Seychelle hadn’t complained. Not once. She never did. She just looked at him with love in her eyes and, sometimes, that laughter that got him going. Other times it was the slight hint of a mixture of complete calm and the little chin lift that told him his little angel was going to give him trouble. She was going her own way regardless of how much trouble she might get into. He loved that about her too—unless her safety was in jeopardy.
He led her to the “back room,” which was really more of a space behind an arched doorway kept open most of the time. It was normally reserved for Torpedo Ink if they were going to meet together to eat. Sometimes Alena had smaller tables set up for locals who hadn’t been able to get in, or special parties. Czar was joining them with Blythe at Savage’s request. He’d asked Steele, the VP of Torpedo Ink, and Breezy, his wife, to come along as well. Not only did Seychelle deserve a nice outing, but so did Breezy and Blythe. Both had kids, and evenings out were rare.
Savage really wanted Seychelle to become comfortable around the others and to feel as if she had friends of her own. Blythe was sacred to all members of the club, level-headed and calm in any situation. She was accepting and nonjudgmental, although he doubted she knew about his need to put stripes on his fiancé’s beautiful, round ass.
Breezy was born into the life. Another club, the Swords, which treated women as property, had been a nightmare for her to grow up in. She’d nearly lost her life and Steele’s son before Torpedo Ink had been able to rescue the child. Savage hoped Breezy would be able to help Seychelle maneuver her way through the rules of club life.
He knew Seychelle had hoped Ice and Soleil were joining them, but the couple was busy. Ice had a jewelry order he had to fill, and his wife was helping him. He hoped Seychelle would enjoy meeting Breezy.
Savage pulled out a chair for Seychelle. He’d called ahead and asked Alena to use chairs at the table with thicker padding covering the seats. He knew she had them. She didn’t always use them, preferring the plainer wooden ones, as they were beautiful and easier to keep clean.
Seychelle settled carefully onto the chair he held out for her and glanced up at him with a rueful little frown. “I think this one is going to linger a little longer than anything else you’ve ever done.”
He couldn’t help smirking. “Good. You’ll remember to keep far away from Brandon Campbell, won’t you? You’re going to really love riding on the motorcycle, baby. It’s a long trip. In tight jeans, rubbing over your sweet little pussy and your sore ass, we might not have to think too hard about how we’re going to get things stirred up. That’s going to be a constant reminder to keep away from that asshole.”
“Very funny.” She squirmed a little in the chair.
Savage couldn’t tell if the thought turned her on or made her uncomfortable. She was frowning again. Thinking. Deciding whether or not to tell him what was on her mind.
He glanced at his watch. The others would be arriving any minute. If she had something she needed to get off her chest, she’d better get to it. Darby came in with a fresh loaf of hot bread as well as breadsticks. She greeted both of them cheerfully and then hurried off.
“Savage.” Seychelle slathered butter on a piece of the bread, her gaze carefully avoiding his. “I’ve really been giving a lot of thought to this run the club is making tomorrow.” She took a small bite of the bread and started chewing as if her life depended on it.
She kept avoiding his eyes, although she was very smooth about it, concentrating on adding more butter to her bread since the slice was so warm the butter was melting fast. Savage waited her out. She thought she was safe, sitting there looking innocent and sweet, the way she did. His little angel, as if he hadn’t known all along his Torpedo Ink sisters had scared the holy hell out of her and she’d made up her mind not to go with him. They’d had this conversation more than once. As far as he was concerned, it was over. Not to mention, Czar had specifically decreed that Seychelle needed to go. He’d never done that with an old lady before. Czar knew things, and it made Savage uneasy that the president of their club had been so adamant that Seychelle attend the run when all of them knew things could go to shit very fast.
She sighed. “I think it would be better if just this once, I stayed behind. It would give me more time to feel as if I fit in. I could learn the rules and get to know everyone. We’d have our rhythm down better. I wouldn’t always feel as if I was out of sync.”
He waited in silence. She tried the ploy of taking another bite of bread, of chewing, but he didn’t budge. Finally, she heaved another sigh and lifted her long lashes and looked at him.
“Already told you, babe, not leaving you behind. Told you the rules when we go on a run. You don’t leave my side unless I put you somewhere, and then you stay there until I come get you. You do exactly what I say, when I say. I don’t think that’s so fuckin’ hard to follow. You fit with me. You don’t have to fit with anyone else.”
She was quiet another minute, but she’d given him that little chin lift that always made him want to smile, definitely made his palm twitch and cock ache. His little rebel was about to make her point.
“With that many people around, someone is bound to be ill, Savage. You know what I mean. A serious illness. I won’t be able to help myself. I’m a healer. I won’t even know I’m trying until I’m doing it, and it’s always an exchange. You’ll be angry and I’ll be sick, and then what?”
“We already talked about this, Seychelle. You’re at my side. The moment you feel someone is ill, you tell me, and I get you out of there. I’ve told the band members, and they know to get you out of there. The club will surround you any time we’re out in a crowd. I’ve thought about how to handle it.”
“I thought we established that we had a partnership, Savage. That means we talk things out. You can’t just decree something, and I do it.”
“We set the rules down first thing, baby. I told you there were certain things I needed from you, and you agreed to that. But, just because you seem to think this is important, I’ll tell you why you need to come with me. You’re a runner, Seychelle. You hide from life. You know you do. You stay in your little house, locked up safe, until you can’t stand it anymore, and then you go out looking for something wild and crazy to do that could get you in real trouble. You had a genuine stalker in Joseph Arnold. Just because that wasn’t bad enough, you’ve got Brandon Campbell fixated on you. I have no idea who else might have you on their radar, but you just go through life, making an appearance, doing something crazy and then hiding yourself away again.”
Color swept up her neck into her face. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Babe. Really? You’re impulsive. A fighter at all the wrong times. You’d take on anyone if they were hurting someone else, but I’m not certain you’d fight that hard to protect yourself. You can’t stop yourself when someone is really ill from trying to heal them. Angel, you’re a fuckin’ mess without me.”
That little intriguing dimple that sometimes made an appearance showed for a few seconds and then was gone. Her lashes had veiled her vivid blue eyes, and then she was looking directly at him. There was stark, raw love staring at him. His heart clenched hard in his chest. So damn hard he thought it was possible he was having a heart attack. Could someone love a woman that much?