Notorious Devils MC Complete Collection: BoxSet

by Hayley Faiman

“It matters to me, Paxton. You abandoned me for eleven years. I loved you more than anything in this world, and you just walked away from me. I was young, and I was so lost, and you didn’t give a shit. I can’t trust anything you tell me, not a single word,” I whisper.

  “I’ll fix it, Cleo. Swear, baby I’ll fix it all,” he states as his hand lifts to cup my cheek.

  “You can’t just fix it, not by telling me to just forget it and move on. That’s not how it works,” I say, my lips trembling as tears stream down my cheeks.

  “Tell me, then. Tell me how to fix this,” he mutters.

  “I don’t know, but it’s not by just pretending it never happened. It happened. You left me and you didn’t care where I was, if I had money or food or a place to live. You didn’t care about me at all. You joined this group, and you had these people to lean on while you drank, and did drugs, and had sex with whoever those girls downstairs are. Not once did I cross your mind, in eleven years, not once—did I?”

  “Not once, Cleo,” he admits with a shake of his head. “But millions of times. Every minute of every fuckin’ day, I thought about you. I don’t sleep because my mind is filled with visions of you, and nightmares from the desert, both of you fucking haunt me.”

  “Why didn’t you look for me, then? If you were so consumed with me, why wait so many years?” I ask on a sob.

  “Was fucked up in the head, baby. By the time I got my shit straightened out enough that I could contact you, it’d been years. Honest to fuck, thought you’d moved on, and I didn’t want to disrupt your new life,” he explains.

  “I need time to think,” I whisper, moving my head to the side and out of his hold.

  “Sweetheart,” he murmurs.

  I press my lips together and look at the sheets, the place where he was lying next to me just a few minutes ago. I breathe in and out of my nose, trying to keep from crying more.

  I know that he was probably very messed up. He went to war, he saw horrific things, but I can’t let that be a viable excuse and just accept his abandonment for over a freaking decade. Not just a few weeks, or months, or even years.

  He was gone from me for eleven years.

  He didn’t know if I was happy. He didn’t know anything.

  And I don’t think that he really cared, not really. Sure, it probably kept him up at night—the never knowing—but it didn’t bother him enough to ever find me, not until he thought that I was in real danger.

  I don’t know where we go from here, but I do know that we don’t start over from scratch; that I don’t just forget everything that he did, and the way he did it. I can’t pretend none of the past happened, especially the way it did.

  TORCH

  I slide off of the bed and look at her. My Cleo, my wife. She’s ignoring me, refusing to look at me, and pressing her lips together, probably to keep from crying. I halfway want her to scream at me, and the other half wants her to just forgive me and agree to start over, as if the past eleven years had never happened.

  I don’t know her, anyway—the woman she is—and she doesn’t know the man I’ve become. No matter what, we’re going to have to learn a whole hell of a lot about each other as it is.

  “Shower’s across the hall. They’re shared here. There’s a full kitchen, and when you’re ready, you can come in there. If there’s any food, you can eat that, or I can take you out for breakfast,” I inform her. She jerks her head in a slight nod.

  I walk away from her again. I always seem to be walking away from her. I make my way to the kitchen and see Honey leaning against the counter, a coffee mug in her hand.

  “Hey, Torch,” she whispers, lifting her eyes and giving me a smile.

  I jerk my chin as my greeting and walk over to the pot to pour my own coffee.

  “Soar said that girl you brought in was your wife,” she murmurs, biting her bottom lip.

  “She is,” I grunt as I take a sip of coffee, glancing at her over the rim.

  Honey looks unsure—shy. If I didn’t know the kind of woman she was, I might believe her act. She’s pretending to be what she thinks I want. Cleo came in at my side, her sexy little skirt and her cardigan covering her arms, her fantastic tits highlighted by her tight undershirt, but not overly so. Then there’s Clee’s sexy as fuck hair—natural, thick curls, and the most gorgeous deep red I’ve ever seen. No woman on earth holds a candle to Cleo.

  “I—she’s really pretty,” she whispers.

