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Wolf pulls the girl in closer, kissing her forehead gently and he leans down to whisper something in her ear. His movements show he values her, which is bad news for me, but proves the bastard knows what he’s got. Long brown hair tumbles down the girls back once she’s free of the helmet. It’s beautiful. There’s hints of dark blond and even copper shining through as the sun reflects on it. I’ve only see hair that beautiful one other time…
Torrent.
Fuck, now I am dreaming. That’s just proof I need to get laid. I thought I was getting better about leaving Torrent in my past. The very last place I’d ever see Torrent again is on the back of some man’s bike, encased in leather and attending a wake for a fallen member. I don’t know what it is about that girl that got her hooks into me so deeply—but it’s clear she still has a hold on me.
“Diesel. Good to see you here. I appreciate you coming out, man,” Wolf says clasping Diesel’s hand in welcome.
“We wanted to pay our respects. This is my Sergeant of Arms, Devil.”
“Devil, good of you to come,” Wolf says. I shake his hand, but my eyes go to the woman. Her back is still to me, but I heard a gasp when my name was mentioned. I’m even more fucked up than I thought, or…
“Do I know you?” I ask the woman’s back, ignoring Wolf, which is probably not the wisest move on my part. I can feel his tension as if it was a physical force.
“Devil,” Diesel says, and I know he’s warning me. Shit. I shouldn’t have addressed the woman—I know that—I just can’t help myself.
“Come here, baby,” Wolf says, taking the girl in his arms again and turning her around to face us. The placement of his arm and the look on his face give a signal of ownership. They’re meant to warn me away. But I don’t pay attention to that. Fuck, I barely glance at him. I’m too busy locking eyes with the woman who has haunted me. The woman with beautiful brown hair whose highlights sparkle in the sun. The woman whose whiskey eyes have haunted my dreams.
“Torrent,” I manage to say, confusion laced in every syllable of the word.
“Torrent?” Diesel repeats. “Your Torrent?”
Wolf’s growl is quiet, but definitely heard. He doesn’t like Diesel’s reference. I don’t bother saying anything. I couldn’t if I tried. I’m too busy trying to recover.
“Hi, Logan,” Torrent says and until I hear her sweet voice saying my name I honestly thought I was suffering some kind of psychotic break where my mind made all this shit up.
But I’m not.
This is her.
This is Torrent.
My Torrent.
And she’s wearing another man’s colors and another man’s cut.
“Ain’t this a kick in the balls,” I mutter, stepping back and feeling like I can’t catch my breath.
Fuck.TorrentLord? Don’t you think I’ve received enough sucker punches?
I mutter that prayer in my head. I suppose instead of a prayer it’s more of a what-the-fuck moment. There’s a part of me that wonders if there is a God above, if he’s punishing me for pretending to be a nun. Or maybe he hates me in general—that’s completely possible.
As if today wasn’t going to be hard enough, I had to run into the one man I’ve wanted to see for way too long and the one man that I never want to see again.
“Hi, Logan,” I respond, wishing I could disappear. His blue eyes—the same ones that I used to dream about—feel like they are boring into me. Most of the bruises from my injuries have faded in the three weeks since my father’s death. What you can still see I’ve managed to cover with makeup. The worst of the bruises are under my nose and the side of my mouth. There was a cut that got infected and even now it’s still a bit puffy. It’s hardly noticeable, but because I know it’s there I act like I’m scratching the side of my nose and then turn a little to the side so Devil doesn’t get a direct view. Wolf thinks I’m turning into him for comfort and as horrible as it is to let him continue to think it—I do. It works to my advantage right now.
“You know these men, Tor?”
“I met Devil during my time in… hiding at the convent,” I answer Wolf, but I look at Devil from under my lashes. I see exactly when he understands, because his body visibly jerks.
“Convent? Is this the nun, man?” the man with Devil asks. I look at his cut and read his name. Diesel. I remember Devil talking about him during our lunches. My heart quickens at the thought he might have mentioned me to his president.
Devil looks at me. His blue eyes bore into me and I feel them as if they were a literal touch.
