Page 18

Miles

I wake up with a pounding headache. Rolling over on my back, I reach for the nightstand and grab the glass of water I put there last night.

Sitting up, I take deep draughts and drink the water in three gulps.

Placing the glass back on the nightstand, I lean back on the pillow.

Stretching my arms behind my head, I settle back, trying to wake up.

What a mess I’ve made of my life. Loving Marissa is an exercise in futility. To quote Einstein— The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I laugh to myself. Another lost cause is hoping Paisley would ever give me a second chance.

Marissa and I had never hurt anyone else this badly in our crazy, mixed-up relationship before, but now Paisley has become an innocent victim of circumstances. She’s suffering not because of a wrong choice she made, but through no fault of her own.

From the perspective of hindsight, I contemplate my feelings for the two females, Paisley and Marissa.

On the one hand, there is Marissa. I have loved her my entire life.

It’s not just her physical attributes, but she’s also fun-loving and charismatic.

She’s intoxicating, my wild wolf. She’s like a whirlwind whenever she returns—exciting and impossible to resist. And when she disappears, it cuts deep.

I know she enjoys physical contact, but she fears commitment and pushes me away, running, leaving me devastated.

Each time she leaves, I wait for her, praying she comes back to me, hoping things will be different. But now I realize that she’s simply selfish and puts herself first. I’m just her backup plan. When she runs away, it’s to find something-or someone else.

Since I marked her as my mate, I can’t ignore the truth about what happens when we’re apart.

The emotional and physical wounds of our relationship manifest themselves on my body—this condition, called CMS, tells me everything I need to know.

The pain is excruciating when she’s with someone else, even with the aid of Amra .

Then there’s sweet, innocent Paisley, who walked into my life a year ago.

It has been the best year of my life. Paisley’s kindness and love are a balm to my aching heart.

When she’s with me, there’s no one else ever.

I can see no one else. However, I turned Paisley’s life into a nightmare by succumbing to my useless feelings for Marissa.

I shouldn’t have allowed Marissa to influence me.

I stand, metaphorically weighing the qualities of the two females in my mind’s eye, much like the blindfolded Lady Justice.

Marissa is exhilarating and breathtaking, an icy brace of excitement.

Marissa reminds me of the thrilling Freefall Tower at a carnival.

A ride you jump onto, holding tightly in anticipation of the drop.

When it comes, it’s a rush, your stomach lurching as you descend, and the experience is nothing short of perfection, yet too fleeting.

You want to reach out and grab her to you, but she’s gone in an instant, on to the next thrill.

Once the ride ends, you find yourself gasping for breath, heart racing, yet left with a sense of hollow emptiness.

In contrast, Paisley embodies all that is good.

She’s like a gentle breeze on a summer day, calm and comforting, always ready with a soft kiss or caress.

While Marissa brings excitement, Paisley feels like coming home, and her presence reassures you that she’ll be there when you wake up in the mornings.

Like a warm bath, she’s soothing and enfolds you in her kindness and love.

With Paisley, there’s no feeling like you’re reaching for something that’s always out of your grasp; instead, you enjoy each moment, knowing her love and support create a safe space of warmth and stability.

How could I have been so careless with my Paisley’s heart?

Why hadn’t I prepared for Marissa’s inevitable return?

I had to know intrinsically that Marissa would come back and cause chaos in my life, so why didn’t I fortify my defenses against her?

Based on our history, I should’ve prepared myself for what would happen after the brief moments of passion she offered.

Let’s be brutally honest: nothing is redeeming about Marissa’s character.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that. If I had stopped to see past the heat of the shallow physical rush and looked ahead to this moment in time—when I’ve lost Paisley—I would have known that nothing Marissa had to offer could ever compare to the precious eternity I lost with Paisley.

I traded love for lust. A treasure for a handful of ashes.

Because Marissa never truly gave me her heart.

And the taste of those truths is bitter on my tongue.

Leaning back on my pillow, alone, in the pre-dawn light of another day, my stomach roils with the weight of my thoughts.

Renewed waves of nausea begin to transform into sharp, burning pain that causes me to sit up in bed and double over.

Goddess! Not again! I’m already on a steady diet of Amra and can’t keep up with the pain.

I have to find a solution to this mate bond with Marissa before CMS kills me.

I leave the bed, grab the Amra tablets and the empty glass from the nightstand, and head to the ensuite to fill the glass with water.

Before I can reach the bathroom, the pain overwhelms me, and I stumble to the floor, shattering the glass.

I raise my hand, and blood streams down my arm.

At the same time, the excruciating pain in my abdomen worsens, and lesions begin to appear on my bare chest and stomach.

I know I’m just seconds away from a medical emergency, even with the high dosage of Amra in my system.

Desperate, I quickly pop a couple of tablets into my mouth and swallow them dry.

After removing the larger shards of glass from my hand, I tear the pillowcase from my pillow to wrap my hand and apply pressure to stop the bleeding.

Lying back on the floor, I wait as the symptoms of CMS slowly fade in intensity .

As my pain subsides and my breathing slows, I laugh at the irony.

Every day since Marissa left, I’ve experienced debilitating symptoms of CMS despite high doses of Amra.

I glance down at the multiple scars on my stomach from the healed lesions.

The doctor told me that I hold the record in the territory for the most severe case of CMS. Not only am I a fool, but it appears I’m the biggest one.

Marissa

I’ve slipped into my own personal heaven.

When I hopped onto the back of that motorcycle with Sledge, I had no idea what I was getting into.

A girl can only dream about the males I’ve since been introduced to at the Talon’s we embrace reality,” he states almost detachedly.

“We talk openly, and we know everyone’s business.

But in this club, ol’ ladies are monogamous, as are the brothers who have ol’ ladies.

They’re true to each other until such a time as they decide to move on, or not.

Shared females are club girls, and the brothers who share the club girls are not monogamous.

Nothing’s really changed; we can still have fun. ”

“Welcome to the club,” Drágon interrupts. “Since you’re a club girl, here are the rules.”

He drones on about never approaching a brother, saying I’m supposed to wait for them to come to me. Ppfft! A girl’s got needs, too! Then I hear something about personal cleanliness and health check-ups.He tells me that my status here is voluntary and that I can leave at any time.

But what stops me cold is when he says I’m on the chore rotation chart, expected to help keep all clubhouse areas clean and assist with cooking and serving meals.

“What?!” I finally emerge from my shock. “I’m not a maid or cook!”

Drágon pins me down with just a look. “Joyride, in this club, no one rides for free, and sex isn’t a form of payment. You must pull your own weight or find yourself out on the streets. In exchange, we’ll provide you with food and a bedroom. You’re in the chore rotation; do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” I grit out. I’m too angry to do anything more, knowing that if I don’t keep my mouth shut, my meal ticket and the roof over my head will disappear.

He nods sharply, his jaw tenses as curls of steam hiss from the corners of his mouth.