“What would happen if a brother did touch another’s old lady?”
Dark regret settles on his face. “Lower-ranking members would be de-patched; in other cases, they’d be killed.”
I start to shake and step back from him. “Hayes…” My voice trembles with fear for him. “Oh my god, what have I done?”
He catches me before I can get any farther from him and pulls me flush against his bare chest. “I’ll be fine.”
“How can you say that?” Terror for him laces my words.
He cups my face, leaning down so we’re eye-level. “Because there’s no tattoo; no remnants of it. It's gone; like it never existed.”
“But it did.”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters now is that it’s no longer there. No skin discoloration, no blemish, no change in texture or scarring.Nothing.”
Thank God I had gone to the world’s best cosmetic surgeon. Back then, with Luthor’s emotional and financial support, I just wanted Guerilla’s claim on me to be wiped off forever.
“Does the MC law have a clause about that or a precedent?”
His strong jaw flexes. “No.”
“Then this can’t be.” My panic and fear for him jolt through me, and I walk backward from him. “It’s a technicality, and the club law is still a risk to you. We can’t be together, Hayes.”
“Yes. We. Can.” He closes the distance, each step punctuating his fierce words.
My back presses against the wall, and he cages me in with his body, his hands planted on either side of my head.
“Nothing and no one can keep you away from me.”
“What about me?” Regardless of my fear for him, my body is buzzing to life in a way it shouldn’t. His intense possessiveness seems to be my kryptonite rather than a huge red flag.
His thumb runs lightly down my cheek in a soft caress. “Are you saying you don’t want me?”
I wet my lips, and his wolfish gaze tracks the movement. “You broke into my hotel suite.”
Again, this is where a normal woman would be freaking out, not practically melting into a puddle at his feet.
“I did.” His eyes lift back to mine. An animal, a predator, stares back at me. “More than once, I covered your skin in my cum and rubbed it in, so you’d wear me.” He leans closer as my brain glitches in shock and lust, and his nose brushes the shell of my ear. “So you’d smell me.”
Sweet mercy.
I should be running for the hills, screaming, right? Or at least fighting to get away from him and the walking red flag he is. Not ready to jump him and slam my mouth onto his.
“You’re mine, Leeva.” The claim is absolute. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
It’s either a challenge or a way out; I’m not sure. But I’ve waited years for him to say these words—to claim me, to love me as more than just his best friend.
However, my fear for him and the ramifications of us being together war with my love and desire for him.
But looking into his blue eyes, seeing his love and raw need for me, seeing the possibility of a future with him regardless of the risk of what the club’s verdict against him might be, heals a deep part of me and lays one of my ghosts to rest.
“We’ll figure out the club law piece,” he reassures me, seeing the war I’m having with myself. “Tell me you’re mine.”
His vulnerability shines back at me, and our past sins—mypast sins of choosing his hated brother—lie in that vulnerability. So much forgiveness is needed on both our parts. My heart has forgiven him, maybe years ago, and I can see his forgiveness, too.
Love swells within me, along with need.
“I’m yours, Hayes.”
