Page 14
Gunner
I wake up all at once, a hard and abrupt coming into awareness. I’ve never slept so deep in my life. I expect the telltale signs of being drugged—the aching in my head, a foul dryness in my mouth, but I feel… good.
I’m on my side in a bed that isn’t my own, facing an empty coffee mug and a stained-glass lamp, a hardcover book on the nightstand. One of the classics. One of my favorites. I started reading them when I first started watching Diletta. I’ve taken note of every book she’s read over the years, devouring it myself later.
I’m no longer handcuffed, though my wrist does still bear the red imprints where the cuff dug in.
I sit up immediately, aware, adrenaline surging through me like I’m in danger, but the house is quiet except for hushed voices in the kitchen.
I freeze, my instincts all honed so sharply to react to danger that the first thought I have is to brace for violence. If Diletta willingly let anyone in, then the violence isn’t happening to her. It’s inside of me, choking me like a thick, oily smoke. The rational side of me still isn’t very rational, given what happened last night, and then what happened . Me, lowering my guard down like a fucking amateur—again, and getting cuffed to the bed. Add sleeping through an intrusion into Diletta’s inner sanctum to the list of continuous screw ups.
I shed half my clothes in the kitchen, but they’re folded in a neat pile on the end of the bed this morning. What fucking time is it? Also? She’s the one looking after me now?
I dress with all haste and zero grace. I find the packets of contacts I slipped into my pocket last night before leaving the clubhouse. I left them out, taking a risk, knowing it was too dark and smoky for most people to see or care. We slipped out the back door and other than waving at the prospects who opened the compound gate for us when I had my helmet on and covering my face, no one else saw us. I face the mirror on Diletta’s dresser and pop them in. Leaving my boots and socks in her room I walk quietly halfway down the hall.
I know Lark and Ella well enough to recognize their voices, even at such a quiet level. My unease settles, but my pulse doesn’t stop hammering.
This is no doubt an unofficial official meeting of the old ladies. Rita might be the one who usually organizes shit and looks after everyone, but Lark is now our queen and Ella is our VP’s old lady, and our Prez’s half-sister. She and Lark weren’t friends when Ella arrived, but they mended that situation quickly enough. Being as Ella was forced by her father to marry Raiden—Tyrant’s best friend, and Lark is Raiden’s sister who became Tyrant’s old lady, it was a bit of a mess until the two women bonded over having to endure some life or death shit together.
Someone sets a coffee mug down on the table. “We’re not here to scare you off, but some men here are… different than others.” Lark. She sounds uncomfortable. “Even the sweetest ones are a handful.”
“Gunner is- uh- he can be, erm…”
An evil grin carves itself into my face at Ella’s discomfort, but only because she and Lark are here, trying to warn Diletta that I’m more than she can handle. They’re trying to be nice about it. I can hear the warmth in their voices. They aren’t here to sabotage me.
They don’t know that Diletta tried to throw down with me yesterday, has held a gun to my head, set booby traps around her yard, has basically drugged me, stitched me back together, and handcuffed me to the bed. Maybe it’s the other way around, and fuck if knowing my woman is the ultimate badass doesn’t make me hard as steel in my jeans.
“You’re a kindergarten teacher.” Ella can’t find the words, so she changes the subject. “You’re probably from a good family. The good girl turned bad girl thing might seem exciting but think about all the things you could stand to lose. Your job, for one.”
They think of Diletta as Haley Black, the sweetest, most unassuming, innocent, gentle woman in this entire town. They have no idea how ironic what they’re saying is.
I still have to set my palm on the wall to ground myself and swallow back the rising tide of white-hot rage. Sisterhood is one thing, but no one is going to tear Diletta away from me.
Which was ironic, considering my plan was to sneak out of here and be in another state by now.
“The club might basically own this city,” Lark whispers, “But if you think that someone won’t say something about you being with a biker, then you’re wrong. Even if the club came down hard and demanded that you keep your job because work and life should be separate, would you really want to keep teaching there knowing that people don’t trust you around their kids? It wouldn’t be right, what they’d be saying. It would be judgmental and mean, but we’re trying to help you be realistic. We’re a family all on our own, but living on the outside of society isn’t for everyone.” Lark clears her throat, grief heavy in her tone. “My brother was disowned by my parents for years before my mom died. That made my dad wake up. For years, I had to live without my brother. He was in prison. It was unbelievably hard.”
