I flush, my cheeks suddenly so hot, I feel like I’ve got a fever. The presidents of motorcycle clubs don’t get random pictures inked on their backs. When you’ve fought your way to the top of the alpha pile, you get skulls and dragons, snakes and demons. But the look in his eyes is telling me everything I need to know. I shake my head, dropping my gaze to his lips. They’re still smiling, which is a headfuck all on their own. “You couldn’t think of anything more badass?” I ask weakly.
Instead of taking offence, he laughs. It’s the kind of chuckle I feel in my knees - and other parts of my body that are already dripping on his rug. “Booker never understood why I chose it, either. He’d sneer at it, tell anyone who’d listen that his son couldn’t tell the difference between bikers and butterflies. But he didn’t realize that it was pure motivation. I putyouon my skin, so that even when he fucked with me, I knew it would be worth it in the end. And when he took his last rotten breath, I like to tell myself that it was the final image he took with him to hell. Me walking away with you on my back.”
Chapter Fourteen: ABBIE
I don’t know if Ark’s words are meant to feel like a gift or a burden, but I carry them with me through the next couple of days, turning them over and over in my head. I’m honest enough to admit that Ark was my first alpha crush, and that somewhere in my teenage dreams, I thought we might have a future together. But that dream didn’t survive the ashes of the boardinghouse, and once I was free, I buried all thoughts of alphas and bonds down deep. Until Wings turned up with Pitt’s calming bite on his throat, I assumed it would always be just the two of us. That somehow, we’d make a life for ourselves, and the Iron Flyers – and Arkin Wallace - would only exist as a faded memory in my past.
But now they’re very much in my present, and I can’t ignore Ark’s words, even if I wanted to:It’s always been about you, Abbie.
Just before noon, my head is throbbing, so I retreat to the greenhouse. As I push the door open, I’m greeted by a mist of cooling water, and I tip my head back to catch the moisture on my hot cheeks. All the green things smell so much more potentin here, and as I move slowly between the rows, I inhale the scent of wet earth and citrus blossoms. Lyla showed me how to gently shake the tomato and pepper plants to release more pollen, how to water right at the roots of the salad plants, and how to check the strawberries in their garden boxes, so they don’t get parched or waterlogged. I putter around for a while, peeking under leaves at the glistening fruit and counting the beans and snap peas on their trellises, when I see a shadow move against the wall. The greenhouse is made of tempered glass, and with all the moisture on the panes, I shouldn’t be able to recognize the figure on the other side. It could be Lewis or Benz, Lyla’s regular helpers, but I know it’s not them, even before I catch the outline of broad shoulders and long dark hair.
“Bluff.” He’s not trying to hide, but he’s not coming closer, either. Just standing on the other side of the greenhouse and staring back at me, as if I’m exactly where he expected me to be. “Wait there. I’m coming out.”
“No.” His voice is muted through the glass, but it still stops me in my tracks. “Stay there. I just… I wanted to see you.”
Anger sizzles over my skin, along with the familiar sting of rejection. “And if I want more? Are you going to command me to stay away again?”
“That was shitty.” He lifts a hand, pressing it to the glass. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Okay, but how about you come say it to my face?”
“I can’t. Because what I did was fucked up, but for the right reasons.”
Frustration leaks through the air, or maybe it’s just my own emotions, projecting. “Taking someone’s choices away is never okay.”
He pauses, his head dipping lower. I can sense he’s in pain, but it’s fuzzy, just like the image of him through the water-streaked glass. “It’s just better if we keep a wall between us.”
“Why?” He doesn’t answer, and I step closer, straining to make out his features. He looks pale, the scar on his cheek a raw, ragged line, although that could just be the distortion of the glass. It’s almost worse than not seeing him at all, and I can feel panic starting to swirl in my hindbrain.He’s going to run again.“We’re scent matches. At least admit that much.”
He rests his head against his raised arm, but there’s no mistaking the way his shoulders slump. “My scent receptors are fucked up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I smell things that aren’t there. Blood and smoke, mostly, but sometimes things as simple as coffee or bacon. Other times, I can be standing at the counter in a diner, and I can’t smell anything at all.”
The loss that spears through me is so visceral, I gasp. “Are you saying…?”
“Can't smell that manure pile over there, but I can smellyou,even through this glass.” He pauses, his head tilting, and I’m certain his dark eyes are boring into mine. “Peaches and cloves, right?”
I nod, but my heart is still skipping over itself, and I have to steady myself against the rack of plants beside me. “Then what’s the problem?” Whatever he’s hiding, whatever demons he’s grappling with, I don’t care. I just want to spend time with him. Smell him up close and thread my fingers through his, so I can taste him on my skin. It’s a yearning so deep, I can feel it like a bruise deep in my chest. “Just go somewhere with me. Anywhere. Right now.”
He’s already shaking his head. “I can’t do that. Ark would never let us out the gate.”
I’m tempted to hammer my fist on the glass. “It’s not his call. And why would he want to stop us, anyway?”
Bluff snorts. “Have you seen his back? Your matching ink isn't a coincidence, butterfly.”
The nickname is soft on his tongue, and I want to close my eyes so it can soak into my skin. But I can’t shake the reality of our situation, either. Bluff is Ark’s friend. His brother-in-arms, and the man he wants to make VP. Do I really want to wedge myself between them? And would Bluff even let me, given he’ll only talk to me through a goddamn glass wall?
“So, what?” I almost spit the question, anger and hurt clear in my tone. “We just pretend like we never met? Go back to our lives, scent match be damned?” He goes still, his body suddenly as tense as a wire, and I step closer until my breath fogs on the glass. “And what happens when I go into heat, Bluff? You planning on climbing a drainpipe and watching me through the window?” His nostrils flare, and I smile, becausenowhe gets the picture. “You’ll smell me then, and nothing else will matter. You won’t be able to stop yourself from claiming me. So why fight it now?”
He drops his head back against his arm. “Because you deserve better.”
“Don’t I get to judge that?”
He makes a low, grinding sound in the back of his throat. An animal trapped, or a man frustrated that he can’t have what he wants? “You’re not seeing things clearly. You don’t know me at all.”
“Exactly!” I want to throw my hands up, but if this is a victory, it feels like it’s still slipping through my fingers. “We haven’t had a chance to get to know each other yet. But give it time, and you’ll see that I have a few flaws of my own.” His lips tilt up a fraction, and I press my own hand to the glass, fitting my fingers against his. “Just give this a chance.”
