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Gray

I’ve never been good at dating. Back in my teen years, I was busy running around with like-minded delinquents and causing trouble to even think about being in a relationship with anyone. Of course, there were always the awkward alleyway rendezvous and caresses of teens who didn’t know any better.

Love? That was a foreign concept where I grew up.

Love was a luxury for the rich who could afford to not worry about utility bills and an empty fridge.

There was no such luxury where I came from.

My parents, like many the others in the neighborhood, were gambling addicts who depended on food stamps to survive.

They did not care whether their only son went to school, ate dinner, or went to prison as a young adult.

Prison hardened me. It turned me into an unfeeling man who only cared about himself. Going to prison was, however, a blessing in disguise. It was through my cellmate that I was able to join the Rebels and learn what it’s like to have family, but...love?

I glance at the girl sound asleep next to me, taking in the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and my heart swells with warmth.

Her long, midnight black hair spills across the pillow like a cascade of silk, framing her features perfectly and softening them.

Her eyelashes flutter slightly as she dreams, creating delicate shadows on her cheeks.

I lean a little closer, careful not to disturb her as I grow captivated by the way the gentle morning light dances across her angelic face.

I find myself questioning how a man like Stone, with his ugly heart and mug of a face, could have made something so beautiful.

“What have you done to me?”

I have never experienced a feeling like this before.

It’s a crazy mix of strength and vulnerability, knowing this person could hurt me and that I could do the same.

It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling the rush of excitement but knowing I’d jump without hesitation if it meant catching her.

And isn’t that crazy? I don’t know anything about this girl beyond the way she feels against me and that she’s the daughter of the enemy, and yet, I’d take on the world to see her smile.

I curse myself for a fool, pushing away from the girl and climbing out of bed, careful not to wake her.

I walk naked to the bathroom and look through her drawers until I find a new toothbrush.

I tear off the seal and clean up before grabbing a cold shower, hoping it’ll snap me out of whatever spell the girl has cast over me.

The spell stays, but I am alert after the shower.

Scarlett is still asleep when I walk into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. I dry quickly before sliding into my jeans.

I figure caffeine will do what the shower couldn’t, so I leave the sleeping girl and walk to her kitchen.

I find the coffee beans easy enough, but decide I might as well make us breakfast.

I scan the fridge and cabinets for something to make for breakfast, and when I find some eggs and a loaf of bread, I decide on scrambled eggs and toast. I look around for a bowl, opening one cabinet after another, and that’s when my hand brushes against the egg carton, sending one of the eggs tumbling off the counter.

It bounces once, and then it shatters on the floor.

“Fuck!” I curse, looking around for something to clean up the mess. I lean down and yank open the lower cabinet, hoping to find some wipes or cleaning products, but I stop short when I see what’s inside.

Tubes of paint, brushes, blank canvases, and a jumbled mess of art supplies spill out. A riot of color that assaults my eyes. I freeze, my hand hovering.

“What the fuck?” I whisper, staring at the contents inside but keeping my hands to myself. The canvases are white and bare of markings, but most of the brushes appear to be used.

I push back from the cabinet and climb to my feet, looking around her apartment from the open kitchen, but her walls are empty.

There isn’t one painting hanging on the walls, and I wonder what she does with the ones she finishes.

Everything I know about this girl, I’ve heard from her best friend, but Brooke never mentioned anything about Scarlett painting.

I shouldn’t...

I know it’s wrong even as I open another cabinet, but I do so anyway, hoping to see a painted canvas, sighing when I spot the cleaning supplies.

I grab them and clean up the mess. Once I’m done, everything in me pushes to close the cabinets and forget what I just saw, but I can’t ignore the nagging voice at the back of my head pushing me into curiosity.

What does she paint, and why are they hidden?

Fuck, I should wait for her to wake up so I can ask, and I almost talk myself into ignoring my little discovery when I spot something from the corner of my eye.

My brows furrow as I move toward the humming refrigerator, trying to look, but the space is too small.

If I want to see what it is, then I’ll have to reach in.

