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Facts are facts.
I’m an uneducated biker. My hands are stained with blood. I have a temper that gets the best of me—to the point where I black out. Volatile is my middle name. Destruction is my calling card. Lily, on the other hand, is the club’s angel. Our literal Cherub. She’s smart as hell. Caring. Kind. Has a wicked sense of humour and a tongue that keeps us all on our toes.
If I was a good man, I’d let her go to university as a single woman. She could make a life for herself, one that I might end up part of. I don’t have it in me to set her free, though. Truth is, I don’t have an honourable bone in my body when it comes to Lilianna Mayberry.
Not when she was a kid who needed my protection.
Not as a woman who calls to me like a siren.
Since the day she was born, I’ve looked out for her. Premature and the smaller of the twins since Sander had leached all the nutrients out of their mother, Scarlett, it had been touch and go for Lily for a week or two, post-birth. I still remember how I felt as a seven-year-old, watching the big men I idolise stress over her survival. Her refusal to eat. Her constant crying. The mistrust she showed a world that had already let her down. I understood it. And that’s why I believe she calmed down for the first time when she was given to me to hold after her release from the special care ward.
Sander was born with a golden glow and an entitled attitude.
Lily’s fought for recognition since her first breath.
Just like I have.
Kindred spirits aren’t dictated by society's constraints.
We mightn’t have formally addressed the attraction between us since I kissed her the first time, however it’s been building as her birthday approaches. Every time we see each other, it becomes clearer. She’s as connected to me as I am to her.
Nothing will separate us—except for my big mouth.
I stupidly threw down the gauntlet two years ago.
I’ve regretted it ever since.
She’s mine.
And like I told her back then, I’ll go to war to have her.
“Do you have Valentine’s Day circled on ya calendar?” Slash punches me in the shoulder. His voice is laced with sarcasm as he sarcastically enquires, “Bet you’re already countin’ down the days.”
“Just over six weeks, brother.”
“The fact you know that off the top of ya head is kinda creepy.”
I shrug, then hit the call icon on my phone.
As it rings, I retort, “One man’s creepy is another man’s dedicated.”
For the second time tonight, he mumbles something under his breath. The call connects. My body reacts with the same anxious need it always does when I hear her voice. “Heya! This is Anna. Can’t come to the phone now. Leave a message and I might get back to ya.”
Holding up a finger to silence Slash, I say, “It’s me. Returning your call. Just wanna let you know that—'' When my phone beeps to tell me that another call is coming in, I pull the device from my ear to look at it. Lily’s calling me back, so I cancel my voicemail, and answer her call. “Lil… I was just ringing you back—”
“Look,” Sander cuts me off. His tone is filled with reluctance that doesn’t quite register with me until he says, “There’s no easy way to do this, but Anna asked me to tell you that you shouldn’t come tonight.”
“What the fuck? You can’t be serious—”
“I know this is last minute,” he offers. “She’s got some kinda bee in her bonnet. Wants to be free to experience things on her own. To grow up at her own pace.” The churning in my gut lashes me like a hurricane. I taste bile as vomit surges into my mouth. “Dunno exactly what that means, but I’m just the messenger, Venom.”
“Okay,” I manage to croak.
“No hard feelings?”
“Nah.”
The room spins and my throat tries to close up. Somehow, I have enough wherewithal to end the call. My chest squeezes painfully, my fingers tighten around the phone. When the thought of ringing Lily to argue the point hits me, I throw the device onto the concrete floor, then I crush it under the heel of my boot. Bits of plastic and shards of glass scatter.
