Page 15

TWELVE

DAYNA

He waits while I lock up my flat, his mouth tight when it takes a couples of attempts to secure the door. Fucking lock.

Then he leads me out of the building to where his bike is parked. The sunlight gleams off the chrome, shimmering, and when we approach, there’s not just one helmet attached to the back.

There’s a second in purple and pink.

He unhooks it, his eyes never leaving mine as he undoes the chinstrap inside. “I guessed what size you need, but if it doesn’t fit, we can get it swapped out.” He lifts it to put it on my head, but I stop him.

He’s shattering me, and he doesn’t even see it. “You bought me a helmet?”

“I want you safe on the back of my bike.”

I stare at him like he’s a figment of my imagination before I whisper, “Are you real?”

I don’t expect him to answer. I didn’t even mean to say it aloud, but he steps into my space, his hand to my belly, his thumb brushing over my ribs. His mouth presses to mine, and my legs become wobbly as he claims me reverently.

When he’s done, he pulls back, his eyes blown as he takes me in. “Does that feel real, Dayna?”

I bob my head. “It feels very real.”

“Good. Get used to this. Get used to me.”

The threat of possession under those words makes my thighs clench.

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, though, securing the helmet on my head.

His fingers scrape over my throat while he buckles the strap, and every touch makes my breath hitch.

He gives the wobble after it’s in place, a satisfied grin on his lips.

I wait while he pulls his own helmet on and then gets on the bike. I climb on behind him, my chest pressed to his back like he said.

He reaches behind, dragging my arms around his waist, his hands resting on mine, and my stomach flutters before he starts the bike.

It rumbles to life, and I cling tighter to him as he hits the throttle.

And then we’re moving.

I almost shriek as the wind whips around us, but after a moment I relax, trust him to keep me safe and I let go of everything.

The argument with my mother.

My worries about money.

Fucking James Critchlow.

Burned lasagna.

Everything disappears into the silence of the ride.

Dash moves with confidence, his hand resting on my thigh when the road is open, shifting back to the handlebars when the road becomes narrower and difficult to manoeuvre.

I understand why the guys like bikes so much. It feels like flying without wings. It feels like freedom with no chains. There is air in my lungs, hope in my chest, and every ounce of tension is leached out of me.

I’m not sure where we’re going, but we ride until the urban sprawl becomes open roads. I don’t care that my bum is dead or that I can no longer feel my legs. Sitting behind him like this is everything.

As he takes a corner, a stone building comes into view. It looks old, as if it was chiselled into the landscape itself, surrounded by heather and bracken.

The car park is half empty, so he picks a spot close to the door.

I wait until he taps my leg, telling me I can climb off the bike. This time I manage to get off the bike and undo the chinstrap before he swings off and removes his own helmet.

I smooth down my hair, certain I look like a tangled mess while he secures both of our helmets to the back of the bike. Then I forget about how I look when his eyes soften on me, like I’m the whole fucking sky above his head.

No one has ever looked at me like that. It makes my chest ache.

When he holds out his hand to me, I hesitate, but only for a beat. I’m not used to this, but fuck, I want to be. I want to take this leap with him. I want him to be mine.

Does he think I’m a mess?

If he does he’s not showing it and I’m not going to point it out either.

His palm is rough and warm against mine, and there’s a giddy happiness swelling inside me. If I let it, it would burst out of my mouth, so I clamp my teeth together.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he says over his shoulder to me, his fingers still locked around mine. “They do a really good burger here.”

“I wonder if they do lasagna,” I quip, which gets me a snorted laugh. “Too soon?”

“No, babe.” His thumb sweeps over my hand as he leads me into the small pub.

I blink against the changing lighting as we step inside. I can smell something delicious in the air, and the hum of voices is soothing.

The few patrons sitting with dogs at their feet look in our direction, but don’t stare, despite the kutte on his back. I’ve noticed people always watch whenever the boys have their vests on, so he must come here enough that no one cares.

