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EIRIK 11
She is the most argumentative woman I have ever met. She knows just how to ignite my anger. Walking outside, I lift my helmet from the handlebars of my Harley and slide it on. I need to get out of here and get some space from Siena even if it’s just for half an hour, because if not, I will explode.
Not being able to make her completely mine is driving me crazy. Every waking minute I’m tortured with images of what I want to do to her. Every night is pure torture lying next to her and not being able to show her how much I want her.
I never thought I could want someone as much as I want Siena, that I would care about someone as much as I care about her. Seeing what they did to her back is like a wrenching wound inside of me. I hate the fact that she’s in pain and that I can’t do anything to help her.
My bike roars to life, the sound vibrating through my body like the beat of my heart. Tor is going to be livid that I left alone, but I couldn’t give a fuck. I need this before I have to touch Siena again, before she needs to go through another ordeal, all because she’s different.
As I approach, the prospect opens the gate and I am flying out and down the road like a bat out of hell. The light drizzle is a balm to my overheated emotions—to my rebellious mind. I have made peace with the fact that I found my mate after thinking for centuries that fate had made a mistake by not making Isabela my mate.
I realize now the difference between a true bond and what I had with Isabela. The feelings I hold for Siena are a hundred-fold more intense than anything I ever felt for Isabela. I never thought this would be possible, that feelings like this were true, but she is like a fever in my blood.
I know that this must all be confusing for her, knowing that I had a wife when she has been told that we are mates won’t make sense to her. Now that I have met Siena, I know my mistake, and even though I don’t regret knowing Isabela, I regret that I hurt Siena because of it. I hope that one day she will understand.
She is excited about the fact that Bion is going to fix her back, but all I can think about is that he is going to cut into her again. What if it isn’t the same as the other women’s? What if there are complications? My heart is racing at the thought. I will lose my shit if anything happens to her.
I might only have known Siena for a couple of days, but I’ve been keeping an eye on her, and to see how she smiles at the women makes me want to be the one she smiles at. Her happy disposition, even though she’s in pain, has made the others laugh.
The other women have been great, helping her in whatever is needed—being her real friends. I told Anastasia that if Siena wanted to call her parents, she should let her use her phone until I got Siena one, but Anastasia revealed that Siena only wanted to phone her parents once she knew what was happening with her back.
I open my throttle, letting the speed drive away my thoughts, and the wind and rain wash away my frustration. I need to show my woman that I want her, that I want only her, but how the fuck am I going to do that?
I’m not a soft man. I’m not a man that is known for my happy disposition. Instead, I am known for the anger that drives me, for my quick actions in a difficult situation. I am not known for my romantic poetry or glib tongue.
Racing around a bend, I suddenly come face to face with a truck across the road that has skidded and came to a holt. I brake, feeling my back tire start to skid but I hold it firm. The wet ground isn’t helping the situation, and then a puddle on a slight dip is the tipping factor, bringing my bike down with a hard thwack.
The air is knocked out of me as I slide on the tarmac, stopping a foot away from the side of the overturned truck. I lay here for a few minutes, regaining my breath before I turn and slowly stand. “Shit,” I mutter as I look down at my kutte, that is now scuffed from sliding on the tarmac.
My side is aching like a motherfucker, but I make my way towards my bike. Grabbing the handlebars and the back of my seat, I righten the bike placing it on its side stand. The tank’s not looking too bad, just minor scratches, but the handlebars, footrests and exhaust took the brunt of it and will definitely need replacing. “It’s not too bad, girl,” I whisper. At least it will get me back home.
Turning, I head towards the truck, hearing voices on the other side. Coming around the back, I see that a car has pulled up, and what looks like the driver bent at the waist as he takes in deep breaths. Looks like everything is under control here. Time to get my ass back to the club and Siena, as it is time to get her fixed.
Fuck, my side is aching where I hit the ground. My jeans are torn down my leg, but luckily all the scratches will be better by tomorrow. The ride back to the club is slower than the one out, but when I finally park, I breathe out in relief. The Harley is sounding rough. Something got messed up in the fall.
“What the hell happened to you?” Dane asks, looking as if he was on his way out somewhere.
“There’s a truck overturned at the junction near the exit to the highway, saw it too late to brake.” He looks behind me and then down at my bike.
“Were you by yourself?”
“Yeah.”
He shakes his head as he makes his way towards his bike just as Ulrich walks towards us from the workshop.
“Oh man, what did you do to your bike?” he asks, coming to squat down next to the bike to see its damage.
“Thanks, I’m fine,” I say sarcastically.
“I can see that,” he replies, which has me shaking my head as I make my way inside, leaving him to check out the bike.
“Well, looks like you saw your ass,” Einar states, as I walk past him to my room.
“Yeah, and it wasn’t pretty,” I mutter as I open the door and enter.
“Is he re…” Siena starts to ask, only to stop when she sees the state I’m in. “Oh, what happened? Are you hurt?” she starts to make her way towards me. I see the wince on her face as she takes a step which has me walk up to her.
“I’m fine, just wanted to see how hard the tar actually is,” I quip, trying to make light of the situation, tensing when she places her hand on my chest. Luckily my kutte was zipped up, and I didn’t rip my T-shirt because if it was unzipped, I might have had more than just a few scratches.
