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“They interest you enough to sleep with them.”

“They know the score. Most of them just want what I want—fast and dirty sex. They don’t intend to stick around. They move on to the next guy as soon as they can get their claws into one.”

“So you don’t feel anything, and they don’t feel anything. That’s convenient if you’re not looking for a real relationship.” I try to keep the judgment out of my tone, but it’s impossible. I can’t understand how people can sleep together without caring about each other at least a little bit. It doesn’t make any sense.

He shrugs. “A man has certain needs. If these women want to throw themselves at me, I’m not going to say no.”

“Don’t you want something more? Don’t you want love?”

“Love?” His laugh is so bitter I freeze.

“You don’t believe in love?”

“People are cruel. They only use each other to get what they want. Some women want to fuck guys in motorcycle clubs, but they don’t want to commit to anyone. They don’t want to be anyone’s old lady.”

“Are any of the guys married?”

“Nope.” This time his laughter carries a hint of amusement. “They know better than to get trapped by a woman.”

“You think marriage is a trap?”

“I don’t know what to think about it. My mom was never married. Nina was, but then her old man died.”

“Her old man?” A smile spreads across my face. “So, if we were to end up in a relationship together, would you be my old man?”

He cocks his head to one side, studying me until I’m uncomfortable. I hope I didn’t cross a line. I don’t even know why I said what I said. I’m definitely not looking for love, especially not with the dangerous president of a motorcycle club. I still don’t know if they operate like a gang or not. I don’t know enough about the club yet, and my ignorance could cost me.

“What happened after your mom died?” I ask, attempting to get the conversation back on track. I’m trying to find out more about his mysterious past and the man who hurt him so much that he still has nightmares. I shouldn’t be thinking about romance or commitment or love when I don’t really know him.

“I didn’t have any other family. After my mom died, I was put into foster care.” He shuts down again and gets a faraway look in his eyes. I can tell he’s not with me anymore. He’s trapped in the past.

“Then you were adopted?” I prompt.

“Yeah. By Jonathan Blackstone.”

“The billionaire?” Confusion furrows my brow. “Isn’t he the guy who adopts all the kids? He takes them to charity events and treats them like little princes.”

“That’s a lie!” He pulls away from me, sitting ramrod straight while giving me a deadly look. A tremor ripples through me. He looks angry enough to kill.

“I’m … I’m sorry.” I gently rest my hand on his knee. He scoots farther back, so I can’t reach him.

“You have no idea what I went through with him,” he growls.

“I don’t,” I agree softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He scowls. A muscle in his jaw twitches, and his entire aura shifts from light purple to black with red sparks. Rage and fear roll off him in waves. I can’t stand seeing him so upset. He has so much anger trapped inside him. He’s holding it all in, and it’s probably slowly killing him. He needs to talk about it.

“Tell me about the day you were adopted.” I know pushing him is risky, but I think he needs to tell someone what happened. I know he hasn’t told anyone the details, but I hope he trusts me enough to share his story.

Silence stretches between us. I slide a little closer and lightly brush my fingers over his hand. He looks at me, really studies me, as if trying to figure out whether I’m trustworthy. I don’t buckle under the scrutiny. I sit up and try to project an aura of calm. Although I don’t seem to have any control over it, I can send calming energy to other people when I sense they need it. He desperately needs it.

“After they took me away from my neighbor, they dropped me off at a big house full of other foster kids. I don’t remember much about that place since I was only there for a few weeks.” He unclasps his hands and reaches for mine. He holds one of my hands while wiping his other palm against the sheets. “God, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Just take your time. We’ve got all night.” I gently squeeze his fingers, trying to offer comfort. He holds mine as if I’m his lifeline.

“Blackstone showed up with a full camera crew from the local news station. He made a big show of being philanthropic, especially when it came to ‘his’ kids. He still does that. It’s disgusting.”

I stop breathing. I suspect where this is going, and I don’t like it. But I need to hear it. I need to know what happened, so I’ll know how to help him.