My suspicions are confirmed when he lifts his chin at the guy behind the bar, as if he knows him.

The table he picks is in a large bay window overlooking the rolling hills outside. My eyes are immediately drawn to the view and the wildness of it. Bracken and heather covers as far as the eye can see.

Dash doesn’t sit opposite me as I expect, but next to me, as if he can’t bear to be too far away.

My stomach flutters, especially when his hand instantly finds my thigh under the table.

His thumb sweeps back and forth, comforting.

He doesn’t let go of me as he reaches for menu, sliding in front of me. I stare at the prices and try not to freak the fuck out. It’s expensive. I thought it would be pub prices.

Mentally, I’m juggling my accounts, trying to figure out if I can move some things around, but I can’t afford this.

Maybe I can pick up some extra shifts… take some of the money from my rent and hope I can replace it before it’s due.

“Babe? You’re looking at that thing like it holds the secrets of the universe.”

“Yeah,” I grimace, “the thing is… I really want to treat you to lunch, dinner whatever mealtime this is, but I also need to pay rent this week and money is already tight. Like tight enough that I’m debating feet pics. I spent the last I had on the lasagna stuff and…”

Stop talking, Dayna. I’m contemplating yeeting myself out of the window, or maybe sewing my mouth shut when he leans into my space.

“You left yourself short of money to make dinner for me?” He sounds pissed.

“Okay, when you say it like that it sounds kind of lame.”

“It’s not lame, but you don’t leave yourself with nothing again, understand?”

I’m pretty sure my face is on fucking fire. It’s more burned than the sad lasagna I left at home. “I mean… it’s not like I have nothing. I can pick up a couple of extra shifts.”

I really regretting starting this conversation because the way he’s looking at me is making me squirm.

“What do you need to get through the month?”

The lump in my throat is so big I can hardly swallow. “I’m not taking your money, Dash.”

His reply is cut off by the waitress coming over. His eyes don’t leave mine, but I avert my gaze, focusing anywhere but on him.

I feel shame. Like a failure that I can’t manage my business.

“Hey Dash,” she says with a smile that is instantly warming. “You guys ready to order?”

“Your brother in today?”

She shakes her head. “He’s gone to a rally in Scotland. He’ll be pissed he missed you.”

“We’ll be back another time,” he says. We . Me and him? He turns to me. “What do you want?”

I shred the edge of the napkin in front of me. “I’m good.”

His fingers pressed against my thigh. “I didn’t ask if you’re good, Dayna. I asked what you want to eat.”

The waitress shifts on her feet and I’m pretty sure my face is so red right now.

“I’ll give you guys another couple of minutes.”

Since she walks away, and Dash dips his head close. “I need you to understand something. You don’t pay for shit. If I put you on the back of my bike and take you somewhere, I’m covering it. And you sure as fuck never pay for me. I take care of you, babe.”

Is he serious? “Wow. You just took women’s rights back around fifty years with a little speech,” I quip, but he’s not laughing. He’s not even twitching his lips into something that could be a smile.

“I’m fucking happy women have rights, Dayna, but that has nothing to do with me taking care of my girl.”

I think I stop breathing. The possessiveness in his voice should fucking scare me, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel cherish, looked after.

His girl.

Fuck, I like that.

But my pride forces me to speak.

“It’s not fair for you to do that.” I say quietly, still not looking at him.

“I’m not trying to be fair.” He shoves the menu back under my nose. “Pick something or I’ll order for you.”

“This isn’t how I expected today to go. I was supposed to be the essence of domesticity.”

He snorts. “You think that’s what I want from you?

A good little housewife? Dayna…” He takes my chin between his finger and thumb, tilting my head back, forcing me to look at him.

“I want that smart fucking mouth of yours. I want your fire. I want that rambling shit you do when you’re nervous.