  “Know that, Honey. One of the reason’s I married her,” I murmur gently.

  “I—I promise I won’t tell her anything about us,” she offers with a furrowed brow.

  “Know you won’t, ‘cause whore’s aren’t allowed to speak to Old Ladies, so it won’t be a problem, now will it?” I ask, arching a brow.

  “’Course not,” she whispers before she sets her cup down and scurries out of the kitchen.

  “You married me for my looks, and you were with that girl. By the stars in her eyes, not too long ago,” Cleo’s voice says harshly, filling the room.

  I turn around to face her and expect to see her angry gaze focused on me, but instead I see nothing but pain etched into her features.

  “Cleo,” I whisper.

  I close the distance between us and wrap my hand around hers, tugging her into my chest before I slide my other hand around her waist to keep her close to me.

  “Then you brought me here to shove it in my face?” she asks, pain now filling her voice as well.

  “Of course, I didn’t do that, sweetheart,” I murmur.

  “I want to go back to Lis and Theo. They love me and they’ll watch out for me. I don’t want to be here,” she whispers as tears start to fall from her eyes.

  “Can’t let that happen, baby.”

  “Why? You obviously don’t care about me. Just let me go,” she urges.

  “Clee, baby, I care. Trust me, I care,” I say, my own voice sounding husky with emotion.

  “Fuck you,” she hisses. My head rears back as though she’s physically hit me. “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” She yells as her little fists beat on my chest.

  I let her. Christ, do I let her. This is nothing compared to what I deserve from her. Tears continue to fall down her cheeks, her body wracks with sobs, and she physically wears herself out. I pull her into me and just hold her as she continues to cry.

  Goddamn it, I fucked her up more than I thought I had—more than I imagined I could. My selfishness, my need to shield her from myself, fucked with her.

  “There have been two men since you, Paxton. One used me, and the other I was in a relationship with. He loved me, but you were always there. I couldn’t love anyone because of you,” she whispers. I hold her a little tighter.

  Fuck, I feel rage that she’s been with anybody else. Once, I was the only man who knew her body.

  That feeling quickly fades. I hadn’t thought she’d been celibate. Eleven years is a long fuckin’ time. Now, I feel sadness and guilt. I’d decided that she’d moved on with her life but she hadn’t, not even a little, and a man took advantage of her because of it.

  “Who used you, Clee?” I ask as my fingers comb through her hair.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she sniffles.

  “It matters, sweetheart. It matters to me. Any man that hurts my sweet, innocent, shy wife fuckin’ matters.”

  “Even you?” she asks, tipping her head back. I bury my fingers in her hair and hold onto the soft strands as I look into her warm, green eyes.

  “Yeah, baby, even me,” I whisper tipping my lips into a grin.

  “It was my boss, Stephenson Voight, when I first started working for him,” she shrugs.

  “He’ll pay for that,” I grunt.

  “No, it’s been years Paxton. I just want to forget it ever happened; forget that I was ever so naïve.”

  “Yeah, what else you gonna try and forget about in your past?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

  “Him I can forget. It was once and I was hurting and it meant nothing. I c
ould never forget even a moment I had with you. You were everything,” she whispers, making me feel like an even bigger asshole, something I didn’t think was possible at this point.

  Fuck. I’ve fucking hurt her in a way where I don’t know if I can fix it. But dammit, I’m gonna try.

  “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get some food in you,” I murmur.

  “Paxton,” she sighs.

  “We ain’t fixing our problems in a couple conversations. You have to eat, and I’m starved. We’ll go, get some food at this good little diner, and maybe talk a little more, maybe just about nothing much at all. But we need food and fresh air, no matter what way you look at it.”

  “Okay,” she nods, giving me a slight smile. It feels like a huge victory.

  Chapter Ten

  CLEO

  I look down at the giant egg white omelet, hash browns, fruit salad and toast that the waitress just set down in front of me. It could feed about five men, and there’s no way in hell I can eat even a quarter of it by myself.

  “Looks good; but egg whites, babe?” Paxton asks as his lips curl in disgust.