I really shouldn’t...

A part of me questions if perhaps it’s evidence against Stone and the Vipers, but it’s a pathetic excuse. The spy in me wants to know, to understand this girl who’s grabbed my heart in her fists and refuses to let go, so I reach in.

My hand brushes against something cold and flat on the side of the fridge, and I already know what it is before I pull it out.

A canvas.

It’s surprisingly heavy, tucked carefully in a spot one would never think to look.

I’m careful as I pull it up, slowly placing it on the counter.

My gaze falls on the canvas, a stark contrast against the sterile white granite countertop.

It’s a portrait, and the first thing I notice is the vibrant splash of colors and bold strokes.

Don’t know much or anything at all when it comes to paintings, but I can tell this one’s new.

And those eyes... I’ve seen them in the mirror for past twenty-eight years.

The eyes are painted a deep cerulean blue, captivating in a way I’ve never seen before. Scarlett managed to capture the intensity I’ve been told they carry, and so much depth. It’s almost like a reflection of my soul. A startlingly accurate piece of myself laid bare on canvas.

And she did it in my absence.

She could have used a photo, but something tells me she didn’t. It’s a crime for her to hide such talent behind these walls. To rob the world of her gift. Even so, I don’t blame her for doing it. I’ve seen how the world likes to destroy beautiful things.

This is not something I was supposed to see, and yet, all it does is send me falling deeper in love with her.

A quick flare of shame for exposing what I imagine was supposed to stay hidden filters in.

It’s clear, from how the painting supplies were stored, that this is a secret she wanted to keep for herself.

With a last glance at the painting, I slowly return it to its previous position, careful not to scratch the surface.

With the painting secure, I turn to lock the cabinets, ready to get back to what I was doing before I was distracted.

I’ll play it off like I didn’t see anything until she’s ready to share this part of her life with me.

I find the bowls this time, and as I turn to place one on the counter, the front door suddenly bursts open with a bang, shattering the quiet of the kitchen. A strong wave of trepidation and tension rolls in, accompanied by the heavy thud of footsteps.

I quickly turn round, braced for danger when I am met by an angry set of eyes, face red with anger.

Large burly figures, faces I’ve gotten to know over the last couple of weeks, stand behind him with their presence a palpable threat.

The man’s eyes drop to my shirtless torso, and if possible, his face gets redder, turning a frightening shade of beet.

“Stone.”

“You fucking son of a bitch,” the man roars, stepping further into the apartment, and my eyes drop to his clenched fists.

The men flagging him, five in total, all press in close and trap me in the kitchen.

One of them is Hill, and the rest are built just like the man.

I calculate what it would take me to fight through them, but quickly realize that I stand no chance considering the fact that they have weapons, and, well, I don’t.

Of course I could grab one of the men and use them as a shield, but could I really take the risk that they won’t sacrifice one of their own?

I am well and truly fucked.

Before I can work out a plan, another door flies open, and this time, it’s Scarlett.

She runs out in nothing but a shirt that barely covers those sexy thighs.

She doesn’t have a bra on either, exposing parts of her to the men in the room, and I want to go to her, protect her from the predatory looks they send her way.

Suddenly conscious of her near nudity, she crosses her arms over her chest, trying to put up a brave front, but I read the fear in her eyes when she spots her father.

“Dad,” she says, hugging herself tighter. “W-what are you doing here?”

The man sneers, his eyes darkening as he sees the state his daughter is in. It’s obvious to everyone in the room that something happened between us, but it’s not just Stone who seems angry about the news. Hill tosses me a deadly glare, I imagine for touching what he’d tagged as his.

But Scarlett isn’t his. She belongs to me.

Only me!

Fuck, this isn’t the time to think about who belongs to whom. Not when my life hangs in the balance. “Stone...”

“You’re dead,” the man growls. “Not just for violating my daughter, but for being a fucking dirty Rebel!”

The room falls still for a moment as the words hang in the air, tension growing thicker, and I realize that now I really am dead. There is no talking my way out of this. Stone would never let a Rebel leave just as we’d never spare a Viper if he invaded our club.

