Page 15

Hound

The wrench slips, clanging against the metal frame of the bike and no doubt drawing all focus to me. At least from the few people in the room who weren’t already watching me. I sigh, reaching down to grab the wrench, but the engine oil slicking my gloves makes it hard to get a firm grasp on it.

I grab a rag and wipe them down before trying again with more success this time.

I try to get back to work, but I can’t focus with all the men watching me like one would watch a live bomb that’s going to explode and take everyone out.

Heck, even Saint is in the auto shop, huddled with Axel and Knox, talking in hushed tones, but it’s clear I’m the who they’re talking about.

I let her go, but I’m fine, goddamnit!

I’m not going to rage and fight every man in the clubhouse just because I was the fool who had the most precious thing in the world and lost it.

I shake my head, willing it back to my bike.

I wrecked it just yesterday when I slipped off the road because my head was not where it was supposed to be and I took a turn too fast on wet pavement.

I got lucky and walked away with all my limbs intact and only a few scratches.

My head has not been screwed on tight lately, but it’ll all fade and be back to normal in no time. It has to! Fucking hell, it’s been a week already, how much longer do I need?

My stomach growls, a hollow ache that mirrors the emptiness I’ve felt since she walked out of Saint’s office with her brother. Everything in me wanted to stop her, grab her arm and tell her fucking brother to leave alone.

Somehow, I let the girl matter.

I laugh at the thought, drawing more attention to myself. I’m delusional to think that I let anything happen. I had no control whatsoever over my feelings for Chelsea. They took root the second I saw her, and nothing short of a miracle could pry them out.

I’m fine, goddamnit! I was doing well for myself before she came into my life and wrecked it. I was doing darn well for myself.

I’m nearly done with the bike when three shadows fall over me, blocking my light. With a sigh, I glare at my MC brothers, not in the mood for whatever it is they’re plotting. What’s a guy gotta do to fix his bike without a bunch of assholes constantly getting in his way?

“What?” I demand.

“You are a fool,” Axel says, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares me down. With another sigh, I toss the wrench away before shooting to my feet so I’m staring the fuckers dead in the eyes.

“Piss off, Axel. I’m just trying to fix my bike here.”

“You are brooding,” Saint cuts in. “Everyone can see it. You’ve been a pain to be around for a week, ever since you let your girl walk away.”

I scoff before deciding I’m past talking.

The truth is I didn’t let Chelsea do anything.

I could have stopped her, forced her to stay in the clubhouse with me, but what power did I have to make such a decision for her?

To keep her in a place she’d been forced to come.

Her brother had accepted Saint’s proposal, and she was free to go wherever she pleased without an obsessive man watching her every step.

And she chose to leave. She didn’t say goodbye, never even looked back.

If that isn’t confirmation that I was merely a way for her to pass the time, then I don’t know what is.

She never really wanted me; she just wanted her time her to be as painless as possible.

And fuck if that knowledge doesn’t stink like a bitch.

I’m about to turn around and leave when a commotion draws my attention to the entrance, and I watch Ransom storm in, fury darkening his expression.

Fuck, I don’t have time for this. The fucker has been mean mugging me all week, staring at me like he wants to pick a fight he has no chance of winning, and now, it’s seems he has finally found his nerve.

Fucking perfect. It so happens that I am now in the mood to fuck someone up.

Ransom storms toward me, pushing his way past the three men between us, then proceeds to shove me into the wall. He lifts his fisted hand as if to punch me, and I wait for him to make his move so I can send him flying. Luckily for him, the punch never happens.

The men behind him step forward as if to pry him away, but I raise my left hand to keep them back. Whatever problem Ransom has with me, I can deal with it my darn self.

“You fucking asshole!” he rages, with his fist aimed at my face. “What did you do to my sister?”

My eyes darken, and the first sign of life in what feels like days snaps into me as my blood turns to ice at the thought of something wrong with Chelsea. “What’s wrong? What happened to Chelsea?” Whose bones do I need to break?

“She’s not been the same since she left this fucking place,” he yells, slamming his fist into the wall next to my head, but I don’t flinch, patiently waiting for him to keep talking, desperate for any news about Chelsea.

