Only the people who loved me called me Lace.
“Yes, the biker and as for his age…,” I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, let’s just say I skipped passed the two decades a guy feels he needs to be an adolescent. Blackie’s a man, not a boy trying to become one.” I smiled sweetly.
Brandon’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.
Exhibit A.
Poor bastard didn’t even know when he was being schooled.
He had about another decade of the stupidity left.
“Thanks for the offer. I’m sure you’ll find another date,” I added, turning around and leaving the dumb-fucked boy in the grass.
I made my way to the parking lot, found my mom’s car and was about to climb into the car when I spotted the Harley parked two rows over. My eyes moved from the chrome to the man straddling it, taking in the unmistakable reaper sewn into the back of his leather vest. I slammed the door to my car and stalked across the two rows, watching the prospect turn around and meet my gaze.
I had seen him a few times when Blackie was still in the hospital and my father was keeping a watchful eye out, making sure Blackie was protected. I didn’t remember his name though, causing me to glance at the patch that declared his road name.
Mack.
Where the fuck was Blackie?
I lifted my eyes to his and crossed my arms under my breasts as I studied him.
“Who sent you?” I asked, hanging on to whatever strength I could muster up before I had no choice but to surrender.
He remained perfectly still and silent.
“Was it my father? Was it Blackie? Where are they?” I demanded.
Nothing.
I uncrossed my arms and shoved my palms against his chest.
“Answer me goddamn it! Are they okay?” I screeched, holding back the emotion threatening to surface.
“They’re fine,” he finally said.
I should’ve felt some sense of relief but I didn’t. All I felt was another crack shatter my heart.
“But that’s all you’ll tell me isn’t it?” I dropped my hands from his chest and stared into his crystal blue eyes that were blank.
I took a retreating step, glanced at his bike before diverting my eyes back to his.
“Better straddle that bike we’re going for a ride Mack,” I sneered, turning on my heel as I power walked back to my car.
My hand trembled as I opened the door and quickly slid inside the car. I gripped the steering wheel as the hot tears fell from my eyes.
Told you he didn’t really want you.
Told you it would all end.
Told you he’d chew you up and spit you out.
But you didn’t listen.
Now you’ll suffer the truth.
I dropped my head against the steering wheel and wondered if I could shake the crazy. I pushed back, started the car and forced myself to concentrate and block out the doubt that threatened to ruin me.
Blackie had told me himself that the club was in a bad place, danger lurked around every corner and we needed to keep things quiet between us until it was all straightened out.
He said that.
I didn’t imagine it.
If there was a threat he would be the one protecting me. He wouldn’t send some prospect to guard me for a multitude of reasons but mainly because no one watched out for me like Blackie did.
Because no one cared for me like he did.
He told me he couldn’t give me up.
It wasn’t a lie.
Every moment we spent together was not something I conjured up in my head. Those moments were pure, and they were beautiful.
They were real.
Every kiss.
Every unspoken I love you.
Every time he held me in his arms and squeezed me to make sure I was real.
I didn’t imagine any of that.
And I sure as hell didn’t imagine the way he smiled.
I couldn’t have.
I didn’t imagine the rhythm of his heartbeat that played for me when I laid my head against his chest or the way he looked at me like I was his savior.
Like I was an angel.
You’re no angel.
Maybe not.
But for a moment in time I was his angel.
I don’t know what made me think back to that first night, but I remembered pulling up to the clubhouse and seeing Blackie’s bike knowing with every ounce of life in me he’d make it okay.
He’d take away my pain.
I chose to think my maker was granting me a gift by allowing me to recall the memory. I held onto it and I chased that memory all the way back to the clubhouse, hoping for a repeat.
It could happen.
Tell me it could.
Please?
I pulled into the compound, didn’t even bother parking the car and pulled it right in front of the Dog Pound. I climbed out of the car, slammed the door and spotted Riggs sitting on top of a picnic table in front of the clubhouse. He lifted his head and my eyes zeroed in on the bottle he was holding onto for dear life. His eye was swollen and a fresh bruise grazed his cheek.
“I should tell you not to go in there,” he mumbled.
“Are you okay?” I questioned, taking a step closer to him as he doubled over in pain clutching his ribs.
“Run,” he ground out.
I disregarded his injury and lifted my eyes to his.