They certainly know I’m here. My bike is out front for the first time ever. The fact that they’re whispering doesn’t mean that they hope I’m not going to hear. They’ve also made an uneasy peace with me, especially after I shot those men who wanted them dead. I know they’ll let Diletta make her decision. They’re just trying to ensure that she has all the facts straight.
“I’m sorry,” Diletta responds softly. Another mug scrapes across the table. “But trust me, I know what I’m getting into.”
“You might think so,” Ella interjects, “But—”
“I noticed that you have a gun under that leather jacket you’re wearing. May I?” Diletta interrupts her.
I don’t smile easily or often, but my lips turn up now into my second shit eating grin of the morning. I can hear the rustle of clothing, Ella’s sharp inhale at Diletta’s request.
“Don’t take the clip out. Please. Let me show you.”
My grin grows wider at the unmistakable sound of a gun being field stripped. Quickly. Diletta has it done in under a minute and then, just as quickly, puts it back together again.
“What the fuck are you?” Ella asks, accusation sharp in her tone. “I swear if you’re a cop and you’re—”
Diletta laughs loudly. “My god, no. Not a cop.” I feel like at this point, she must lean across the table. “My father is one of the most notorious criminals in my country. That’s just the start of it. It’s a long story, and one that I won’t be telling anyone anytime soon, for their protection as much as mine.”
What the fuck is she doing telling them this? I know that Lark and Ella can be trusted, but she can’t know that. She just met them and has known them for all of five hot minutes.
I almost trip over my own feet since I’m in such a damn hurry to get into that kitchen, before she says something she shouldn’t.
“Gunner!” Diletta’s already standing by the time I burst around the corner. She heard me coming. Did she know I was up, dressed and listening? Very likely. There was no way she was going to let me slip out the back door and disappear on her, though the fact that she uncuffed me shows some basic level of trust.
She’s back to looking like a sweet kindergarten teacher this morning in a fifties style skirt and cream sweater—which was probably one of the reasons Ella was so shocked at how she was so familiar with guns. Pin up girl to Rambo in a single motion. The disconnect is real.
She brushes my arm with her fingertips, arches into me for leverage, and kisses my cheek.
Merda. She’s so sweet, but she’s real too. Fierce. A bundle of the most intriguing contradictions. She disarms everything I am, pushes back the static in my head and the anger constantly simmering in my veins recede down to nothing.
She spins away with effortless grace, going straight for her fancy espresso machine to load it up with freshly ground coffee.
It feels like it’s been half a lifetime since I tasted good coffee. My throat closes up because I already know that she uses authentic shit. As soon as that machine starts hissing out that rich, dark stream, I’m already transported home.
Diletta steams milk in a little silver cup and makes me the most perfect drink I’ve ever seen or smelled.
While I stand there and sip coffee out of the little pink mug with flowers on it, Lark and Ella stare at me in disbelief. Clearly wondering what dubious things I’ve done to this woman they’re trying to take under their wing to ensure that she makes an informed decision about me, the life, and the club.
Diletta slips her arm around my waist.
I nearly choke on the hot coffee. It’s perfect, the bitterness balanced out by the creamy milk. Ella and Lark just keep staring as they try and figure out how the fuck they’re going to fix this, or if they even need to.
In the silence, Diletta’s hand leaves my waist and whispers around to my back. She lifts my t-shirt and slips her hand underneath, caressing the skin of my lower back while I try to keep a straight fucking face. It’s nearly impossible as she tilts to look up at me while slowly running her tongue along her lower lip. The meaning is pretty damn clear. Audience or not, my cock is at war with my jeans, leaking inside my boxers at the thought of her getting on her knees and taking me out.
