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And then he walked out.
ELDEN
I had fucked-up.
Majorly.
I did not fuck-up. I had ironclad control over my life, over every single decision I made. I knew the consequences of losing that control. Could feel that cold in my every pore, the scent of metal and sweat. Never fucking again would I lose control. It was not just a promise I’d made myself but a vow necessary for my survival. I knew I’d die before I’d go back to that memory.
It wasn’t difficult. Not overly. Especially not when I found the Sons of Templar, found comfort in the structure, even though it looked like chaos from the outside. There was a hierarchy, certain rules—ones that looked nothing like the bullshit laws citizens followed—the main one being to never betray the club. I excelled at following the rules, at wearing the cut. And I’d almost, fucking almost, felt at home.
Until her.
The second she walked in, with her midnight hair, her flushed cheeks, her perfect fucking alabaster skin, the violet eyes that seemed to fucking glow. Something inside of me shifted. Something inside of me snapped. And I fucking hated it. Hated her. Hated myself. Refused to believe I could become obsessed with a woman—one who was barely a woman—the second I laid eyes on her.
I was a piece of shit, I knew that. She was still a fuckingteenager. One of my brothers was about to be her stepfather. She had gone through fucking hell. And there I was, thinking about what it would feel like to have her pussy clench around my dick.
I’d never been so disgusted with myself. Never battled for control so damn hard or failed so consummately. I was unable to stop watching her, to not be near her. My eyes focused on my brothers, the younger ones who hovered around her. I’d been preparing myself to rip their fuckin’ arms off if they laid a hand on her.
I wasn’t sleeping. Barely eating. I was going fucking insane.
And that’s what had me going onto that rooftop. Because I had no other choice. Because I would go crazy without breathing her in. Without touching her skin. Just once. Just fucking once.
Because I was a piece of shit who couldn’t make the decision a good man would make, and that would’ve been to leave town.
That was my plan, initially. Follow her up to the roof, give me something to take with me, go Nomad to try to escape her memory, find control in another club.
But then I saw her. The sadness etched into her beautiful face. She’d told me what she’d gone through. Then she’d asked me to fucking kiss her. And even after what she told me, I did it. Because I was selfish. And because I wanted to give her what she wanted. I wanted to give her the fucking world.
The second I tasted her lips, I knew I couldn’t leave. Knew I couldn’t have her either but knew that I wouldn’t be able to live if I didn’t know she was safe, protected. It was fucking insane, didn’t make any sense, but I wasn’t a slave to reason with her. Only instinct.
And the second she told me what that French fuck did, my fury burned bright, and I was thankful to have a goal. Something to focus on. Someone to hurt.
The distance from her didn’t clear my head, though. Didn’t give me even a tenuous grip on control. Not when the second I got back, she was in my room looking like something the Devil was sending me to ensure I’d be damned forever. Tight, little fucking yoga pants that showed all of her curves. A top that didn’t cover her fucking bellybutton… All I could think about was running my tongue over that skin.
I’d almost lost it right there and then. But I’d managed, somehow, to keep my shit locked down.
These past few weeks were hell, watching her. Seeing her at that fucking wedding, in that dress. Then at the New Year’s Eve party, wearing something sparkly and much too short with that new patch drooling all over her. I’d had to leave before my control splintered completely. I’d been holding onto it with a death grip, thinking I might actually survive until she went to college, when I’d get a respite, when I’d be able to get my shit together.
But then she came into my room.
Even God himself wouldn’t have been able to deny her. You know, if God existed, which He didn’t, and if God was a he which She most definitely wasn’t.
And I failed. Whatever kind of test that was. I failed.
I tasted her pussy, examined every inch of her delicate, creamy skin … it was seared that into my memory. And I couldn’t give a fuck if I burned in hell for eternity, it was fucking worth it.
Until Swiss knocked at my door, and I realized how fucking close I was to ruining it all.
“You’re quiet,” the man himself observed at the warehouse. A shipment came in a day earlier than we’d expected. It wasn’t unusual for shipments to arrive in the middle of the night, less likely to get shit from the new sheriff that way. We were there to make sure no shit went awry.
My arms were crossed over my chest as I kept my eyes on the truck and the men unloading it.
“Bitch you were fuckin’ that good, was she?” he prodded, grinning.
“I’m a good girl. But I want you to make me your bad girl.” Her perfume took over my senses. Sweet, but with an edge. Her nipples were perfect peaks underneath her dress.
I tasted bile. If only he fucking knew.
