It wasn’t going to be the sex that was going to destroy their relationship, it was this distance. The way she felt about not being first in his life. How the hell did he combat that? What about the other members of Torpedo Ink who had women? Blythe felt first with Czar, their president. Breezy did with Steele, their vice president. Ice, another member, with his wife, Soleil. Even Anya did with Reaper and Scarlet with Absinthe. There was Player with Zyah. What was the difference?
Savage buried his face in the hollow along her hip bone. It was him and not only what he did for the club but the way he sometimes needed to do it. He took apart men for information. She might live with that. He took apart pedophiles because they fucking deserved to feel what they’d done to him and every boy and girl they’d ever touched. He hunted them, and he brought them to justice. He made certain they knew exactly what they had done to the little children they’d taken. The lives they’d destroyed.
Yeah, that was part of what he did for the club and part of what he did for himself. He was the club assassin. When the club was paid to make a hit, he was the one to do it most of the time. Sometimes Maestro, another member, carried out the order, but most of the time, it was on him. That wasn’t something he was going to share with his woman.
“Seychelle? Do you think I’m not in love with you?” He repeated the question, turning up his gaze to her face.
Her tongue touched her lower lip. “I think you love me, Savage,” she said slowly.
“That isn’t the question.” He gripped her thigh. This was far worse than he thought. She really had mixed feelings about the club and their relationship, and he had no idea how to fix that shit. None. He could tell her a million times he loved her because it was the truth, but it was also the truth that when the president of his club called, he would go and he wouldn’t tell her why.
Her breath left her lungs in a little rush. “In love with me? What does that even mean to you? I don’t know anymore. I thought I knew. When we started down this road together, I thought I did, but things are different.”
“It means I love you with every fuckin’ breath I take. That’s what it means to me. How are things different, Seychelle? Tell me how you think they’re different.”
Her fingers continued to move on his scalp. That was the one thing that kept him from leaping up and pacing across the small room, his stomach churning. He was not going to lose her.
“There’s this distance between us, and no matter what we do, we can’t make that go away. It’s like this very large space. I know you feel it too, Savage. We’ve always been in sync, and suddenly we’re not. There’s this huge chasm.” Her voice was sad.
He couldn’t deny it. He did feel it. How could he not? Had he done that? Or had she? Was she right? Was it his club? The club had always been there. What had changed? What was different?
“When did it start?” He wasn’t going to deny it and pretend he didn’t know what she meant. If she was brave enough to admit it, they had a chance to fix it.
“When the Diamondbacks came to the bar for a meeting. You brought me there that night to sing with the band. You didn’t tell me until the last minute that there was some important meeting and you needed my voice to keep everyone calm.”
“I apologized for that. I know you have to process, and I should have warned you ahead of time that there could be trouble.” He rubbed his palm along her thigh and then down over her scars. She was too damn perceptive.
“You did apologize, Savage, and I accepted your apology. Had that been all that was happening, it would have been all right, but it wasn’t. There were all kinds of undercurrents that night. The thing was, the other wives weren’t there.”
“Some were there. Scarlet. Lissa. They were there.”
“Scarlet and Lissa can shoot the wings off a fly. They weren’t there as wives that night, and you know it. They were there in the same capacity as Alena and Lana and every other member of Torpedo Ink. If something went wrong, they were there to fight for the club. I’m not stupid, Savage. It wasn’t just an important meeting. Torpedo Ink was expecting trouble, the kind of trouble where all of you could have been killed.”
He sat up, swearing under his breath, his bare feet hitting the floor. She was absolutely right. They had been expecting trouble, or at least ready for it.
“I was the only one not informed, yet you were using me. They all were.”
“Seychelle.” He turned to look at her. “Baby, it wasn’t like that, and you know it.”
“It was exactly like that. You needed my voice and you didn’t want to include me in knowing whatever it was that was happening, so you just didn’t bother to give me the information. Isn’t that right? Club business. I don’t need to know. I can serve you. Serve the club. But I don’t need to know.”
“Damn it, Seychelle. I’m your man. Why the fuck do I have to explain myself and what I’m doing to you? Why would I have to spell anything out? I say it, you should trust me enough to just fuckin’ do what I say because I say it.” Adrenaline poured through his veins, and he caught up his jeans and yanked them up.
“I did exactly that, didn’t I, Savage?” she said. “I did what you said. If I go on the stupid run with you, I’ll most likely do what you say, even though I’ll be the only one that doesn’t know what’s going on.”
He spun around to face her as he dragged his T-shirt over his head. “You’re going on the run with me, Seychelle.” It was a command, nothing less. He was so done with the argument because, damn it to hell, she was right about that too. She wouldn’t know what was going on because he wasn’t about to tell her he was going to kill a couple of people after he got information out of them first. And yeah, the club knew all about that shit. He stomped into his boots and pulled on his jacket and was gone, slamming the door like a fucking child.
What was wrong with him? If she’d walked out on him, he’d be after her, throw her over his shoulder and smack her ass so hard she wouldn’t be able to sit down for a month. She was right, and he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He didn’t have a way to combat what she was saying, so he walked out instead of having the courage to just admit it.
He wanted to hit something. Anything. Head down to San Francisco to the fight club and get a few matches. He sucked at relationships. Five minutes in, and he blew it already because she spoke the truth and he had no answer for it.
He settled his ass on the familiar leather seat of his matte-black Night Rod Special with its dull gunmetal-gray trim, blacked out chrome and the image of a dripping skull. He found he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to go anywhere, not without her. Not leaving her like this. She had all the courage in the world to answer him honestly, and he’d run like a coward because he knew he couldn’t give her the truth. He’d promised her to be all in, and yet he was the one holding back. He expected everything from her, and she knew it. She’d called him on his shit, and instead of taking it like a man he’d thrown a tantrum.
“Fuck.” He was off the bike and stomping back to the cottage.
Seychelle sat in the same place, but she had a T-shirt on and her knees pulled up, arms wrapped tight around them. Her head was down, and she didn’t look up at him when he walked in and sat on the edge of the bed next to her.