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“Chase, I’m begging you. I need space.”
There’s athunk. Maybe he’s resting his head against the door. “I won’t leave you, not when you need my comfort.”
My heart pounds wildly in my chest, angry I’m denying a man I desperately want.
“Bro,” I hear the muffled voice of Punk, Chase’s best friend and MC brother. “Come on, man. Don’t force this. Let your woman have her space. She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”
Never thought I’d say this, but thank you, Punk. The moron is good for something, it seems. If he acted like this more often, we’d probably be as tight as him and Jo.
“I’m not leaving her,” Chase swears vehemently.
“Dude, I know. You’re giving her a break to calm down,” Punk reassures. “Let’s grab some breakfast before hitting the gym. You need to let this shit out away from her.”
Punk coaxes him a little more before the hallway falls silent.
Alone, I plant my ass on the couch, the same couch Chase has been sleeping on for weeks while watching over me. I swear I can smell his scent embedded in the fabric, a mixture of well-worn leather and peppermint engulfing me in the memory of him.
It’s overwhelming being this close to him, while not at all. I bring my knees up to my chest, letting out my bottled emotions, praying I didn’t screw up my chances of a happily ever after with my dreamy biker.
CHAPTERFOUR
CHASE
She’s avoiding me—like the fucking plague. If I catch a glance of her, it’s only when she runs to the kitchen to grab food, or down in the offices to collect whatever she needs to work on in her room. Punk told me to give her breathing room, but it’s killing me to have to resort to watching her through the monitors of my computer again.
Stupidly, I thought we’d turned a corner on the night of the wedding. I knew she might regret her decisions in the morning, but when she crashed against me after hours of us pleasuring each other, I hopelessly believed she was consenting to be with me. Had it been just about the sex, she was well within her rights to leave my room and go to hers. But she stayed in my bed, in my arms. In my book, that qualifies as agreeing to a relationship.
Waking up to a pillow instead of her soft curves pushed me over the edge. It wasn’t right of me to cause a scene outside her suite, but for the first time in my life, I was stung with rejection. All the women before her knew they were signing up for a one-time hookup. I’ve never led a woman on—ever. But I sure felt deceived by Simone, and it hurt worse than anything.
To add insult to injury, I vaguely recall saying I may have loved her while not totally awake. Pretty sure that’s what caused her to tuck tail and run. Had I been coherent, I would’ve withheld that shit until she was ready to hear it.
Now I’m the asshat who pushed too hard, too soon, blowing my shot with the woman of my dreams.
Fuck my life.
Even though I’m bogged down with a shit-ton of work dealing with Esteban Moreno, the Colombian drug lord and Atlas’s nemesis, popping back into our lives, I’m consumed by thoughts of Simone.
Is she hurting like me? Does she miss me the way I’m missing her? What can I do to make her feel better?
After days of being a walking dick to everyone in the club, my mood hasn’t improved. Bitterness leaks into my voice when my cell rings, and I answer the unknown caller with a clipped, “Yes?”
“Seen your mob man running,” a gravelly voice rasps on the other end.
I sit back in my chair, trying to pinpoint the name to the voice. The 719 area code tells me it’s coming from the southern hemisphere of the state.
“Hawk?”
The Hell’s Horsemen MC enforcer out in Pueblo doesn’t answer my question. “That mob bitch is heading south in a Buick beater. Followed him from a distance all the way to Trinidad. He checked into some roach-infested inn on the outskirts, about thirty minutes east of the old, abandoned marble quarry in the center of the nature preserve. Pretty remote in that area.”
I smirk, understanding. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Thanks for looking into who’s pushing drugs in our territory. Brothers looking out for brothers,” he drawls, then disconnects.
Looks like Luca’s luck has finally run out. The dirt bag assaulted my woman, traumatizing her to the point where I slept on her suite’s couch to be there in case she needed someone. Several nights, I awoke to her whimpering in her sleep. I’d stroke her back, shushing her till she’d fall back into slumber. More than once, I sat beside her after she’d gone back to sleep, vowing to annihilate the bastard who’d caused her this turmoil. Burned my insides not being able to track him after he hightailed it out of the city when his boss went boots up. But thanks to another MC having our back, I finally know where my mark is hiding.
A quick call to Atlas and him waving the checkered flag are all I need to go after the old Bianchi mobster, getting justice for my woman.
Crossing our intel cave, I slap my hand on Butch’s desk to get his attention. “Suit up. We’re going hunting.”
