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“No, why?” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“This story requires liquor. Lots of it.”
CHAPTEREIGHT
MALACHI
I come backinto the bedroom to find Aspen sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed, wearing one of my t-shirts. Possession that I’ve never felt before fills me at seeing her in my clothes.
I hand her a glass of bourbon and place mine on the nightstand. She swallows hers in one go and then motions for mine. I raise an eyebrow at her but pass it while I get back in the bed with her. Before I’m settled, she’s knocking the second one back, and worry fills my stomach.
What could possibly be so bad?
“My father was a crooked cop, wife-beater, and molester. He killed my mom when I was barely four years old.” Well, that would explain the drinking.
“Gods, Azizam,” I reach for her hand and rub my thumb over her knuckles.
“Oh, it gets worse before it gets better.” I nod and bite the inside of my cheek to keep quiet.
“Franklin Hoss Sr was involved in human trafficking. He was pimping his wife out, and when my mom found out he planned to sell me, she fled to seek help from my uncle, but she never made it. He ran her off the road and shot her several times. She was only a few miles from help. Uncle Asher took us in, and when the club found out our story, well, let’s just say MCs have their own form of justice.” Suddenly the motorcycle club doesn’t sound so fucking bad.
I can’t say I wouldn’t have killed him myself today if he was still alive.
“I was born deaf, Malachi. My father viewed women as assets, and I was defective. I got my implants after my mom died. The club paid for everything. They all learned ASL for me. When I say they are family, I mean that with my whole heart.” She squeezes my hand as she says this, and I nod.
“I’m a member of the club. I always will be. A legacy through my uncle and my brother. When I told you that the club would have a problem with us dating, it wasn’t just the cop part. It’s your background.” She tenses when she says it.
“Background? As in my nationality? They’re racist?” She winces.
“No, fuck. There’s no way of saying something like this easily.” I see her struggle with her words, searching for a way not to offend me.
“Aspen, just say it.” I nod and give her a small smile.
I can’t say that I’ve not had my share of hate for my ethnic background. I’ve grown a thick skin over the years. It fucking sucks that people can’t see past that to the man standing before them, but humans just haven’t elevated to that level yet. Maybe one day.
“The club is mostly retired military. Three of our members were POWs recently.” She bites her lip, and a memory pops into my head of a news article I read a few weeks ago.
“The local soldiers rescued recently?” She nods, and then it becomes crystal clear to me.
“Oh,” it’s the lamest comment in the world, but it sums up the situation perfectly.
“We have four soldiers who were tortured and raped by Iranian soldiers. All active members of our club. The wound is fresh, Malachi. Bringing you home now would be like throwing salt into it. But my brother already knows about you, so it’s just a matter of time before he pays you a visit.” Her eyes widen, and she rushes out of bed, stumbling for the bedroom door.
“Aspen?” I follow her and find her pulling at her hair and holding her phone.
“Fucking shit!” Foxy growls at the door before the doorbell rings.
“I forgot to turn my tracker off.” the doorbell rings again, followed by the pounding of a fist.
“ASPEN! I know you’re in there. Tell lover boy to open this fucking door.” Oh, so that’s how he wants to play this.
She grabs my arm and tries to stop me.
“Malachi, you’re naked.” I shrug her off my arm.
I swing open the door, and while Franklin “Wolf” Hoss Jr looks at my junk, I punch him.
“Fuck!” He yells as he holds his bleeding nose.
