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She’d made it through killing a guy—not to mention losing her parents—yet her eyes were full of light and happiness. She had a family, a life. No mental breakdowns on record. There was hope for me yet.
“I can’t believe I’m in a world where death and violence and breaking the law is a way of life,” I mused over my second coffee.
She patted my hand. “You feeling like running yet?” The question was serious, and there was not an ounce of judgement there.
I considered the question. Running had always been my default. Escape was easy and something I was familiar with. I could’ve run. I could’ve left this place behind to find a small, quiet town—one without a resident motorcycle club—and build a quiet life. I could’ve found a job that did not require me to take my clothes off, which would in turn help me attract a man who was not going to break the law or murder people on a regular basis.
If I’d wanted to give up Hades and the fabulous women like Macy who came with him.
“No,” I proclaimed adamantly. “No. I’m not thinking about running.”
The mere prospect of existing in a place where Hades wasn’t seemed impossible. Just thinking about it made my heart beat faster and made my skin feel tight and uncomfortable.
“I love him,” I whispered to my muffin.
“Well, duh,” Macy muttered when she’d finished chewing her croissant.
“I have no idea how this happened,” I looked at the ceiling, as if I’d find the answer there. “He’s not who I’m supposed to fall in love with.”
“Yeah, right,” Macy snorted. “Women never fall for the evil, dark-haired, psychotic man. There’s nothing attractive about that.”
I grinned. My body grinned. Bloomed. That’s what it had felt like, these past months with him. That I had emerged from the winter of my life. That first night, the one where he was bleeding on the parking lot, was the first chilly morning of spring. There hadn’t been any visible new life, no beauty, the skeletons of before still stood stark and overwhelming. But somehow, while I wasn’t looking, new life began to grow.
I began to grow. To flower.
With a man who never in a million years would look like he could foster or nurture new life. But he had.
“There’s something about the villain,” Macy continued. “When the antihero, the scoundrel, is ruthless and deadly to everyone but you.” She noticeably shivered, her cheeks flushing. This woman with years of marriage under her belt, with children, blushed talking about her husband, her villain. “There’s something about that. And it takes a certain kind of woman to tame a villain. To love a scoundrel. They don’t live their lives like other men. Certainly not like any kind of hero or prince. But they love you that much deeper, fuck you so much better and make your life that much more amazing.”
I blinked it at her. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
She smiled. “When you’re in the thick of it, you barely know which way is up, and the only thing you do know is that you need him. And he needs you, Freya. I cannot pretend I understand Hades because I don’t. He’s the darkest horse in our fucked up little stable. His heart may be black, but it’s there. It’s big. And it’s yours. When a man in a Sons of Templar cut loves you, really loves you, it’s for life.” She tilted her. “And he loves you. In his own way. He’s going to battle with what happened last night. With the guilt, blaming himself. He may be different than my Old Man in every other way, but in that regard, they’re the same. You’re going to be okay, though.”
I smiled weakly. “How do you know that?”
“Because, bitch, you’ve got me. And Caroline. And Scarlett. And the whole fucking club. You’re not alone.”
Her words echoed through my head, rebounding through my body and settling in my stomach, flourishing. They kept me warm.
I was not alone. I had Macy across from me. Hades at home. Marilyn. My Aunt V phone call away. Des. Kallum.
I was not alone.
Chapter Sixteen
ONE MONTH LATER
HADES
“Baby, me and Macy are going to my place,” Freya informed me, clutching the sides of my cut.
She was not afraid to touch me in public. Actually, whenever she was talking to me, she had her hands on me. Not because she was a possessive bitch or because she was thinking ugly thoughts about the club girls that had come before her. No. She was friendly to the club girls. Every single one of ’em. In a genuine way. A warm way. Freya’s way.
It was the same thing in the way she touched me. Freya’s way. The way that made my cock turn to stone the second she laid her hands on me. Fuck, the second I laid eyes on her.