“She hasn’t been eating or sleeping, and her boss says that she keeps zoning out at work.

” His eyes are filled with hate, and I see it, the urge to make me pay for every moment of her distress.

“My sister was fine before she came here, and now she cries at night when she thinks I can’t hear her.

Chelsea, who’s never said a mean word before she met you, went off on some old lady at work today, and she got fired! ”

Fuck!

Emotion swamps me as my eyes meet Saint’s over Ransom’s shoulder, and his nod is all I need. I shove the distraught brother to the side, ready to leave when I remember that I fucked up my bike yesterday and haven’t finished fixing it.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuck!

“Take this,” Axel calls out, and I turn around just in time to catch the keys he tosses my direction as he nods toward the Harley Davidson I helped him fix up a few days ago.

Everyone in the club is very protective of their bikes, and I’m equal amounts surprised and touched that Axel would trust me with his ride after witnessing what I did to my own.

I was distracted then, grieving a love I thought I’d lost.

Not anymore.

“Thanks, man,” I say, tearing off the work gloves and tossing them aside. I rush toward the bike, then I’m tearing out of the shop. I’m going to fix this. It’s obvious now that I’ve been lost in my own grief without considering for a second that Chelsea might feel the same way.

Space, freedom… I thought those were the things she wanted—needed.

The last time I did this, she was angry at me. Thought I didn’t want her. Jesus Christ, is that what she thinks now too? That I don’t want her? Lord above, I’ve been a fool. A fool blinded by love, but a fool nonetheless.

I pull up outside of her building and turn off the engine.

I don’t bother worrying about the safety of the bike in this neighborhood—with the Steel Rebels insignia all over it, only a man with a death wish would so much as look twice at it.

My heart is hammering in my chest when I storm into the lobby, heading straight for the elevator before deciding to take the stairs when it doesn’t immediately open.

The worry inside of me hides an insidious panic that she might not want me.

Christ, what do I do if Chelsea decides I’ve taken too long to come to her and doesn’t want me anymore?

What if Ransom was wrong about how she’s been feeling?

My sanity has been hanging by a loose thread, her rejection would snap it.

Despite the urgency, I freeze when I reach her door. I stand there, my pulse quickening, the urge to kick the door in just to get to her faster is almost overwhelming. But then I imagine it crashing open, the shock and fear on her face.

Patience.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself to rein in my whirlwind emotions, then I knock. Each rap against the wood feels like a plea, a silent prayer that she’ll open up and let me in. Both literally and figuratively.

After a few minutes, which feel like an eternity to my panicked mind, the door finally creaks open, and there she is.

Standing in the doorway, wrapped in soft, worn pajamas that hang loosely on her frame, her hair a tousled mess of curls cascading over her shoulders like the leaves of a tree, she looks both effortlessly beautiful and achingly vulnerable.

My heart lurches in my chest as I take in the sight of her. The way her eyes, still sleepy, widen in surprise as they meet mine. They’re the same deep pools of honey I fell in love with two weeks ago. Except that time, we were on opposite sides of this same threshold.

“Hound,” she chokes out, and her eyes pool with tears that have my heart clenching. Christ, I want to reach out and pull her into a hug, let her know how much I’ve missed her. I’ve been dying slowly, craving her more than I did my next breath, but I don’t know if my advances would be welcome.

Fuck it!

I step into the room and wrap my arms around her, yanking her hard against me. And suddenly the world feels right again. I bury my face in her hair, breathing in her scent and letting it steady me.

“God,” I say in a shaky breath, tightening my hold on her when she tries to shimmy away. No, I’m done with the whole space bullshit. There will be no such thing between us again. Not when it makes us both this fucking miserable. “Just a little longer, kitten. Please.”

Chelsea stops moving, and her hands tentatively circle my waist. We stay locked in an embrace for minutes—hours, it feels like—before she pulls back, and this time, I let her go. She clears her throat and moves away from me, her eyes looking everywhere but at me.

“W-what are you doing here?”

“I came here to see you,” I say, letting myself inside. She sighs before walking deeper into the apartment, so I take off my boots and follow behind. “Your brother came to see me. He was ready to punch me for making his sister cry.”