“Thank you for coming.” She looks at me as she says it, nearly slaying me and knowing all the while what she’s doing. She finally turns to address Lark and Ella properly. “I really do appreciate that you want to keep me safe, even from myself. I know you’re not trying to scare me off and I don’t feel unwelcome. And Gunner? I know exactly who he is.” Her finger skims the elastic of my boxers like it wants to dip below them as well. I’d let her do whatever she wants to me.
I am entirely hers .
I was never asked to be a killer here. I fell into that role seamlessly when it was required because that’s what the situation called for. Kill or be killed. The rest? The scary, heartless monster. That’s the role I was born for. Diletta. She changed everything. Her laying claim to me is more than just forcing me to physically be here. She wants to reclaim my spirit. She believes that it’s not too late. She sees something that even I can’t see when she looks at me.
“He’s going back to the club to tell you everything,” Diletta speaks again into the stunned silence. “Soon, you’ll know who he is too.”
I nearly black out when that finger creeps lower, grazing the bare skin below that elastic.
Lark and Ella both frown at that. They study the two of us until I give a tight nod. “I’m heading to the club right away.” They’ll call church for something like this. They’d have to.
“Do you want to come with us?” Lark asks. “I drove over here in my car and yours is still at the clubhouse.”
“Yes,” Diletta says.
“No,” I respond sharply, at the same time. It’s in my blood to be an overprotective asshole.
Diletta rolls her eyes and smiles right into my face.
“Yes it is then.” Ella jumps to her feet, forcing a confident smile that’s so obvious she doesn’t feel. She takes Lark’s hand and together, they step further back into the kitchen, towards the front door, waiting for Diletta.
They’re not going to leave without her. There’s no disappearing for me now. It’s not that I’m running from my past, but everything has changed.
Diletta isn’t just mine now.
I’m hers.
She’s not letting me go. She won’t let me face this alone.
I’m glad for the sisterhood who will be with her, taking care of her, filling her good, pure heart up in a way that I can’t, while I’m in church with men who will decide my fate. I know Lark and Ella will keep Diletta safe when I can’t be there to watch her, but the thought of letting her out of my sight, especially right now, when everything is out of control, running straight into disaster territory, makes me feel painfully reckless.
One single fuckup that night, a hand lifted in the darkness, my way of touching what I could never touch, owning what could never be mine, has led me to here, my carefully orchestrated life crashing down around me.
Diletta drops my t-shirt and wraps her arms around my waist. She kisses my cheek again, so chaste and pure and fucking irresistible. “Finish your coffee and we’ll go.” Her eyes burn. It’s clear she doesn’t want to let me out of her sight either. But then, she nuzzles my neck with her nose, inhaling me like I’m the best scent she’s ever taken into her lungs.
“There’s no way you’re going there if you’re not on the back of my bike.” My early morning Neanderthal is extra growly.
She bites her bottom lip and nods. “I’ll go and get changed.” Lark and Ella are still there. “You don’t have to wait for me.”
They both give her warm, genuine smiles that assure me that if any of this goes sideways, Diletta will be okay. The club would have her back.
“We’ll wait,” Lark says.
“Jeans and boots, ma’am. And a warm jacket. It’s cool out right now,” Ella adds.
Diletta strokes her hand down my side and whispers near my ear, for me only.
“Everything will be fine.”
The iron conviction in that whisper makes me want to believe her.
***
Church is held in a special, private room in the clubhouse reserved specifically for our meetings. In any club, it’s where most of the major decisions get made. This is an unscheduled meeting, but not an emergency. This room has seen far too much action over the past year. I’m sure a few of the men in here would be happy never to have to gather again for anything other than check-ins on our daily operations, legit businesses, for scheduling the godforsaken community events Tyrant has a hard-on for, and other regular, boring club shit.
This meeting is officers only, but it takes me back to that unconventional time Tyrant called church and allowed every single man in the club, prospects included, to have a say on what direction we were going. He was half broken then, literally, after his should have been dead dad reappeared from the grave and had him tortured. Our Prez was ready to give up his spot in the club, even though it would have killed him, because he felt like he’d lied to us and betrayed our trust by not killing his own father when he said he would.
