I look right at him and still, still he looks at me like he sees straight through me, as if I don’t exist, with that black, bitter hatred that’s crawled so far up his ass, he’ll never hope to pick it out. I just hope, that for Harley’s sake, some miracle occurs and he decides to behave like a loving father again, or it will shatter her. A vein jumps at Steel’s temple as his slate gray eyes bore right through me. “We have no fuckin’ rules about leaving in this club. If someone wants to go, it’s their choice.”
“I think we should put it to a vote—” Right on cue, Wraith sticks his head out for me. It doesn’t matter. Once my mind is made up, there’s no fucking changing it.
“Shut the fuck up, you little prick, before I snap you in fuckin’ half,” Steel growls in Wraith’s direction. “I’m the Prez of this fuckin’ club, so for once, shut your fucking trap and just sit there and goddamn listen. If Edge wants to leave, to abandon his brothers, he can damn well go. He’s already turned his back on us, so might as well make it official.” He shoves to his feet and this time no one stops him. “Hand over your cut. You’re not worthy of wearing it anyway.”
I sit in my chair, the weight of every single man’s stare burning into me. I study my folded hands, hands that have spilled blood for this club, hands that would do it all over again in an instant.
Finally I stand. I don’t shove my chair back rough, like Steel. It scrapes across the floor like a damn death knell, but I refuse to give in to that black cloud of doom bearing down on me, choking up my chest and my throat so no air gets in or out. I peel off my cut, that vest that I’ve worn for years, the symbol of everything I hold close to my heart.
The cool air of the room rushes up to meet my ink-clad arms. I feel stripped down, naked, vulnerable in the basest of ways, as I hand that leather over to Steel’s outstretched hand. His fingers curl over it and not even he can treat it badly, no matter what it symbolizes to him at the moment, no matter how much he wants to hate me.
There isn’t a thing in the world left to fucking say after I’m stripped of that jacket, so I turn and walk out of that damn room. Out of the only church that I’ve ever brought any kind of reverence or worship to.
My boots echo down the halls, halls I’ve walked a thousand times over the years, halls that I’ve felt safe in. I have a room there at the clubhouse, in case I ever needed it. I guess that it ain’t mine anymore.
The sunlight assaults me when I escape out the back door, into the compound where my bike is parked. I mount up and all those layers of heavy chrome, leather and steel, are like a welcome caress around my torn up insides, a patch holding me together, keeping me from bleeding out.
I tear out of the compound, riding free, the wind tugging at my hair, uplifting me, giving me wings. I know that I’m going to have to go home and face Harley, and fucking hell, I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to do it, so instead of turning in the direction I should be heading, I veer off south.
I don’t stop, pushing my bike hard until I reach a stretch of freeway with nothing but grassy hills and wide blue sky, houses in the distance and wet fucking humidity pressing down all around me.
I pull over at some one-horse town and ride on until I find a gravel road that takes me off into the middle of butt-fuck, nowhere.
And there, with only the sky and the grass and the wind as my witness, I drop to my knees and yell until I’m hoarse and no sound comes out of my aching, dried up throat.
Chapter Twenty-One
Harley
Ibarely even wait for Edge’s bike to shut off after he pulls up by the house before I fly out the front door. I don’t even bother with shoes but run to him in my bare feet.
“Edge!” I hurtle against him and grin when I feel the gentle whoosh of breath leave his chest at the impact. He wraps his arms around me as I twine mine around his neck. I glance up at him, into his dark aviator sunglasses that hide his eyes from me. He isn’t smiling, but then again, his smiles are a rare treasure. I feel like I’ve been blessed with so many over the past couple days that it makes my mind spin. “Edge, you won’t believe it! Leah organized everything. She got all the old ladies together and—” I trail off, turning in his arms and taking his hand in mine. “Just come see.”
I pull him up the front steps and he follows, lets me lead him into the house. He glances around the living room after he slowly removed his sunglasses. He blinks hard.
“What happened here? I went out for a few hours and the place got… bedazzled while I was gone.”
My grin splits my face so wide that it hurts. “Do you like it? Everyone brought something. Either something from their house or… they even brought groceries. And they tilled that patch outside that I wanted to turn into a garden! They brought groceries too! Like a real housewarming. Are you hungry? You must be, I’ll make you something…”
I trail off as Edge scrubs a hand down his face. He looks so at a loss that my chest constricts. “Do you… do you now like it? I- I know it’s your house, I just thought—”
“No.” He shakes his head and his copper eyes pin me to the spot. “I like it.” He brushes his hand through his hair. “I’m just a man and men like me don’t have finer tastes. Whatever you want for the house, it’s fine. It’s not just mine now.”
I’d been so caught up in the excitement of everything that I failed to notice the most basic details. As my eyes rove over Edge’s broad shoulders and massive chest, I realize that something is wrong. Really wrong.
“Where’s your vest?” He never takes it off. That vest is his prize possession. The only times I’ve ever seen him out of the house and not wearing it is if he’s doing something that he doesn’t want to be associated with the MC.
Edge blinks. “I left it at the club.”
“You what?”
“I left it at the club,” he mutters, facing me this time, thinking I must not have been able to read his lips. “It was hot. Sweltering. Sticky. I was wringing wet before I rode home. Took it off and left it in my room.”
He smiles at me and it’s so dazzling that it takes my breath away, and for the moment, the jacket is forgotten. Edge doesn’t lie to me. Ever. If he says he left it there, strange as it is, then he left it there.
“Are you hungry?” I’m already on to the next thing, thinking about all the amazing things I can make with what’s in the fridge, when Edge’s eyes darken. His eyes track every singlemovement I make, until I understand what he’s actually hungry for. “I… oh,” I gasp. Heat pools in my belly and my cheeks flush with the rest of my body. “I- Edge, I’m so sore…”
He closes the distance between us and sets his warm, rough hand at my cheek, cupping my face. “More than one way to ease that hunger. I want all of ya, Harley. Every single last bit.”
