“To lay my ghosts to rest.”
“Ghosts.” He sits back on his heels, studying me. “Plural. Meaning me and Guerilla.” Hate is in that last word. “And how were you going to do that?” There’s an edge to his voice.
“I don’t know,” I admit and wipe the tears off my face. “Luthor just said—”
“Don’t…” The possessiveness ripples off him. “Don’t speak another man’s name…especially when my cum is still drying on your skin.”
I shove him back as my anger swells to be the dominant emotion I’m feeling right now. But the sturdy, big ass doesn’t budge.
“Don’t tell me what to say or do. Luthor is my husband—”
“Was,” Hayes grits. “I know he died.”
“And you will respect him, because he did nothing but respect and help me.”
“While forcing you to marry him as payment for his help.” He gets up off his knees and prowls in front of me.
I stand and jab my finger into his chest, just now realizing that he had gotten his jeans back on, and I’m wearing his large black shirt. He obviously had semi-dressed us while I was having my emotional breakdown.
“Luthor Wentzell did nothing of the sort.” I flare in anger. “He rescued me from New Orleans when Guerilla came there lookingfor me. He married me to make sure I was always protected, and because we cared for each other.”
That looks like it guts Hayes on the spot. “You loved him?”
“I… It’s complicated.”
“Explain.” He flexes his hands, looking like he wants to destroy something or someone.
I step away from him because being close only makes me want to curl into his chest. “Yes, I did love him. However, it wasn’t…”
“It wasn’t what?” His voice is softer as he closes the distance I put between us. “It wasn’t what, Leeva?”
“He was a friend. And…he wasn’t you. It wasn’t like the love I felt for you.”
He closes his eyes, looking pained. “And Guerilla?”
“I was a fool,” I whisper. “Thought I could substitute when I knew I couldn’t have you.”
He presses his forehead against mine and cups my face. “I’m so fucking sorry. If I had only admitted how I truly felt about you, everything could’ve been avoided. Everything.” His voice breaks on that last word.
“We can’t rewrite history.” I rest my hands on top of his and look up at him.
“Do you want me?” His eyes flick between mine, trying to see the answer written there.
“I’ve always wanted you, Hayes.”
His relief is tangible, but his eyes move to my neck where Guerilla’s tattoo had been. He brushes his thumb over the spot. “There’s nothing there to indicate it ever existed.”
“It never should’ve.”
His gaze lifts back to mine. “I felt you were lost to me forever when you got it.”
“Why?”
“Because with the laws of our club, no member can ever touch another’s old lady. Ever. Even if they’re no longer together.”
Shock courses through me. I had no idea of their law; if I had, I might not have been so foolish and impulsive. But then fear follows the shock.
I had seen the sergeant-at-arms and road captain patches on Hayes’ cut. That means he’s high up in the leadership and on the Council for the MC.