I wasn’t around when this old warehouse was refashioned into our clubhouse. I don’t think this room saw much remodeling. The huge table we’re gathered around now was never removed. The raw brick and huge wooden beams, and all the open duct work in the ceiling stare back at me when I tilt my head up.
The room is utterly silent.
I’ve just spent the past twenty minutes breaking my vow never to put my past into words, mostly because of the level of danger involved to everyone else.
Now, every one of these men in this room has a decision to make.
We just faced down a year of threats and lockdown because of Zale and his fucked-up retribution. We were starting to get back to some version of normal. What I just confessed could have half these men evacuating their families, placing extra protection around our business associates, and installing goddamn razor wire on the compound fence. Granted, we did discuss that at our last regular scheduled church meeting anyway, but no one wants to go back to living like caged animals.
I’m no coward and I’m not going to duck my head, even though the shame I feel is a red-hot brand thrust into me. Every single one of these men might as well have one. That’s a whole lot of impaling to contend with and my lungs aren’t working properly as I sweep my gaze around the table.
The air in the room is thick and tense. If this wasn’t a club full of men I know and trust at some level, I’d be reaching for something to fashion into a weapon and readying myself to fight and claw my way out of here.
Crow and Reaper, our enforcers, look like they’d rather lay into me than keep the peace. Wizard sits at the far end of the table, seemingly disgusted with himself for missing this. He’s not just an IT genius, I’m sure he does plenty of hacking. He probably thought there was no one he couldn’t find, no background that couldn’t be motherfucking checked. Our road captain, Axe, is slowly cracking his knuckles above the table. He’s middle-aged, but burly and huge. He’d rather be cracking my skull at the moment, I’m sure. Scythe has his head bowed, hiding his face. Raiden and Tyrant share their weird secret communication thing they’d always had, compliments of knowing each other since they were five and being brothers in every way except actual DNA.
Wizard scratches his head. He’s the first one to speak. “How did you get rid of your accent?”
“My grandmother was Irish, she raised me until I was seven and I ended up back with my mother. I grew up bilingual, and I never really had an Italian accent when I spoke English. With watching movies and American TV shows during my teens I guess my natural accent became more American sounding. That’s why for my cover I chose a New York Irish background as it was close to the truth.”
That earns me another round of frowns around the table. The whole thing is too much to believe, and I started right at the start. From birth going forward. I might have given just a sketch of my life, but that outline was more than I’ve ever told anyone, even Diletta the other night.
“How did she?” Wizard asks.
I fight the thrashing urge in me to protect Diletta by silencing anyone who might know her secrets and could expose her or hurt her. I gave a far briefer version of her life, but seeing as she voluntarily gave Lark and Ella that info in the kitchen all on her own this morning, I knew it was only a matter of time before it was public knowledge. “Private tutors. She was educated at home, the best money could buy.” That was public knowledge, when I bothered to glean it years ago, which of course I lapped up as I started my journey into becoming a first-rate stalker. “I have no idea how many languages Diletta speaks, but I’m willing to bet that she’d far surpass my skills in French and Spanish.”
Tyrant runs his fingers along his jaw. He’s worn his beard shorter lately, like Bullet does. “It’s been years. How do you know that the man you saved is still running things? What if his son gets hold of his empire? You don’t think he’d be coming for you for stealing his future bride and humiliating him?”
“Diletta would know about any major changes like that. Her father would get word to her somehow. I’ve changed my appearance drastically. I would be hard pressed to recognize my own self now.” I need to be fully honest. These men deserve nothing less. “But… you’re right. If that ever happened, I’d be doubly a target.”
A restless creak of leather rustles around the table as men shift in their seats. Raiden is usually on the same wavelength as Tyrant. “At the same time, you saved this man’s daughter and it’s clear that he’s not a small player. If you wanted his protection…”
“He paid me. That’s all I asked for. Enough money to start a new life.” I leave the rest unsaid this time. If he had any idea what that life looked like, he’d be the one sending hired killers after me so fast that I wouldn’t have time to see them coming.
It’s understood anyway.
