I nodded and she poured me a straight vodka.
Ripped’s temper tantrums were no secret to anyone, and we all knew that the only way to deal with them was to get as drunk, if not more so, than him.
“Thanks,” I said, taking a small sip.
Poppy was tall and blond, with beautiful hazel eyes and a perfect heart-shaped mouth. She was the sort of woman you would expect to see in magazines or on catwalks, but her love for hard men in leather kept her there. Trapped, just like me.
“Quinn?” Ripped called my name from somewhere in the clubhouse, and I sighed and threw the vodka to the back of my throat. “Quinn?” he called me again.
Poppy threw me a sympathetic look and I rolled my eyes and smiled before sliding off my stool. “Duty calls.”
“I’ll have another drink waiting for you,” she said with a laugh.
Because she knew the drill. Everyone did.
Ripped would drink, get angry, take it out on my body, pass out, and then I’d get drunk to wash away how traitorous I felt. The next day he’d be all smiles again and he’d worship my body like the night before never happened. It was always the same.
But I refused to feel sorry for myself. That wasn’t who I was.
I pushed through the kitchen door and walked through the clubhouse. The clubhouse was busy with people, men and women from another club I didn’t recognize. No one seemed to be at ease with those other people around and I couldn’t help but wonder how long Ripped’s men would continue to follow him if he continued to drag them down the path they were on. Clearly none of the Burning Eights were happy, but Ripped was oblivious to it all.
I blamed myself for that too.
Glancing around, I couldn’t see where Ripped was so I started to walk to our bedroom. Maybe I’d be lucky and he’d be passed out on the bed and we could skip the night’s guilt session.
The door the yard out back was open a crack and I headed toward it, opening it wider and checking outside to see if he was there, but he wasn’t. Instead I found a couple of the men from the new crew Ripped had brought in talking in a hushed circle with Lincoln and Cap.
“What are you doing out here?” Cap snapped, storming toward me, his brows pulled in tightly.
I stepped back from him as he got close. “Ripped was calling for me.”
He let out a dry laugh before throwing his cigarette to the ground. “Well he ain’t out here, bitch, now get the fuck back in there.” He grabbed the door and slammed it shut, and I had to quickly step out of the way so it didn’t hit me.
“Fucking asshole,” I snapped under my breath, and turned to walk back the way I’d come.
Hands came up around me, one covering my mouth and the other snagging me around the waist before dragging me backwards into the supply room behind me. I should have been scared, frightened. I should have been fighting against the hands that grabbed me, that were covering my mouth in case I screamed. The club was filled with men so drunk they’d probably fuck their own mother and not realize it—club brothers, members of a new club, strangers, familiar faces, and most of them angry at me for ruining Ripped.
Yeah, I should have been petrified at what was going to happen next.
But I wasn’t.
There was no need to be.
I knew instantly that it was Battle.
His scent wrapped around me possessively and I went limp in his arms as he kicked the door shut and turned me in his arms. The moon shone through the dirty window of the supply room and I was caught breathless as I looked upon his face—a face that had haunted my dreams for months. His image in my mind had been a craving I hadn’t been able to feed, an addiction I’d had to withdraw from, and an itch that, no matter how I’d tried to ignore, had been burning just below the surface of my skin since the day I’d ridden out of Georgia on the back of Ripped’s bike.
“Q.” He breathed out my name like he couldn’t quite believe I was there, and I couldn’t stop my hands from reaching up to touch his face. He leaned into my touch, kissing my fingertips one by one as he held me tightly against him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said without conviction. “He’ll kill you if he sees you.”
Battle replied by leaning down and pressing his lips to mine, and I opened up to him immediately. I’d waited for this. Wanted it and dreamed of it, but never believed I’d have it again, and now I did—now he was there, I couldn’t stop myself from losing all control.
I jumped up into his arms and he caught me as I wrapped my legs around his waist. Battle spun us around, pressing my back against the dusty shelving as we kissed. Our mouths moved frantically, desperately, but in prefect synchrony, our teeth clashing as we kissed like our lives depended upon it.
And by God it felt like it did.
Like if I didn’t kiss him I’d suffocate from the need to.
