Page 197 of Severed Heart

“I have thought about a job much lately,” she admits, “I don’t want to be supported. Yes, I agree. I feel done being Betty Crock.”

God help me.I screw my lips up as if in thought as I miraculously tamp more laughter down. “I have a job for you.”

“The club?” she asks, pushing up the hem of my T-shirt as I pull it over my head. She instantly begins to palm my chest, her breaths intensifying as I continue to work her up.

“The timing couldn’t be more perfect,” I tell her honestly. “You already know everything there is to know.”

I’ve spent the last few months relaying the ins and outs of the club, as well as recounting stories of my time in the GRS. In turn, she’s given me more in-depth details of what she learned on the streets while running for Alain, as well as the backgrounds of the past and present players on the board in France.

“You know it’s right. It feels right, but I’ll sweeten the deal and keep your involvement between us until you’re ready.”

She nods, her eyes lit with the idea even as I palm one of her silk-covered breasts, then the other.

“I’ll ... take ... the ... job,” she gasps, a sheen of sweat breaking over her skin as a needy moan escapes her.

“Okay,” I chuckle darkly, “we’ll talk benefits and 401k after I make you come because now”—I dip and sip on one of her dark nipples through the silk—“I’m fuckingstarving.”

“Then, hurry up, Soldier,” she whispers heatedly. “We have to get to work.”

Sometime later, we’re soaked in sweat, our connection deep as she cradles my back and neck with one arm, palming the mattress behind her with her opposite hand for support as she takes what she needs.

It’s ecstasy fucking the woman I love—have loved for so long. My need never to be satiated. She’s got it so wrong at the slightest notion I could ever tire of her. I do my best to show her as my chest goes raw, giving me no choice but to voice it.

“Forever,” I whisper against her parted lips.

“Forever,” she whispers back instantly.

I feel the truth of that vow everywhere because there’s no honeymoon period when you find such a hypnotic and intoxicating connection with someone to the point that it feels spiritual. Even with as little experience as I have in relationships, I’m acutely aware of how lucky we are. Some part of me believes it’s a reason for her restlessness as well. It’s too good. Too perfect.

But just as I start to get lost in her, a haunting whisper in the back of my mind tries to work its way into my psyche, warning me there will be a price to pay for this perfection. Reminding myself that trauma has a way of haunting your present with these warnings, I bat it away and dismiss it for what it is—fear. Instead, embracing our surreal connection before utterly losing myself in her silk-covered love.

Chapter Fifty-Three

TYLER

SUMMER 2015

BLINK.

Standing idly in the woods between the clearing and Roman’s house, I watch in real time as Cecelia enters the front door after bidding farewell to her date. Her first real attempt at moving on since Dom and Sean were exiled. It’s evident in her disappointed expression and the lack of a kiss goodnight with Wesley—who I spent the morning vetting—that it didn’t go well. I text Tobias this update, knowing it’s mainly guilt-fueled. The message itself is one I’m certain he won’t give two shits about. But as things stood twenty minutes ago, T and I were in a better place. As of now, and after the act I just fucking committed, we’re sure to be at odds soon,yet again.

Even so, I stand in wait to see what reaction my gift might bring—if any—while resting in the knowledge that I did what was asked of me. Every one of my brothers is aware that I’m not the motherfucker to call to break protocol for personal reasons, and yet I can’t seem to stop being dragged into these situations. But I’ve become quite the sloppy son of a bitch recently due to the increased, thriving beat in my own chest because of the woman who keeps it pounding—steadily.

It was my brother’s desperate plea over the line—along with the love flowing freely inside me—that convinced me that for Cecelia, at the very least, it was the right thing to do. And so, I made the trip to that Asheville mall to our inked jeweler for both business and personal reasons.

Instincts aside, I did it as a friend and brother but also as a man deeply in love. Knowing all too painfully—by way of personal experience—just how fucking vitally important it is for Cecelia to get some sign, some acknowledgment that her own love and devotion for my brothers is not in vain. In no way personally could I hold a grudge against her decision to try and move on.

After spending too many years in a similar state, it was ultimately Cecelia’s aching heart that made the decision for me to act on his request. After all, it was Cecelia who brought me back to the love of my life. And after vigilantly guarding her—while watching her suffer from a distance these past months—I felt it was the least I could do to try to ease her pain.

So, for me, the request wasn’t as hard to carry out because she deserves to know that she’ll soon be claimed and that her devotion is returned. She needs that hope to continue to carry on for just two more months. My gift tonight hopefully not only giving her that sign but also a way to keep my promise to have her back. To know that even though she feels most alone right now, she’s anything but. It’s when I pull up my phone to track my birds’ current locations that any sense of relief I had in getting away with my latest move ceases to be. Trepidation snakes through me as I watch Tobias’s locater dot—which is connected to the tracker on his Jag—heading straight fucking for me.

I’ve been made.

Fuck.

Though Tobias has access to the cameras, I made sure to make this as covert as fucking possible. Going so far as to drive a King’s repair car from our lot here and parking it a quarter fucking mile away from Roman’s property line. A good distance from where we usually park next to the clearing before I practically crawled here to slip into Roman’s house undetected. So, the question is, unless he was logged into the cameras at that exact moment ... how?

Palming the back of my neck, more dread settles into me. As Tobias’s Jag closes in, my mind starts to race. This can’t be a coincidence—not with him. Even so, I rest in the fact that if I’m made, then he’s coming for me,not Cecelia. Tobias won’t go into that house and hasn’t so much as sneezed in Cecelia’s direction for the last eight months since his brothers left.