Meeting her today and hearing my story is just another stark reminder of just how little we all know about each other’s backgrounds. We swore brotherhood and oaths to this club, to this thing greater than all of us. That means upholding that family by being willing to die for the man on the left and right of you. Brothers, but still ultimately strangers.
“And if Diletta pointedly asked her father for your protection?” Axe asks roughly, clearly uncomfortable with speaking.
She mentioned something along those lines. “I don’t want her to have to do that.”
“It could have the opposite effect. Drawing attention here,” Tyrant points out.
“That’s exactly it. She might think her father will listen, but if I was him, I’d remove her from this situation by any means possible.”
That settles for a few minutes. It’s impossible that anyone here could feel sicker about all of this than I do.
Raiden bangs his fist on the table lightly. His eyes track to me. His face is hard. he’s digging in. An ally. “It’s been five years. As far as anyone knows, you’re dead, if you did a credible job faking that.”
“I believe I did.”
“You believe?” Wizard croaks.
“That’s all anyone can do, isn’t it, while they’re still actually alive? I covered all my tracks thoroughly. I did everything I could do. I’ve taken painstaking care to change my appearance as much as I could without surgery. I’ve been cautious. I’m here to keep Diletta safe and that meant ensuring I didn’t bring the danger straight to her.”
“Are you sure that her going back to the protection of her family isn’t best for her?” Axe asks savagely, uncaring how his words wound.
I remain perfectly neutral, granting these men what I’ve always given them here. Nothing of myself other than the truth I had to tell.
“If her father takes her back to Italy, I can’t go there. It might have been years since I left, and chances of new enemies cropping up and old vengeance dying hard and slow is probably realistic, but one step back there and I’m back in it all. I can never go back home. That risk is beyond anything that makes sense. Diletta still can if her father allowed it. I want her to have that option in the future. Family is everything to her.” I pause, weighing my next words, then decide that it has to be said. “I tried to leave here. It’s been my plan for years—I never wanted to bring my shit to your doorsteps, but she won’t let me.”
Tyrant and Raiden exchange a look so sappy that it’s sickening, but the other men who don’t have old ladies just stare at me blankly. They don’t know what it is to be owned by someone, to have them consume your entire existence, to have them fight for your body and soul. And if they did, and lost it?
I don’t know how they could even be sitting here still alive.
More than a few moments pass in weighted, tense silence again. We’re in that middle part of the year, transitioning between seasons, where there is no heat or AC on, so the quiet is absolute.
“We’re not going to sit here and judge,” Raiden sighs. “We’ve all done shit. We all have a past. Any one of us could have our demons coming after us, corporeal or otherwise, am I right?”
Gradually, every single one of the men around the table nods.
“You have every right to want to belong. There’s this misconception about men on the wrong side of the law. We might be big and tough and whatever other token shit people think, but I believe that every man is just that. A human being.” Tyrant’s words slice through me the same way Diletta’s did.
We share a loaded look, and it’s to his credit that he doesn’t hold it against me that I lied to him that night when he stitched up my arm. It’s obvious where I was and when I said that there wasn’t trouble coming for us, I meant it.
As far as I know, there still isn’t. There might never be.
“I refuse to go back to living in lockdown. It was hell on our families, and it was hell on us. We don’t need to shut this place up tight. We’re already vigilant. We already have extra security measures in place that we haven’t relaxed and won’t ever do so again. The compound gets razor wire, the windows in here are getting changed out. We’re doing it. Other than that, life goes on as it has because otherwise, we’ll lose our fucking minds. We protect each other, support each other, and we ride with each other. Axe, you’ll organize a ride. Not to move product, or for a meeting or for any other reason than the fact that we all need to feel alive. We don’t need another community thing, but something for the women and children out at the cabin would be great. Summer’s coming and I wanted that cabin to be a refuge. It’s been too long since we had everyone up there camping out. We’ll have another party this coming weekend.” Tyrant pauses, looking each man in the eye. He leaves me for last. “Your old lady…” Even he can’t believe how strange it sounds saying it and he chokes on that last word. “She’s no wilting flower, but maybe tell her not to come wearing something that’s going to set you off this time, yeah? We’d all like our throats intact.”
