He already has, a voice whispers in the back of my mind, making me grit my teeth.
“I’m starving,” I lie. My stomach is churning and I doubt I could eat if I tried.
He stares at me for a moment, and I can see the dismay in his eyes. He says he wants me to spill my secrets, to open up to him, but the truth is if he knew he would look at me differently—everyone will and I can’t stand the thought. I already saw the look in Levi’s eyes when he rescued me from our father and his fists. He’s treated me as if I’m glass ever since. I know he’s told the brothers what happened—there’s no secrets in that club, apart from my secret, one so dark it would tear them apart. Who would they turn on if they found out the truth? Would Levi be made to choose? How could I rip him away from the only family he’s ever had? No, it’s better to hold all my secrets close.
Daimon scrubs a hand over his face and I think he might push the issue, but he doesn’t. He is trying to give me space to work through my shit, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before his patience wears out. I don’t think there’s enough space in the world to work through being violated by someone you trusted. There are no words to make it right.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Relief floods me when he drops it, followed by something ugly that sits in my gut.
I’m not a person who lies, but this is what that bastard has made me into. A liar. Lying to Daimon doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel like I’m crawling in the filth of my past and I hate it.
I risk a glance at Layla as he heads for the door and I don’t miss the disapproval in her expression.
“What are you doing?” she hisses as soon as he disappears from the room.
Bikers are not her favourite people and for good reason.
“It’s just breakfast.”
“I don’t like this. He could be like—”
I hold my hand up, stopping her.
“Daimon is nothing like him,” I growl, before my shoulders fall.
I have no idea why I’m defending Daimon over my best friend. Layla is right to be worried. I thought I would be safe before, but I wasn't. The only saving grace is that I haven’t seen him for weeks. The longer he’s away, the stronger I start to feel, though I know the moment I see him again that will unravel.
I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile.
“It’ll be okay,” I tell her, before I follow Daimon out of the flat.
Despite my own misgivings, my stomach tingles with anticipation as I see him waiting by a huge motorcycle parked up near the front door. The early morning means the roads beyond the car park are already starting to congest as the morning commute gets underway, but I block the noise of the traffic out and focus on the beauty in front of me.
“We’re taking your bike?” I question, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice.
I move to the bike, gently skimming my hand over it as my heart flips. I’ve been on the back of Levi’s bike more times than I can count over the years, but he’s my brother. The thought of getting on behind Daimon makes my mouth dry. My time around these men has taught me a few things, like they don’t put just anyone on the backs of their bikes. This means something, although I’m not sure what.
Daimon eyes me and I see the curiosity in his gaze. “You like riding?”
My lips curve up at the corners. Riding is the only time I’ve really felt alive. There’s something freeing about being on the back of a bike.
“I’ve only ever been behind my brother, but yes, I love it. I want to get my own wheels, though I don’t think Levi would approve.”
“Who gives a fuck who approves? You want a bike, fucking get one. Life’s short, baby. Don’t live in the shadow of what others want for you.”
I don’t miss how his use of the word ‘baby’ makes my stomach flip. The endearment comes out of nowhere and I find I like it.
“You think I should just get one, screw what my brother thinks?”
He shrugs. “I think you’re old enough to do whatever the fuck you want.”
His words strike a chord and I’m surprised by his outlook. I thought he would tell me it’s too dangerous, that riding is not for women, but Daimon surprises me at every turn.
He hands me the helmet and I frown at him.
“Where’s yours?”
“Ain’t got a spare with me, and you ain’t getting on the back without one.”
His words make the butterflies in my belly flutter against my abdomen, and they tear down a chunk of my walls. No one ever cared about making me safe apart from my brother.
I can’t stop the small lift of my lips as I dip my head to look at the straps. I try to ignore the heat fizzling between us as I pull on the helmet. I also try not to stare at him as he climbs on the back of his bike, his thick, jean-clad legs straddling the large tank.
He’s every woman’s fantasy, but he’s only doing this because I’m his club brother’s sister. There’s nothing else between us, right?
My body trembles as I move to the back. Like Levi’s bike, he has pillions either side, so I’m confident as I use his shoulders to steady myself as I swing my leg over the back. As soon as I sit down, I’m aware of how close I am to him and when his hand lands on my thigh, I nearly shoot off the seat.
“You need me to stop, tap my shoulder three times,” he tells me.
I nod, my tongue suddenly feeling too thick for my mouth.
This is going to be a long morning.
11
Daimon
I take Briella to a small diner in the centre of the borough. We run protection for them, at a cost, of course, so brothers eat free. Not that money is an issue; my main reason for choosing them is that they have the best pancakes in the area.
The place is decorated like one of those old nineteen-fifties diners you see in the States, with PVC covered booths and stainless-steel tables. I lead Briella over to a table at the back of the room and sit facing the door. She slides into the booth opposite me and tucks her hair behind her ears.
She’s nervous, I can tell, but it’s fucking endearing. I don’t know why I find it that way. I usually like my women bolshy, but it’s different with Briella. I like knowing I knock her off her axis. That I affect her, goes straight to my dick.
“What do you want to eat?” I ask her, not bothering to pick up a menu. I know everything that is good to eat here.
She reaches for the menu. “What do you suggest?”
“Pancakes, babe. They’re amazing.”
“Then I guess I’ll have pancakes.” She smiles, tucking the menu back into the stand.
The waitress, Fern, doesn’t keep us waiting. She knows better. We’re treated like kings when we come in and we get a first-rate service, so our order is given within a few minutes of sitting.
If Briella notices this, she doesn’t comment, instead reaching for a paper napkin, which she starts to shred on the table. I watch her for a moment before I cover her hands with mine, stopping her. Her bright eyes widen as they raise to meet mine.
“It’s a pity this place doesn’t serve anything stronger than coffee,” she murmurs as her eyes go to the window. Her teeth capture her bottom lip, as if she realises she’s said too much.