Page 19 of The Biker’s Guilty Pleasur

“So, what did you want to be?” She guessed things like firefighter, police officer, mechanic.

“Safe.”

She felt tears prick her eyes. It’s the way he said it, she felt it all the way down to her marrow. “What do you mean, Reaper? You can tell me. A little boy without a single dream?”

“I gave up on dreams a long time ago. After spending my childhood watching my mom get the shit beat out of her, nothing else really mattered.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s the past.”

“Is that why you volunteer?”

“I don’t know. When I see a woman being abused, it all comes back, you know? I have to step in, have to make a difference if I can. Back then, I wasn’t strong enough to protect us. Now I am.”

She’d judged him. Like everyone else. Guilt filled her. She wanted to touch him, to make him feel better, heard.

And without realizing it, she did. Grace cupped his cheek, then trailed her fingers along his jawline.

He put his hand over hers before she could pull away, holding her against his face. Then he turned his head slightly and kissed the inside of her palm.

“Why do you hate bikers?”

That was a loaded question. But how could she let him open up if she stayed closed and private?

“Long story.”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be,” he said.

She had to do this. “It started because of my sister. She was dating a biker. Now she’s dead.”

He narrowed his eyes a bit. “He killed her?”

Grace always told herself that bikers killed her sister. It gave her an outlet, someone else to blame. It felt good. The hate helped the grief. But it wasn’t entirely true. It was hard to give up the lie, the safety net.

“She was an addict,” she said.

He nodded, not in a judging way, but understanding.

“Belle started dating this biker because she could get drugs free or cheap. Her addiction got out of control. She wouldn’t listen to me or our parents. It tore our family apart long before she died. I believed in her right until the end, even when she stole from me and lied to my face. One day she was here, the next she’d overdosed.” Grace took a breath. “And you know what? She would have with or without him. He was actually heartbroken when she died. But my parents needed someone to blame, needed to make sense of such a tragedy. I should have know better, but it was so easy to go along with them, so easy to make my sister into a victim when she wasn’t.”

She started to cry now, and it wouldn’t stop. The grief came all at once, violent and unstoppable. Every sob seemed to pull another piece of her apart—the pain, the guilt, the grief, the loneliness. Grace had never said any of those words aloud, or even to herself in her head. Those words felt raw, real, and she was experiencing this in front of a near-stranger.

She rolled around, giving him her back so he wouldn’t see her losing herself so completely. But she felt his big body behind her, his warm arms wrapping around her. He hushed a soothing sound in her ear.

“There was nothing you could have done,” he said. “Nothing was your fault.”

And just like that, she calmed. Felt safe and heard. Before long, Grace fell asleep in Reaper’s arms.

****

Reaper had already showered and dressed and was sitting on the love seat when Grace finally woke up. She stepped out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes.

“You’re here,” she said. “I thought you were gone.”

“I told you I was staying.”

“About last night—”