  “Can’t fit into my clothes if I eat the real stuff, Pax,” I explain. He shakes his head but looks down at his plate and doesn’t say a word. “What?” I ask.

  “Nothin’,” he snorts.

  “No, tell me, what?”

  I cut some of my omelet and stab it with my fork before I slide it between my lips. I almost moan, it’s so good, the swiss cheese and ham perfectly melted together.

  “Hate it when bitches talk about their weight. That’s all. Like you need to watch your figure? You look better now than you did twelve years ago,” he mutters. I look up at him, widening my eyes.

  “First off, I don’t want to think about how many bitches have complained to you about their weight. Secondly, I know for a fact I couldn’t fit past my calves into my jeans from twelve years ago. So, yeah, I have to watch my weight. Aside from all of that, I like to be healthy, or healthy-ish.”

  “You think I’m only talking about bitches I fuck? Babe, been around Old Ladies and heard them complain, heard them talk about working out and diets and all kinds of shit. Put that shit about me being with whores out of your mind, because I’m not gonna shove that shit in your face. I’m an asshole, but even I’m not that big of an asshole. You looked fuckin’ great back then, Clee, and that’s because you looked like an eighteen-year-old girl. I was into eighteen-year-old girls when I was twenty. But would make me a perv if I was into eighteen-year-old girls now that I’m thirty-two. I like tits, ass, thighs, hips, and long red hair. Lucky for me, you got it all, and all of it I fuckin’ like.”

  With my fork suspended in the air, I stare at him, slack jawed. I stare at him while my brain processes everything he’s just said to me.

  The only thing I can think about is how he likes everything I’ve got; and while I should be focusing on other pieces of that speech, the self-conscious girl inside of me is beaming and excited.

  Lucky for me, you got it all, and all of it I fuckin’ like.

  “Paxton,” I whisper.

  “Not fuckin’ with you, sweetheart. Fucked up bad back then, and I’ll tell you about everything I’ve been through one day, and maybe you can find it in your heart to forgive me for bein’ so fuckin’ young and so fuckin’ dumb,” he mutters, his eyes looking straight into mine, never wavering.

  Maybe I only want to see the truth in them, but I see it, and I want to know what demons hide behind his gaze. They look like quite a burden. I wanted so badly to be his partner, to share in his burdens and his joys, but he shut me out and abandoned me before I even had the chance.

  “You swear you’ll tell me this time?” I ask, biting the corner of my lip.

  “Swear to fuck,” he murmurs.

  “I’m not making any promises on the future or anything, but I want to know.”

  “Fair enough,” he whispers with a nod before he cuts a piece of his chicken fried steak and eats it.

  I turn back to my food as well, but I’m only able to take a couple more bites, my appetite lost as I start remembering the past.

  “Clee,” Paxton calls. His voice takes me away from my thoughts, and I am forced to look up at him. “Think we can move on from the past, and when we do, swear to Christ, you’ll be happy with me.”

  “That’s a lot to promise a girl, Pax,” I murmur.

  “Not a kid anymore, babe. Ready to get this shit done and over with, and I’m ready to move the fuck on,” he announces.

  “What does moving on look like, then?” I ask, narrowing my eyes slightly, my breakfast now forgotten.

  “Looks like me and you—you on the back of my bike, bein’ my Old Lady and poppin’ out those coupla kids you always wanted,” he grunts.

  “You’re crazy,” I whisper.

  “Watch what you say. You ain’t seen my brand of crazy yet, Clee,” he rumbles.

  “Seriously, you’re fucking insane if you think that’s what’s going to happen between us. Aside from the fact that I only understand about three-quarters of what you just said, how do you know I still want kids? And who the hell says that I’m going to be anywhere near your motorcycle or okay with you being my children’s father?” I rant.

  “I’m your husband, so I’m pretty fuckin’ certain it’ll be my kids in your belly,” he barks, his voice rising in the diner.

  “We will never work, Paxton—not for a freaking minute. There’s too much hurt between us. I’m glad you like the way I look, but you don’t know me anymore, and I never knew you.”

