks ago.
She looks at me from beneath her lashes and gives me a small smile then presses her small tits against Soar and whispers something in his ear.
“You down for that?” he asks with wide eyes. She grins with a nod.
“Honey here wants us both to fuck her; she wants to know if you’re down with that, brother?” Soar asks with a chuckle.
I blink at his words. Huh, her name is actually Honey—that has never happened to me before.
“Not tonight, Honey,” I murmur, touching her nose with the tip of my finger.
“C’mon, Honey. It’s just you and me tonight, babe,” Soar says as he slides her off of his lap to stand up.
I look at her. Honey. Fuck, I didn’t even know her name, and I don’t give a shit, either. Not even now. I do find it interesting that I called her by her name. That’s probably another reason why she started attaching her fuckin’ self to me.
She walks up to me and wraps her hand around my bicep as she stands on her toes and leans into me.
“We’re cool, right?” she asks on a whisper, her bottom lip pushed out into a pout.
“Yeah, Honey. It’s all good,” I murmur.
“Miss you and your cock. Anytime you want me, Torch, I’m ready for all you want,” she grins before she turns around and walks up to Soar’s side.
I watch as they leave, her bare ass moving with each step she takes. I take a joint out of the bag Soar gave me and I put it to my lips, lighting it as I continue to watch Honey walk away from me. Her big eyes, the way she looked so hopeful, and the way she offered to share her body and her ass with me spells trouble. It’s the reason I typically don’t keep girls around me for too long. Fuck.
Making my way toward the bar, I decide to order a few beers instead of the tequila I had originally planned on for the evening. I have Cleo locked up in my room. I don’t want to get completely plastered. If I do, I’ll probably try to fuck her. Knowing her, even if she doesn’t want it, she’ll probably let me.
“Wife, huh?” Texas asks as he sidles up next to me.
“Yeah, wife,” I murmur, taking a pull from my beer.
“She’s a pretty little thing, Torch.”
“Fuckin’ beautiful,” I admit, thinking about her lush, curvy body, her dark red hair, and her stunning, warm, green eyes.
“She’s up there alone, and you’re down here, though,” he observes as I take a hit.
“Yup.”
“So she’s your wife, but is she your Old Lady?” he asks, arching a brow in question.
“Nope.”
“Not giving me more on this, are ya?” he asks with a chuckle.
“With The Cartel shit going down, I’m just trying to keep her safe, that’s all.”
“Liar,” he laughs as he stands up and walks away from me.
I would call him out, fight with him for calling me a liar, but he’s not wrong. I am a liar. When I thought she was gone, stolen or murdered, all I could think about was how I was married to this gorgeous woman, and all of the time I lost running from her, from us, all because of my own fucked up issues.
None of it, not a single part of me leavin’ her, was her fault; and yet, I never told her that.
I need to make it right, and maybe have her again, if she’d let me back in.
I wouldn’t deserve her if she even gave me half a chance.
Chapter Nine
CLEO
A warm body presses against mine, and an equally as warm hand wraps around my breast from the outside of my shirt. Then I feel a hard length press between the cheeks of my ass, along with a deep moan, as fingers grip my breast a bit tighter.
My entire body freezes, and I try to wiggle out of the grasp, but the arm around me tightens even more as soft lips graze my neck.
“You’re so fuckin’ soft and sweet, Cleo,” Paxton whispers against my skin. I relax, only slightly, now that I know it’s him.
“Pax,” I breathe as his hand squeezes my breast and then travels down my stomach to the waistband of my shorts.
I inhale sharply when his fingers dip below the band and caress my lower abdomen. With each sweep of his fingers, he dips lower and lower, until he reaches the top of my panties.
“Missed you, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing his mouth against my shoulder and sweeping his tongue out to touch my skin.
My entire body shakes beneath his touch, and my back arches when his finger grazes my clit. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched, and even longer since I felt the only touch I’ve wanted—his.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I sigh as I lift my arm and wrap it around the back of his neck, my fingers diving into his short hair.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Clee. This is exactly what we should be doing,” he murmurs as his fingers slide through my center before two fill me.