That shame still burns red hot. “I’ll make things right with Bullet.”
“He made things right last night. There’s nothing you have to do or say to belong here, Gunner. You took your vows when you patched in, and you’ve made good on them. You’re here now, not putting anyone or anything, yourself and your old lady, above this club. Anyone who was coming was only ever coming after you. I don’t believe they would have had anything to do with this club and if you got a sense they were coming, you would have been gone, protecting us and this town. I’ll reiterate. Every person has a right to family. They have a right to safety and belonging. The world might try to prove that time and again, that’s not true, but I don’t believe anyone is too far gone.”
That’s because Tyrant is too good a man for his own good. Truly. But we all love him for it, most of us as a brother, some of the older ones like a son, but also a friend, for being so wise and unthinkably gentle, for speaking a language most of us didn’t understand, but translating it through action all the same.
“You’re still a part of this club, Gunner, until you tell us that you don’t want to be. No one is chasing you out. We’re all at your side and your back, no matter what you need. You and your old lady. She’s one of us. Let’s get through this week, get this shit taken care of with the clubhouse’s security measures, and let’s get to the weekend where we can unwind, since we all still need it. Let’s get to that ride and to the good times up there at the cabin. Let’s live, and let’s live hard.”
A loud roar echoes through the room, fists and open palms thundering down on the old tabletop. Tyrant doesn’t need to ask for a vote. The men’s consensus is clear.
They stand, one by one, ready to leave. Tyrant gives the signal, dismissing the meeting. I head for the door, letting the others go first. Crow stops me while most of the rest are distracted.
“Thought I saw you,” he says low enough that only I can hear. “I thought we were alike, but we’re not.” I get what he means. He dresses entirely in black, all the time, and with his long black hair and brutish form, he has a scary presence that has cleared out a room many times in the past. He’s parted seas of men in a crowd, all of them making way rather than stand before him or beside him. If anyone thinks I have dead eyes, they should get a load of Crow’s.
I bow my head and let him pass. He’s not looking for a response. I feel like I’ve disappointed him because I’m not that cold, dead persona that I’ve perfected.
Tyrant and Raiden stop at the door when everyone else has gone. I approach them, sensing that we’re not done having words. I might as well start.
“I’m in no position to ask for a favor and I know how much shit I have to make right here, with Bullet and everyone else.”
“That’s what we were trying to tell you. Sometimes the hardest shit to hear is what’s being yelled the loudest, right in front of our face.” The words are gentle, not sarcastic.
Raiden reaches out like he’s going to set a hand my shoulder, but he lets it drop. “You’ve had a tough run of it, but if prison taught me anything, it’s that we have to get over ourselves, our righteous anger, all the other shit, and get the fuck on with it. You can’t sit and lick your wounds for the rest of your life or all they do is fester.”
How very biker poetic. This place is full of idealism, which most days is less than idea at best, annoying as getting a sliver wedged straight up your asshole at worst. Either way, I’m in no position to say anything right now. A splinter would feel great compared to what this group of men should want for me. If I was them, I’d want to make me suffer nice and slow, although others’ pain was never my jam, even when it was my job.
“I need to get my shit together. I hear you. That being said, can I borrow the cabin for today and tomorrow? Gotta have Diletta back by Monday morning for work, but she deserves an apology as well.”
Tyrant and Raiden both blink at me like I’ve handed them the tweezers for my splinter problem and offered a hefty bribe to do the honors. They stare so long that I’m starting to wonder if I’ve grown said asshole in the middle of my forehead.
“Today is the first day I’ve ever heard you ask anyone for anything.”
Absolutely. There wasn’t anyone else there when I went crawling to Diletta in the pouring rain, asking for cuddles like a kicked dog.
Kick me again, because I need time to decompress after this church and the only place I can think to do that is away from anything and everyone else after a long ride on my bike with my woman pressed up tight at my back. I’ve never had anyone in that seat before. That back seat on a bike is sacrosanct to most bikers. I want her arms wrapped around me that whole way, using me as her human shield against the cold wind.
I want to be held.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! As Nona Coleen would say, what the hell is going on with me?
