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Jagger nodded, getting on his phone.
“Hades, want to pay her a visit, try to convince her that there’s no story here?” Hansen asked, thrumming his fingers on the table.
Hades turned his gaze to me for a long moment before nodding.
Smart. They were using the club’s scariest dude to try to intimidate her from the story. Though I’d only had a brief interaction with her, I’d sensed that she was made of stern stuff. Hades would be testing just how stern.
Hansen focused on me. “We’ll make sure she doesn’t file a single word about you, Sariah.”
I nodded to the president of the Sons of Templar MC, even though I didn’t quite believe him.
These men were capable of a lot of impressive things, but they had yet to come up against a woman who had made up her mind about what she wanted.
Emily Ryan was going to get her story.
One way or another.
“Let’s go home,” Colby said once that church had finished.
I suspected few if any women were ever invited to church. If the circumstances were different, and I’d been a little more sober, I would’ve reveled in being behind the doors usually reserved for bikers with dicks. I’d loudly protested against the club’s misogynist rules and regulations, so any other time, this might’ve been a victory. Not tonight though.
“No,” I replied, slightly sickened at the prospect of going back to the apartment. “Can we just stay here?” I looked around the room. It was tidy, still cluttered with Colby’s things. It still smelled of him. It was small. Warm. Safe.
“Of course,” he said, smoothing my hair.
He was eager to please me—like he always was—but especially now when he could sense how on edge I was. I was way too tired to act normal and put together.
His gaze was much too heavy, so I escaped it, walking around the room, picking up things then putting them down, trying to get my shit together.
Colby had a bunch of books, bullets, random parts that either belonged to bikes or weapons. A small amount of personal care products. He wasn’t high maintenance. He was just naturally that hot. The prick.
Amongst the clutter, something caught my eye. A book. A big one. Like a journal … or a sketch book.
“Is this Alyssa’s?” I asked, looking over at him. He was still standing in the middle of the room, watching me.
He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, that’s mine.”
I looked up at him in surprise. “You draw?”
He shrugged. “I doodle.”
“How did I not know this about you?”
Not sure why I asked since I knew the answer to that question. Because so much room in this relationship had been taken up by my suffering, we hadn’t gotten around to talking about things like hobbies.
“Can I?” I asked, fingers already poised to open the book.
Colby nodded slowly, his expression odd.
He was … nervous. I’d never seen him nervous. This was something deeply personal to him. Something I suspected he hadn’t shown anyone. We’d briefly talked about his romantic history, or lack thereof. He fucked club girls and women who attended club parties. No sleepovers. No dates.
I was, technically, his first girlfriend, if you didn’t count high school sweethearts which I didn’t. They dated a whole different Colby. One who didn’t exist anymore.
I hurriedly opened the sketch book, hungry to discover this new part of him.
“These are … wonderful,” I told him, slowly flipping the pages. The first few sketches were of mountains, a mixture of bikes and men wearing Sons of Templar cuts. They were all centered around the club. His life within it.
Then there was...
Me.
My eyes.
My face.
Pages of it. Different parts of me.
Then there was me. In my entirety.
But not.
It was a phoenix, rising from the ashes. Utterly beautiful, even charred, burnt. That was what made it beautiful. Its wings spanned two pages. It looked damaged yet majestic at the same time. I was captivated by it.
I stared up at Colby through glassy eyes. “This must’ve taken hours.”
He shrugged in response.
“Is this how you see me?” I looked back from the drawing to him.
Colby nodded.
My hands shook as I put the book back on his desk, unable to look at the breathtaking artwork for a second longer.
“I don’t know what to say,” I admitted.
Colby stood there, staring.
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered in a cold voice that managed to set fire to my bones.
I jerked at the unexpected request. I thought he’d want to talk. Tell me things. Convince me of things.
I liked this turn of events.
I started with the tee he’d put on me. Then my leather pants, stopping when I was left in nothing but the lace bustier and tiny panties.
Colby’s gaze was a maelstrom of desire. “Everything,” he ordered.
My hands reached for the laces of my corset, fingers trembling as I untied it and took it off. My nipples were hard and aching, my chest moving up and down rapidly. My panties were next.
