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“LightsGoOut”—Fozzy
One year later….
It was my patch party, and the liquor had been flowing since they poured a bottle of Crown over my head to christen my shiny new patch. It was tradition in this chapter of the Royal Bastards. I mean… crown… royalty… Royal Bastards.
The Royal Bastards had become my family much earlier than my patch party. That had happened the night they rescued a terrified boy from an alleyway and prevented him from going to prison for murder—manslaughter at the least. Honestly, though? They were more than family. They were home, and I wouldn’t do a fucking thing to jeopardize that.
I was halfway to shitfaced when she walked in.
Fuck. My. Life.
Legs for miles, and amber eyes haloed in chocolate that I wanted to melt into.
Jasmine.
The woman who’d happily handed her virginity to me on a silver freaking platter—little sister to one of my club brothers.
For the past year, I’d become fairly adept at staying away from her. For so many reasons, I knew it was a necessity. Thankfully, she didn’t come by the clubhouse much. If she had, I couldn’t say I’d have made it through the year without getting my ass kicked.
A year later, and I still wanted her, but I wasn’t stupid. If I needed a release, I had my hand, or Cookie obliged me with a blowjob. I never fucked Cookie. I couldn’t. Hell, I hadn’t stuck my dick in a pussy since Jasmine.
Angel and I had become pretty close over the past year. He’d ended up being assigned as my sponsor in the club, and I couldn’t have asked for a better one. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin that friendship by admitting I’d slept with his sister. Hell, I’d volunteered for as many runs as I could to keep me away from temptation. Not that I was nearly good enough for her, but it didn’t stop me from craving her.
“Chains,” she purred, and my back straightened as I steeled myself against her lure. The road name I’d been given only hours earlier seemed strange on her lips. Especially when I knew what she sounded like screaming my real one.
“Jasmine,” I replied as I drank from the glass of Crown.
The party was in full swing, but everything faded away as I absorbed the changes in her. Gone was the young innocence of the night we met, and in its place was a woman confident in her skin. A heavy feeling hit my stomach when I wondered how many other men had touched what should’ve been mine.
“Congratulations,” she murmured as her eyes trailed over my new cut.
“Thanks,” I said trying my damnedest not to reach for her and brand her with my kiss.
“You never said anything to him,” she said, and neither of us needed her to specify who she was talking about. Uncertainty broke through for a moment in the way she tugged her lower lip with her teeth. My eyes automatically found Angel, who was laughing with Voodoo and Phoenix across the common area. It was enough to remind me of why I couldn’t toss her back on the pool table, flip up her skirt, and fuck the shit out of her.
Fucking hell.
“I said I wouldn’t,” I muttered, then became incredibly interested in my drink. Except the rich honey-color of the whiskey was the same damn color as her eyes.Oh my God.
My hand palmed my face before I scrubbed it up, then down. When I was done, I stepped back, hoping to get out of range of her subtle perfume. No way could I look in her eyes.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, needing to get away from her. Grappling for sanity, I turned and walked down the hall to my room. The glass hit my dresser with a clunk, and I went in the bathroom to take a piss. As I washed my hands, I stared at myself in the mirror.
The past year had been busy with prospecting, but I’d found time between runs to apprentice as a tattoo artist. Recently, I’d gotten a job at the club’s tattoo shop, and I’d added a shit-ton of ink to myself over the past year. It was ironic that a man who was unable to touch people for fear of knowing way too much about them was a tattoo artist. Thing was, I excelled at it, and I had to wear gloves when I did my job, so it worked. I loved what I did.
With a sigh, I pulled on the thin leather gloves I was rarely without, flipped off the light, and left the bathroom. I stopped short when I saw her leaning against my closed door.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked warily. Fuck, she looked good. Deep red, off-the-shoulder sweater, loose black skirt that was too goddamn short, matching red Chucks, and a gold chain belt that rested over her hips. That dark hair rippled over her shoulders, making my fingers curl, and I wanted to fist it something fierce.
“Do I need to spell it out?” she asked bravely, but the nervous way she nibbled on her lower lip again gave away her uncertainty. It was her tell, whether she realized it or not.
“Jazzy, I can’t.” I gave up pretense and dropped my head in defeat. I fell against the wall for support.
“Why not? Can’t you leave those gloves on? I overheard Angel talking to Hawk, and they said something about as long as you don’t actually touch me with your hands?” The tiny bit of hope in her tone before she wet her lips was weakening my resolve.
“You know it’s more than that. Your brother,” I started.
“He doesn’t need to know everything I do,” she said in exasperation as she took a step closer.