“Brother.” Raiden doesn’t hesitate to clap my shoulder this time. “You can use that cabin if you’ll trade me for the next week of VP duties. Whatever Gray needs. I’m behind on the books and I need to bury myself and not come up for air if we’re going to get balanced.”
“We could just find someone for the position,” Tyrant argues. “Train one of the guys. You’ve been mentoring Jonathan since he was a prospect, and he just patched in. He’s a full member now. He’s got the same hard-on for books that you do.”
“Getting his GED was important to him. Doing our books? That’s next level. He’s smart, but it takes a special level of dry to be an accountant.”
“But this is fun accounting. Funneling money, laundering, figuring out where to dispense all those piles.”
They finally remember that I’m still standing here. Tyrant grins at me. “You can use the cabin without Raiden’s ask. The only thing I need help with coming up is getting that bulletproof glass installed in a few of the rooms that don’t have it yet, and razor wire. I agree, though. We should train someone.”
“Like I said, it takes a special someone to want to sit and wade through that. Even dirty money is still money and club books are still books. If anything it’s worse when there’s more of it to go around. I’m good at it. I don’t want to give it up.”
“That’s the problem. At least get someone in line to help you.”
“Atlas?”
“Jody’s been complaining that she never sees him as it is.”
“Are you serious? That’s news to me. I thought they were tight.”
Tyrant and Raiden drift off, not dismissive, but lost in the Prez, VP moment. They live, breathe, and bleed the club, but they also have that weird undercurrent of silent communication they do like freaky twins. We have twins in the club, and I swear that they don’t even do that telepathic communing to the level these two do.
I leave them, heading straight to the lounge where I know Diletta is.
The area is empty and quiet except for the few massive bodies still sleeping it off from the party the night before. Panic hits me hard and fast until I come to my senses. The other obvious choice would be the kitchen.
Rita, Ella, and Lark are at the table with Diletta, all of them sipping cups of tea and coffee, talking and laughing easily, like they’ve known each other their whole lives.
I don’t care that the room is full or that I’m giving myself away. I stalk across that kitchen, haul Diletta up and sweep her into my arms. I kiss her hard and long, even after Rita breaks into loud whoops and Lark and Ella start applauding.
“I need to take you somewhere,” I whisper, scraping my lips over the shell of her ear. “I have a few things to get ready first, but it’ll only take a few minutes. Do you trust me?”
She doesn’t have to think about it. “I do.”
I reluctantly set her down and take the cheers that make the back of my neck burn as I exit the kitchen. I stop at my room, grabbing my bag I was going to take with me last night. So much can change in the span of a single night. It did once for Diletta and then for me, and now everything is different for both of us again.
I just hope I can be what she needs.
The man my club needs me to be.
The human being I never got a chance to believe I could be.
Diletta is waiting for me in the kitchen, her cup in the sink, arms folded across her chest, my leather jacket that she wore last night and then again, this morning back on. It looks like a blanket, it’s so big on her. It’s fucking hot.
She takes my hand, smiling and waving to the women, who wave right back. She doesn’t say anything until we’re outside, ready to mount up on my bike.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. It’s lovely. One of my favorite places around here, actually.”
She loses the battle to keep a straight face and laughs. “You have a favorite place other than my backyard, creeping in the windows?” Her hand shoots out and grasps mine, though, like she’s worried she’s wounded me.
A laugh scrapes up my throat. It sounds strange. I stop, unsure, but then do it again. It physically hurts, like having a throat raw from coughing.
“You sound beautiful,” my goddess whispers. “You are beautiful.”
I secure my bag, then get on the bike. I hold out a hand, steadying her as she mounts up behind me. Her arms band around my chest immediately, clinging to me even though we haven’t rolled out yet. She’s not the least bit hesitant when it comes to touching me.
I kick the bike to life and pass Diletta her helmet. She squeals in delight before we’re even out of the compound.
We’re halfway down the street when she shouts in my ear so I can’t mistake it. “I love this! I feel so free, Gunner.”
It’s the height of irony that in all the time I’ve heard men say that very thing about being on their bike, I’ve never felt it myself until right now.