I was hurting with need. Aching with arousal. But my fist wouldn’t do. Only Keira’s pussy would quench this hunger.
For years, I’d fought it. Like a starving man who was fed only scraps, I’d panted after her, never giving her all of me because I knew she couldn’t handle it.
What had my consideration gotten me?
Locked out of heaven’s gates.
Scum like me was allowed in by invitation only, and I’d flipped that invitation the bird like the moronic motherfucker that I was.
Jaw clenching, dick aching, the tip fucking weeping precum even though the heavy weight of the padlock made me feel like it was cutting off circulation, I growled under my breath.
I could do this.
I’d let her down so many fucking times before.
Even if she didn’t know what I was going through, even if she never understood, she was worth the sacrifice.
Worth the pain.
I sucked in a breath, and as reason slowly came back to me, so did something else.
The beast in my head that never let up. The fucking animal that thought of her safety.
What had she said?
A bunch of guys from a local plant had come in?
My mouth tensed.
Sure, I bet they were there for pie, but for a glimpse of my woman too.
All shiny and pink as she bobbed around the diner, all goddamn smiles for those fuckers where she barely shot me a look.
She hadn’t been on another date since that Jared guy, but that wasn’t to say she wasn’t on the lookout for someone else. She and MaryCat had gone out to a local bar to celebrate MC’s birthday, but Jump hadn’t said that she’d danced with anyone else.
I deserved to beg for scraps, but I resented every bastard she served. I hated them for each smile she bestowed upon them, every fucking glance she graced them with.
Dick under control simply through anger, I reached for my cell after I let go of the washing machine, surprised I hadn’t dented it in all honesty. But though the hungers inside me often had me feeling like I was the Hulk, I wasn’t that goddamn strong.
Me: Everything okay?
Jump: Diner’s busy.
Me: Anyone given her any shit?
Jump: Nah. It’s not like that, Storm. You should chill the fuck out.
Me: I’ll chill the fuck out when I’m dead.
Jump: Prez, it’s your dime. If you wanna pay me to sit my ass in the diner, that’s what I’ll do.
Me: Keep me in the loop.
Jump: Always.
Grumbling under my breath, I looked in the cupboard above the washing machine, found the packets she’d been talking about, read the instructions, and put the clothes back onto wash. I had no concerns about my masculinity, but I had a few undershirts in there so I hoped they turned back to being white sooner rather than later.
Heading out of there, I retreated to the kitchen where there was some soup bubbling away that I’d made earlier and pulled out my phone again after I looked at it with distaste.
I fucking hated soup.
Eating that shit reminded me of the times Scarlet and me had been living with Mom. We’d survived on knock off versions of Campbells’ soup, so it wasn’t exactly a nice memory, but they were easy to make.
Not even I could fuck it up.
Plus, the recipes I followed were Giulia’s. She’d sent them to me when I asked for help after school with feeding Cyan, and they were good, just reminded me of worse times.
A couple of pings rang around the kitchen, and I knew why. The motherfucking group chat was driving me batshit. The WO one was active, but this one was crazy. It was good, they were eager, and I needed that, but still, I wasn’t used to talking so much. I guessed it meant I could read along without having to interact so that was pretty neat.
Though Bear’s death had been officially labeled as natural causes after the autopsy—the news of which had sent shockwaves of relief through me after Rex’s confession—the funeral didn’t have an official date as of yet.
I wasn’t the only one suffering from the lack of closure, and the WO chat was often filled with grief-stricken comments, nostalgic memories, and photos the brothers all discovered after they’d gone through their belongings.
The inability to move on didn’t just come from the funeral, but how much I knew we all felt like we’d missed out on.
In the last eight or so years, since Rene’s death, Bear had cut himself off from all of us. Scissoring massive chunks into the fabric of our beings as he disappeared for long chunks of time.
I knew Rex had called him and that conversation was the reason he’d come back to West Orange, where, ultimately, he’d died. I wasn’t sure if we’d ever know what really happened. Not a hundred percent.
So many people had been killed the night the compound had been bombed, and we still didn’t know how explosives had been packed onto Bear’s bike. That was definitely a mystery.
What we did know was how the sniper had gotten onto the compound—through a bitter clubwhore who’d been tossed out of the Sinners for causing trouble with Steel’s Old Lady.
By trouble, I actually fucking meant she beat the shit out of her while Stone was still recuperating from injuries she’d sustained when she’d been abducted by an Angel of Death at the hospital she used to work at.
As a group, we’d lost so much time with Bear because of Rene’s murder. Back then, we’d thought it was a hit and run, which was bad enough. Learning that she’d been targeted by the Sparrows to keep Bear from digging into the crimes his brother-in-law had been sent down for, was another dose of hell entirely.
The knocks kept on coming, and somehow, I was staying strong. The need for relief was a constant but I managed to evade it.
For Keira.
For Cyan.
Still, with grief pounding at me on all quarters, I blew out a breath and decided to check out who’d sent the messages.
Cringing when I saw it was my council and they were talking about the Bengals, I rolled my eyes and retreated to the soup, which, to make matters even worse, was vegetarian for my kid’s sake.
As I sniffed it, Cyan stepped into the kitchen, asking, "What type of soup are we having today?"
I pulled a face because I couldn’t pronounce this shit. "Giulia called it Whoreso."
Dragging the breakfast bar stool out, Cyan tutted. "Orrrrr-Zoh."
Twisting around, I looked at her. "Huh?"
"Orzo. That’s how you pronounce it. She made it for me at home."
I didn’t fail to notice that she classed West Orange as ‘home.’ I couldn’t blame her either. I’d been here longer than she had, and Jersey still called to me like a fucking siren song.
Who the hell would have thought that we’d miss the Garden State this goddamn much?
"Did you hang out a lot with Giulia?" I questioned bemusedly, focusing on that rather than the homesickness.
"She cooked, I ate."
"She’s really the one who taught you about headbutting?"
"Yeah." She peeped a smile at me, and I saw she’d had a shower because her hair was wet, her face scrubbed.
Was that a little tightness around her eyes? Was she in pain? And was that a bruise on her forehead or just the lighting in here?
"So I can blame her?" I teased, keeping it light even though I was growing more positive she’d been in another fight because she’d been jittery ever since I’d picked her up. The school hadn’t said anything… didn’t mean it hadn’t happened, of course.