“Dad, he didn’t—”

“Shut the fuck up, you little tramp,” Stone roars, the sound vibrating of the walls. “You dare speak after lying with a Rebel. Of all the men you could have spread your legs for, you chose the fucking enemy.”

My vision goes red with rage at the crude words Stone throws at his daughter, and I want to break his face, tear the man and his goons to shreds, but I force myself to remain calm. I promised to protect Scarlett, and I don’t put it past Stone to hurt his daughter if I start shit.

“Scarlett has nothing to do with this,” I say, shifting the man’s attention to me and off his daughter. “How did you find out my identity?” I haven’t been to the Rebels’ clubhouse and have ensured not to meet up with any one of my brothers in case Stone put a tail on me.

“I have a camera in my office.” Fuck! “I keep it there to make sure no one comes into mess with my shit, so imagine my surprise when I went through the footage this morning to find that our new prospect is actually a Rebel.” He spits out the name like it’s foul in his mouth.

“You’ve been asking questions. Stirring up shit in my club. Seducing my daughter!”

I was careless. I let something else become more important than the job the Rebels had entrusted me with.And now it’s not only me that might pay the price.

“Dad, he didn’t-—”

“Fine, you caught me,” I snark, cutting Scarlett off.

“Damn right!” Stone shouts even as Scarlett turns her startled eyes to me, and I see it, the fierce need to defend me, but that would only be effective if she were addressing someone who cared about her.

No, anything she tells Stone would only be used against her.

I can’t let that happen. I need... have to protect her. So I shift my gaze to her father.

“When you told me that your daughter was in charge of your finances, I made my mind up then and there to use her to get dirt on you,” I say, leaning against the counter as I meet the man’s steely glare. “The camera in your office was a miscalculation on my part.”

“You son of a bitch. You have no idea what I’ll do to you.”

I scoff, sending a silent apology to the girl that’s stolen my heart even as the next words come out of my mouth.

“Are you not the one who said that the only thing women are good for is on their backs or working behind a desk?” I wait a second before adding the rest. “It’s not my fault that your daughter is good for both. ”

A sound not unlike that of a wounded animal breaks through the room, but it’s drowned out by the roar of an angry man, insulted and humiliated in front of his own men.

“Take him,” he growls, the sound almost inhuman as he points at me.

I want to turn and look at her, apologize with my eyes for letting such foul words out of my mouth when she means the world to me.

Beg her to understand that I need her father’s fury directed at me and not her.

“You’re dead!” Hill grinds out as he grabs my arm, and I could fight him, easily drop the man to the floor like a sack of potatoes, but that would be stupid considering I’m incredibly outnumbered and out powered.

“Take her too!” Stone hisses, his words sending fire rushing through my veins.

“What the fuck?” I growl, yanking my arm from Hill and shoving the man off as I turn my fury to Stone. “You would punish your own daughter for being the victim of the manipulation of a Rebel?”

Stone turns to me, eyes so similar to his daughter’s, and yet, so different. “She needs a lesson on who to trust. Next time she’ll think twice before spreading her legs for the fucking enemy.”

“This is not her fucking fault!”

“I’ll go,” Scarlett’s small voice breaks through the steely tension. “Let me get dressed. I’ll come.”

No! I want to shout. Fuck no!

I fucked up the mission. I deserve to bear the consequences of being caught alone. I vowed to protect her, to guard her with my life, but I am helpless to do anything as one of the Vipers presses a gun to the side of my head. “Move!”

I don’t want to leave. A part of me wants to reverse the last twelve hours and take Scarlett to the Rebel clubhouse and to my room. Hide her there. The Vipers wouldn’t dare set foot in our territory, not even for their princess.

And moments later, when I’m shoved into a black van in the underground parking garage, there is regret on my mind. As I watch Scarlett climb into the SUV in front of us right behind her father, I question if it’s the last time I’ll ever see the woman I’ve given my heart to.