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Kate
ONE WEEK LATER
“Why don’tyou have your own place?” I blurted.
I’d just got back from work at the coffee shop. Swiss had picked me up as he always did. We were lying on top of his bed, both drinking a beer. It was unusual for us to be sitting fully clothed on top of the bed after not seeing each other for a few hours.
Most of the time, we could barely get the door closed before we started tearing at each other’s clothes. My appetite for him had not been sated. Not in the least. If anything, it had become more ravenous. And Swiss hadn’t seemed to tire of me either. He was more needful, urgent, intense, violent and tender all at the same time.
But today we both seemed content enjoying each other’s company, the warm breeze blowing in from the open window, music playing from the common room where everyone was gearing up for the weekly party.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized, embarrassed. “That’s totally rude and intrusive of me to ask.”
“Countess, you can ask me whatever the fuck you want,” he told me. “Quite happy for you to intrude into every corner of my life,” he added with a grin. After he took a long pull of his beer, he looked more serious.
“Came to the club a long time ago when I was very fucked-up,” he told me. “A story for another day.”
The way his eyes went faraway, shrouded with a pain I hadn’t seen in him, told me that story would shatter my heart. I ached to scoop him into my arms. To protect him somehow.
But you couldn’t protect someone from the past.
“Once I got my patch, I jumped around different clubs… was a nomad.”
I frowned at this and Swiss caught my confusion.
“Patched members usually have a home club,” he explained. “Either in their hometown or a place they adopted as theirs. I didn’t have a home club. Liked being able to move on. To not put down roots. The patch, that was my only home.”
My eyes flickered to the leather he was always wearing. Every day, I learned how important, how integral it was to his identity.
“Came here to help rebuild the club after it was almost wiped out on Christmas, few years ago.”
I stared at him. “Wiped out?”
“A massacre,” he nodded, his face grim. “Almost every patched member. Every club girl. Everyone except for Macy, Hansen, Jagger and Scarlett.”
The words sunk in. Scarlett I’d heard about in passing. She lived in California with her husband who was patched into the club there. But Macy, Hansen and Jagger I’d come to know very well. They were good people. The absolute best. And I’d seen what they thought of the club, how they considered it their family.
Swiss wiped a tear that had escaped from my eye. “Still bleeds, that wound,” he shook his head. “Some cuts sink so deep they never even scab over.”
My mind went to the past, all the way back to my childhood. To my own seeping, oozing wound. The one I ignored.
“I had intended to stay for as long as they needed me,” Swiss continued. “But I found I liked it here. Liked my brothers.” He took another long pull. “Lost another one, Claw, a while ago. Almost made me leave again.” His eyes seared into mine. “But that would’ve been doing what I’d done my whole life… runnin’. Runnin’ the second a place started to feel like home. So I stayed.” He brushed my jaw. “Glad I did, ’cause I was here when you walked into the club.”
My heart skipped.
“As you pointed out in my bathroom, I’m a low maintenance man. A bed. A bathroom. Place to put my shit. Screws in the walls.” He shrugged. “It’s all a man like me needs.” He cupped my chin. “Until recently.”
My entire body quivered. “Know that you’re happy here, with me… for the time being. But I also know that you deserve a home. A place with a kick-ass kitchen. Where you can make it yours. Don’t think I don’t know that. Don’t think I’m not making plans for that.”
Panic spread across my skin at his words.
Plans. He was making plans.
For a home.
For us.
That thing I’d been dreaming about while I was making coffee. He was actually taking steps to make it a reality. Because, as far as he knew, I was starting fresh. As far as he knew, I could put down roots here with him.
