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“Your name is Bodie?”
He nodded, confirming the worst thing that he could have admitted. A sin so deep I couldn’t hide the devastation that wreaked havoc in my brain.
Bodie Whitman. The man who stole my twin away. The biker Suraya fell in love with. The reason my sister was dead.
Chapter 7 – Bodie
Fuck! I had no clue what possessed me to kiss Sasha.
It was nothing more than a foolish impulse. A fuckin’ mistake.
When I entered my bedroom after church, I’d been hellbent on finding out everything I could from Sasha Pratt about Tricia, the Blacktop, the Scorpions, and the attack on the bar after I arrived. All of my good intentions flew out the goddamn door the moment I caught a whiff of her scent – the same shampoo that Suraya used, still stashed in my bathroom and the hint of cinnamon that lingered in the air.
Worse, all I saw was the woman I had loved and lost, her curvy, sexy body in the same black leggings and t-shirts my Suraya loved to wear. The need to run my hands over every square inch of her skin had dominated my brain along with a visceral and intense desire that mingled with forgotten lust. My brain didn’t see Sasha. All I knew was my own reaction. My cock had hardened to near steel and pressed against my jeans, pulsing with the need to be released. I had to taste this woman, had to hold her in my arms, needed to feel her warm body and soft curves as the memories overrode any ability to stop or second guess my impulsiveness.
That kiss . . .
I wasn’t a roses and sunshine kind of guy. You couldn’t pin me down as a romantic. Shit, I fucked hard and I came when I wanted, and I didn’t give a shit about which hole I was fucking in a woman until I met Suraya Pratt. Stunned by her beauty and quick wit, I lost my heart to that sexy goddess so fast it nearly gave me whiplash. Her death rocked my fuckin’ world. I hadn’t been the same since and now I was confronted with an identical twin sister – one that I never knew about – who was tearing me apart just by being alive and breathing.
I couldn’t do this. It was a goddamn mistake to bring Sasha to the Crossroads. My entire body was tense as I fought the urge to pull her close again.
“You’re Bodie Whitman?”
Jaw locking in resignation, I met her accusing glare, knowing I hadn’t revealed who I was yet on purpose. A part of me wanted to avoid the devastation that was so apparent on her face as we faced one another, and I knew was inevitable. “Yeah.”
“You dated my sister,” she whispered. “You were her boyfriend. She told me your name.”
Well, at least one of us knew about the other. “Right.”
A brief flash of anger and loathing crossed her beautiful face. “You’re the reason she’s dead.” The words were whispered with such a menacing calm that it took me a few seconds to catch her meaning.
“What the fuck? I didn’t kill Suraya.”
“No, but you might as well have put the bullet in her yourself. It was her association with the Royal Bastards that ended her life.”
Immediately pissed, I shoved away from Sasha before I did something stupid as another knock pounded my door. “What is it?” I snarled, opening it a few inches. I stared down one of the prospects. The kid was tall and lanky with a mop of brown hair on his head and a slight limp in his right leg. He usually kept to himself unless we gave him an order which earned him the nickname Shadow.
The prospect jumped slightly and swallowed hard. “Mr. Lanford said I should tell you he’s waiting in the chapel and he’s growin’ impatient.”
Snorting, I resisted the urge to crack a smile. Mr. Lanford. Grim would have Shadow’s ass if he heard him say that out loud. Our prez didn’t like to be addressed by his last name. Neither did I. “Tell Grim I’ll be there in five minutes.” Not sticking around for a reply, I shut the door and spun around, immediately reminded of my current predicament.
“Take me with you.”
Lifting a brow, I nearly laughed. Bring her inside the chapel? No fuckin’ way. “That’s not gonna happen, sweetheart.”
“I want to talk to Grim.”
Lip curling up in a snarl, I couldn’t stop my reaction. “That’s not how it works. You’re not leaving this room until I talk to my prez. Get used to the idea because I’m dead fuckin’ serious.”
“You’re an asshole, Bodie Whitman.”
Hell, I had been called a lot worse. “That the best you can do, darlin’?”
“And a murderer.”
“Watch your accusations,” I rumbled as I resisted the impulse to wrap my hand around her long hair and pull tight, right before I shoved her to her knees. She’d be a lot less mouthy if my cock was shoved down her pretty, delicate throat.
“I call it like I see it,” she replied smugly.