I want the woman who wakes up on my chest, hair tangled, wild and mine. ”

He kisses me, like he needs to show me with his mouth what he means. And because my body is a complete whore for him, my fingers tangle in his shirt. His fingers end up in my hair, and I don’t even care that this kiss is not appropriate for public viewing.

I forget what I was avoiding. I forget everything but the feel of his lips against mine.

“Are you gonna pick something?” he asks when he eventually pulls back.

“Okay, but only because I was looking forward to dinner.”

His thumb rubs over my swollen lips. “Good girl.”

Oh, fuck. He might be the death of me.

When the waitress comes back, I order the burger he suggests and a drink.

When we’re alone again, his hand goes back to my thigh.

“You got any siblings?”

I snort. “My mother was pissed enough that I ruined her body. There’s no way she would let my father impregnate her again.”

“You have a difficult relationship?”

That’s putting it lightly.

“She’s a difficult person, which makes a relationship with her feel like walking through a meteor shower while dodging burning rocks. What about you?” I don’t elaborate any more than that. I’m not sure he’d even believe half the things my mother does or says.

“My parents died when I was young. I have a half brother somewhere out there, but I’ve not seen him since I was about ten years old. I was raised by my grandfather.”

“Sorry. That’s rough. Seems like we both hit the dramatic childhood trope.”

“What about your dad?”

I never like answering this question so I say it flippantly. Quick. Like ripping off a plaster. “Jail.”

“What for?”

“Fraud. Some kind of tax evasion too. They nailed him for everything they could. He deserved it, but it broke my mother. They seized pretty much all of our things, including the house. She didn’t appreciate the riches-to-rags story.

She was far too used to the lifestyle my father provided.

So, he went to jail, and my mother spent the next ten years trying to claw back what she lost. She lives in a constant state of denial about the fact she’s poor. ”

“How old were you when he was locked up?”

“Eight. My mother lived on family money for a while, but I doubt there’s much of it left.

She doesn’t exactly live a modest life.” I pause and then wince.

“My mother is why dinner burned.” I don’t know why I admit it, but now that I have, I don’t stop talking.

“She came over and… I don’t know, Dash. She just has this way of crawling under my skin.

She pokes and opens wounds I didn’t even know I had.

She doesn’t listen to me. She doesn’t listen to anything other than what she wants.

” It rushes out of me like a tidal wave as his thumb continues to stroke my thigh.

“She has this crazy idea about me marrying into money. Every time I see her, she’s trying to push some rich prick on me, and I keep telling her I’m not interested but?—”

“She’s trying to marry you off like you’re some kind of bargaining chip?” Anger cracks through his voice, and I freeze. I didn’t expect him to get so pissed.

“It’s not going to happen,” I assure him. “She thinks she can wear me down enough to change my mind, but I’m not marrying some boring suit.”

The food arrives, which stops whatever reply he was about to make, but his jaw is so tight, he’s going to need a crowbar to unlock it. I focus on my plate. I wish I hadn’t said anything.

“It’s not too late to walk away,” I joke, even though my insides are bleeding as I say it. My belly is churning, my throat thick with bile.

Please don’t leave.

I grab a fry, popping it in my mouth, just for something to do. I don’t taste it as I chew, and it turns my stomach.

“Why would I walk away?”

“I tell you I’m poor and that my family is deranged, and you ask why?”

“I don’t give a shit about money, Dayna. And I’ve dealt with worse shit than a controlling mother.”

I wonder what…

“Just remember this moment when we’re months down the line and you having to deal with her bullshit too.”

“You keep expecting me to run, Dayna. But if I wanted to go, I’d already be gone.”

My mouth dries. I swallow the fry quickly before it sticks to the back of my throat. “I expect it because that’s what usually happens.”

“Yeah, well, not this time.”

I truly believe he means it, but there’s a part of me that just can’t trust it. Not yet. Because at some point, he’s going to see the truth, see how much of a fuck-up I am, and he’ll run.

And I don’t think I’ll survive if he does.