If I hadn’t been in my present state, I would’ve held my ground. But the receding panic left me tired. And sore. I worked out on the regular, but last night had been . . .
Well, that had been something altogether different. I reckoned the new generation of recruits considered me an old man now at almost fifty. But, good God, I hadn’t enjoyed myself like that in ages. Have I ever? Has any woman ever felt so good? Made me so crazy? I couldn’t recall anything or anyone that came close. Maybe Louisa?
I frowned. No. Not even Louisa.
As it was, I nodded, backed up, and gave the younger man room to enter.
“Anyone touch her?” I asked. “Before you found her?”
“No one but you, apparently.” He closed the door behind him. Facing me, his jaw ticked, the intent in his glare clear as fucking day.
“Thank you, for seeing her out.” I took another step back. This kid wanted to beat the shit out of me—not that I blamed him. Finally pulling my shirt over my head, I quickly scanned the room for any trace of the woman who’d filled it earlier.
“How long?”
The sharp question had me bringing Twilight back into focus. “How long what?”
His eyes darkened as his eyelids lowered by half, and when he spoke his tone was a rake over gravel. “I’m a good soldier, Repo. I do what I’m told.”
“You want me to throw you a parade?”
“No. But I don’t want my—” He snapped his mouth shut, blue eyes frosty as they were fiery.
I placed my hands on my hips, drawling, “Your what?”
“When I signed up, I said I didn’t want Jennifer or Diane anywhere near this life. That was part of the deal. I join, they’re safe. Off limits.”
I licked my bottom lip, tasting Diane there—her mouth, her skin, her pussy. Her smell was all over me, making it hard to think straight. Making everything hard. “Off limits,” I repeated, my voice dropping an octave and not by choice. Focus. “You hold your brothers in such high regard? Don’t want us near your kin?”
Why I argued, I had no idea. Maybe it was simple instinct; I didn’t like being questioned or challenged. He was right, of course. That had been the deal, and it made just as much sense then as it did now. I didn’t want any of our MC brothers near Diane—or Jennifer—either.
Twilight glared at me for a long moment. It felt menacing, but also assessing. This kid was tough as shit. He’d been stationed overseas and he’d seen action. He was also smart, but until this moment, he’d worked hard to hide it. I understood why. Being smart in a club makes you a threat to those that give the orders, and I gave the orders.
“Some folks are made for the life, some aren’t. Jenn and Diane? They aren’t, and you know that.”
“What are they made for?”
“Tea parties and church socials.”
“Oh now, I think your momma is made of sterner stuff than that.”
Something flared behind the young man’s eyes, challenge and hatred, and I realized my misstep. He probably thought I was making a reference to what had happened between Diane and me last night, so I clarified, “She runs that lodge on her own. That’s big business.”
“Now you want a cut of that business?”
“No. That’s not—listen, Diane Donner can take care of herself, that’s all I meant.”
“She can’t.”
“She is a tough lady.”
“She’s not.” Isaac shook his head, his voice a rasp that carried with it a warning.
“She—”
“She’s not!” he exploded, standing and glaring those icicle eyes down at me. “She’s all smoke and mirrors and false bravado! It’s all fake. She’s as strong as a fucking kitten.” Isaac shoved his fingers through his hair, turning away as his face twisted with what looked like disgust. “She trusts too easily. Her loyalty is unshakable but she gives it to the wrong people. She’ll fight like hell for others with iron in her veins, but never for herself.”
I held real still, working to ignore the vice-like tightness around my neck and this time straining my ears for sounds of approaching footsteps. “You’re going to need to lower your voice, Twilight.”
No one raised their voice to me. No. One. Not for any reason. Folks spoke calm or they didn’t speak at all. I didn’t like to be yelled at and I didn’t put up with it. It didn’t bother me when my brothers yelled at each other, but anyone who screamed at me lost the ability to use their voice box. Call it an oddity, call it a quirk, call it scars from an unfortunate youth, I didn’t care.
However, if no one overheard this particular misstep, I wasn’t going to punish it. Just as long as Diane’s son checked himself.
Twilight’s big shoulders rose and fell like he was breathing hard. He turned back to me but still obviously struggled to arrange his features into a stoic mask. “Repo, I haven’t known you long. But you’re . . .”
“I’m what?”
“You’re smart. You get shit done. You’re not ambitious. And you’re not a sociopath.” Twilight—Isaac—stared at me steadily, giving me the sense he was trying to communicate more than what was said.
I nodded, understanding, and accepting the words for what they were and what they meant. This was as close as he probably felt comfortable calling me “a good guy.” No one in the club was really a good guy, but some were worse than others. Razor Dennings, our club president, was a sociopath. But Razor was also smart and ambitious. Yet, he didn’t get shit done. Unless you consider sitting around, throwing tantrums, cutting things and people, and being a scary motherfucker getting shit done.
“So, I’m asking—” Isaac’s jaw ticked. “Do you intend to break her? Is that what you want?”
I flinched at the unexpected question.
He continued. “It won’t be hard. Someone like you? You wouldn’t even have to try. It’d take you a week, three days if you got the time.”
I couldn’t believe my ears even as a swelling of guilt—yes, guilt—rose up to strangle my words. “You think so little of her?” I cleared my throat against the unusual sensation. “How could you think her so weak?
“No, not weak. Trusting. Soft.” Isaac tugged on the sleeves of his jacket, his eyes on the wall behind me. “She’s soft, or she was when I knew her, and there’s nothing wrong with that—for people like her.” His stare turned back to me, heavy with both an implied plea and a threat. “But not for people like us.”
~Several Months Later~
I wasn’t stalking her.
I was following her. From a distance. Making sure she was okay. Keeping eyes on her. Just in case.
Not stalking.
It’s the same fucking thing, old man.
Wiping a hand over my face, I glared at my reflection in the rear-view mirror of the club’s Mercedes Benz, the automobile I’d chosen for my respectable alter ego, Mr. Jake Carlyle, to be used when I visited the folks who unwittingly laundered our dirty money. But over the last few months, it was one of the cars I used to follow Diane Donner around East Tennessee.