I gasp, my body jerking with his movement, and I feel his chest rumble against my back as he starts to pump in and out of my pussy. I feel a light sheen of sweat cover my body as my hips involuntarily meet his thrusting fingers.
Paxton’s palm presses against my clit, and I can’t stop myself from grinding against it, feeling him all around and inside of me, years of dreams coming to reality.
I pinch my eyes closed tightly as my body starts to shake, and I know that I’m close—so close to my climax that if he stops, I’m going to scream and cry simultaneously.
“Come, sweetheart. Fuck, baby, come all over my hand,” Paxton whispers against my ear, and I do.
I completely shatter in his hold. My entire body freezing as I let out a squeak and then a long moan. I sag against him. He continues to pump his fingers in and out of me a few more times before he removes himself from beneath my pajamas.
A wave of guilt, disgrace, and remorse washes over me the instant my breathing becomes normal and I’m back to myself.
How could I let this happen? After everything he’s done to me, and after the life he’s obviously been living, I’m allowing him to touch me. What is wrong with me?
“Not askin’ you to ride my dick yet, Cleo. You don’t have to freak out,” Paxton hisses. I feel the bed dip behind me as he climbs off.
I roll over and place my hands under my cheek, watching him from behind. He’s wearing only black boxer briefs, but, shit, his back is so wide, and he has muscles there that I’ve only seen in pictures.
He also has a tattoo that covers his entire back. It matches the back of his vest, and I wonder if every single member of his gang has it as well.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper.
“Why?” he asks, turning to face me as he pulls a pair of jeans over his hips. “We’re married, Clee, or did you forget that? I sure as fuck didn’t. I told you that shit between us was going to change. Mean that, babe.”
“And this change you’ve decided to make, this is all because you thought I was kidnapped or dead or whatever?”
“Well, can’t say I didn’t want back in there the second I watched you walk up your stairs the first night I went to your house, sweetheart. You’re absolutely the prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen, at eighteen and at thirty,” he says, as if it’s supposed to make the fact that he only wanted me when he thought he lost me all okay.
He never wanted me when he could have had me, only when he thought he couldn’t. My heart
aches with the truth; at the fact that I’m not enough for him.
Obviously, I never have been. Then, out of the blue, I’m supposed to just accept whatever he decides to give me, because he’s had a change of heart for this moment. What happens in six months when I’m an old-hat?
“How many women have you been with since you left me?” I ask.
Paxton’s jaw clenches and his whole body stills at my question.
“Don’t matter. Not anymore.” He shrugs, but his face is still hard, his eyes narrowed to slits and focused on me.
“I’m your wife, right?” I ask. “I think it’s safe to say that you’ve been with more than I would ever care to know. So why would you want to settle down now? Just because you want what you can’t have? No way. That doesn’t work for me, Paxton. You had me. You had all of me once, and you threw me away. I don’t want to go through that again,” I whisper.
“Not planning on throwing you away anytime soon, sweetheart. You are my wife, and I’m willing to shovel some shit, because I bought that, baby. But you gotta meet me halfway,” he murmurs, looking down at me, unmoving from where he’s been standing at the side of the bed.
“Why’d you leave me? Why’d you walk away the way you did, knowing that I had nobody but you? I was completely alone, Pax, and you just left. Forget what you did to me before you did that—why did you leave?” I practically beg as tears fill my eyes.
“It doesn’t matter; just know that I had to,” he grunts.
“It matters, Pax. To me, it matters,” I whisper.
“I was messed up, Cleo. I wasn’t right in the head, and I was so not right that I knew I would only hurt you, over and over again. And you, you’re so fuckin’ good and sweet, you would have just taken it, over and over. You proved that shit when you were willing to forget the way I hurt you so quickly.”
“You walked away from me with no explanation because I loved you?” I ask in surprise.
“Doesn’t matter now. It’s over. Now we move on,” he murmurs as he sinks his knee into the bed and crawls toward me.
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