  “The first time I went overseas, when I came back to you, I know I said some shit about my buddies’ girls leaving them, and they did; but that’s not what I was so fucked up about, Cleo. It was only a portion of my problem. I watched my best friend over there get blown to fuckin’ pieces, baby. Other guys died, too, but he was my best friend. We went through basic together, went through school together—we were brothers, babe, and he fucking blew up into a million pieces right in front of me. They sent him home in goddamn pieces, Cleo.”

  Tears stream down my face at his words, at the obvious pain he still feels just speaking about his friend. I imagine his nightmares are even more painful. I reach across the table and place my hands over his wrist giving him a squeeze.

  “You could have told me all of that back then. I was prepared for it, Pax. I’d taken classes and gone to meetings on how to help you acclimate back to your life here at home,” I whisper.

  “Love that you were prepared, Cleo; love that you thought you were, at least. But, honest to fuck, sweetheart, you could not prepare yourself for the shit I was dealing with. Then I went back less than a year later and it happened all over again. I got out after eight years, halfway to retirement, and I’d been to that desert hell four times. I couldn’t do it again. I was lost—an alcoholic addicted to pain killers and sleeping pills. I wouldn’t have just hurt you, Cleo. I would have destroyed you.”

  “I would have stayed right by your side, and you don’t know that because you wouldn’t let me try to be there for you,” I whisper as more tears fill my vision.

  “Trust me. Fuckin’ hell, baby, trust me when I tell you that me leaving was the best thing for you back in the day,” he announces as he stands up.

  I watch as he throws some money on the table and then holds out his palm for me. I slip mine inside as we walk out of the little diner and toward his vehicle. It’s like a pickup, as in it has a bed, but it’s low, like a car, and it’s old, seventies old.

  It seems like he’s fixed it up, because it isn’t falling apart and the paint is dark blue and shiny new, nothing like my oxidized maroon car.

  “What kind of car is this?” I ask, turning around to face him. I watch as his face softens and he smiles down at me.

  “It’s a nineteen-seventy-three Ford Ranchero,” he murmurs.

  “It’s like a truck, but it’s not,” I point out. His smile widens.

  “Was my daddy’s. Found it in a
n old barn on some property he owned and left to me after he died,” he shrugs.

  I look at him, opening my mouth to say something, but he’s right there in front of me. His hands cup my cheeks as he lowers his head, and his lips brush mine, quieting me as his tongue fills my mouth.

  I accept his kiss, my body warming and going hot as he continues to devour my mouth. I slide my hands around his sides, beneath his vest, and fist the fabric of his t-shirt at his lower back.

  We move, he walks forward, forcing me to back up until my ass hits the door to his car. He presses his hips against my belly, his length pressing into me.

  My entire body shivers, and I know he’s felt it when he groans into my mouth. Then he slowly pulls away from me so that we can breathe, and his forehead rests against my own, his nose touching mine and his breath fanning my face.

  “This is who we are, sweetheart. End of the day, this is what’s important,” he mutters.

  “What? Because we enjoy kissing each other?” I ask breathily.

  “No, baby. I could kiss a million women, could even like it a fuck’ve a lot, but not one of them would feel the way it does when I kiss those pretty lips of yours.”

  “I want to know you, Paxton. I want to know about your childhood, your past, and the last eleven years. I want it all from you,” I admit, giving myself whiplash.

  I want him and to know about him, but it feels like it’s all going just as fast as it did when I was eighteen. That scares the shit out of me at the same time.

  He releases me and takes a step back, his eyes focused on mine. He doesn’t, or can’t, hide the pain that slices through his features before he arranges himself so that it’s hidden again.

  “You’re the only one that does know me, Clee. You’ll learn more as time goes, but what you know is more than anybody else in my life,” he says.

  “If you really want there to be an us, I have to be able to trust you, Paxton. In order to trust you, I need you to be open and honest with me. I’m not the starry-eyed girl I was, willing to jump into anything head first. I have to know that I won’t be abandoned again,” I whisper, my eyes connecting with his.