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“Yeah. I plan to move soon. I wanted to go look at some condos out there. I found one and I was going to check it out, as well as a few others. It’s a loft style and it has a large bay window that gets excellent natural light. I planned to put a watercolor painting across from the window when I found one that spoke to me. I wanted to finally decorate things how I wanted them.”
“Why didn’t you do that at home in Riverdale?”
I grin. “Reverdale. It can be confusing, but it’s different. Anyway, I tried before. My dad would allow it but after he died, my mom put a stop to all of it. She only let me stay so I could get on my feet. Not because she cared, but so I wouldn’t have a reason to come back once I left.” I scoff, dragging a hand through my hair. “What about you? Did you live at the clubhouse?”
“Nope.” Rax wraps an arm around my chest and leans us back. “I stayed with Zeke and his dad, Jermaine, when I wasn’t at the clubhouse. Jermaine was in the MC too. He’s the reason Zeke and I wanted to patch in. He died while I was on the inside. Fuckers wouldn’t let me go to his funeral.”
Even though Rax has barely showed me any emotion besides lust and anger, I can tell that hurt him. His voice takes on a haunted quality and he clears his throat roughly. My heart goes out to him. God, why am I feeling bad for a murderer? My head is all jumbled up and I can’t make heads or tails of it.
No. I mentally shake myself. This is the danger I’ve always craved, the closeness to someone deadly. I’m not going to think too hard. I’m just going to let it be.
“I’m sorry you lost him. Sorry for you both.”
Pulling me tighter, Rax kisses the top of my head again and I melt against him. “He was good to me. He took me in when my own father didn’t care about me. He saw how close me and Zeke were and how I wasn’t getting any love or care at home. Jermaine was my father. I don’t know where my own sperm donor is.”
Tilting my head back, I meet his eyes. “I’m glad you had him.”
“Me too,” he mutters, kissing my lips softly.
We’re quiet for a few moments—I’m thinking about my dad and I’m sure Rax is doing the same—but I pull in a deep breath and exhale roughly to rid myself of the memories that will hurt me. Thinking about my father always hurts. He gave me unconditional love, not batting an eye when I came out to him at sixteen, just asking if I was faking my love for cars to try to fit in with a rougher crowd. When I told him no, that I love everything about cars and working on them, he smiled and told me to make sure I was on time to finish my apprenticeship under him. My mother pitched a fit, saying I couldn’t give them grandkids because men can’t have babies and I remember dad cutting her off, telling her stop because she doesn’t even like kids.
That memory hurt and made me feel good. At least one of my parents loved me.
Needing to think about something else, I ask the burning question. “Why haven’t you dated?”
“Don’t like people.”
“You like me.”
“You’re annoying.”
I giggle. “I am not. You like me because I’m stunning and funny and everything you’ve ever wanted.” I glance back at him to see his small grin.
“Maybe,” he mutters, tapping my nose. “I haven’t dated because no one has wanted me for me. The hangarounds wanted me because I was the enforcer. The men in prison wanted me because they knew I was a part of Devil’s Mayhem. You want me because I’m a killer.” I open my mouth but he talks over me. “It’s okay. I’m fine being a loner. But that’s why I don’t date.”
I sigh, knowing there’s nothing I can say to him to make him think that I’d like him even without the danger. I’ll just have to find a way to show him.
Chapter 14
Rax
Waking up to fingers trailing down my chest and stomach, over my nipples and over my pecs feels surprisingly good. When I initially woke up, I had a moment of panic. In prison, I had my own cell for the last three years, so feeling hands on me had me thinking an inmate paid a guard off to do some rapey shit.
But my panic lasts less than a second when I realize the soft hands belong to Finn. My Finn. God, to think I have a my anything is weird, let alone another man. But I’m rolling with it. Why the hell not?
In a sleep garbled tone, I say, “I never thought I’d be woken up by soft hands before. It’s usually batons from prison guards.” His hands stutter, then stop moving over my body. “No, keep going,” I say, grabbing one of his hands and putting it back against me. “Feels good. Never thought I’d enjoy something as simple as someone touching me.”
His soft sigh tickles my shoulder blades. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he’s wondering why no one has touched me or why it’s so foreign. I’m thirty-eight years old. Surely, at some point, someone had to show me some affection or touch me in a capacity outside of sex.
Truth is, there hadn’t been anyone. I was taught that being sensitive or being in love would get you killed. Plenty of members have old ladies, but they keep them at a bit of a distance. If they show them affection, it was a simple peck on the lips, or a tongue down their throats if they were showing off for the guys. But no one said they loved them. There were times where some of our men were betrayed by their old ladies, either when they were both arrested or leaving them when the life tied to a biker wasn’t what they thought it would be.
So not having someone get that close to me was for the best. And if I allowed any of the hangarounds to wake up with me like this, they would have thought they were in line to be my old lady. Wasn’t gonna happen, so I didn’t give anyone a chance to get this close. After I fucked them into the mattress, I’d give them their shit and show them the door.
Finn touching me this way makes me wish I had this type of companionship, at least once.
Snapping back to the present, I hear Finn say, “My hands are soft because of the soap we use at my garage. Pumice soap assures I don’t have callouses when I’m jerking a man’s dick.” He pauses and adds, “Though there’s something to be said about your hands with callouses jerking my dick.”
I chuckle, pulling his hand to my mouth, kissing the backs. “It was my first time. I didn’t know if I did it right.”
