Page 29

Diego

I am in hell.

It’s a hell I walked into willingly, fought for even, and a hell I am working my ass off to keep myself shackled in but it’s hell, nonetheless.

Pure and unadulterated torture.

Living with Izzy for the past seven days has made a number of things blindingly clear to me. One, the connection we felt over our weekend together, the undeniable spark that brought us crashing together is still there. It fills the rooms of my house like fog, blanketing the two of us in a desire so strong that I thought about tying myself to the couch the other night so I didn’t end up sliding into my bed next to Izzy and pulling her lush body against me. I bite my lip as I fight off the memory of how damn good it feels to do just that and grip the steering wheel harder as I peek across the cab at the woman driving me out of my ever-loving mind. I can’t even tell you how many times a fucking day I fantasize about sinking my fingers into her hair and pulling the silky strands until her head drops back, giving me unlimited access to her perfect fucking lips. I’d fucking kiss her until she makes that little whimper slash moan sound in the back of her throat that makes my cock so hard I could smash granite.

All goddamn day, she walks around my house in a tight little tank top that shows off her growing belly and barely contains her swollen tits, flashing me looks that she thinks I don’t see, her eyes full of heat, need, and memories of our weekend together. Last night, she strutted into the kitchen for a glass of water in her bra, a pair of shorts, and not a damn thing else like she’s trying to drive me to the brink of my sanity. Of course, none of it compares to the sweet, sleepy smile she flashed me this morning when she walked out of my bedroom in my t-shirt, her hair a wild mess of brunette curls around her perfect goddamn face, and I honestly don’t know how I didn’t jump up from the couch, follow her into the kitchen, and pin her curvy little hips up against the counter so she could feel just how much she’s tormenting me.

Shit.

She’s practically begging me to act out all of the filthy thoughts in my head but I know Izzy well enough to know better.

Peeking over at her in the passenger seat of my truck, I can’t stop my gaze from slipping down the curve of her neck and dipping to the top of her breasts in another tank top that barely contains them. I lick my lips and grip the steering wheel tighter still, until my knuckles ache. Images from our weekend drift through my mind and I bite my lip to hold in a groan as I turn back to the road as my cock presses against the zipper of my jeans. Jesus, how many times over the past six months have I gotten myself off while thinking of only Izzy and what she can do to me with so little effort? Too many to count and when that stopped working, I started dreaming up fantasies of my own - thinking of all the things I would do to her if given a chance. Is that what this is? Is this a chance to get her underneath me again? Is this a chance for something… more?

The second thing I’ve realized over the past week is that having Izzy with me, in my life, and in my house has been a godsend. More than a couple times since I hauled her back to my place, I’ve sat on the couch in the middle of the night with a foreign feeling of contentment settled in my chest and marveled at how quickly things can change. Before she came barging back into my life, I was a man on the ledge, spending all night at the clubhouse to avoid going home and facing the haunting emptiness in all aspects of my life. I didn’t have a shred of hope that things would ever get better and then there she was, like a fucking angel, pulling me from the darkness and into brilliant light. Having Izzy with me makes every single damn day better. You could say it’s just a distraction, something to keep me from thinking about all of the things that were weighing me down just a few days ago as I pour all of my energy into helping Izzy and getting ready for the arrival of our boy but it sure as hell feels like more than that. I’ve always been someone who believed that everything happened for a reason and while I’ve hated those thoughts for the past few years, I can’t help but think now that it was all necessary to get me here. Which brings me to the third thing I’ve come to realize ever since Izzy reappeared in my life.

I want more.

I want it all and I want it with her.

As we pull into the clubhouse parking lot, I spare a glance in her direction again and she meets my eyes, arching a brow in question but I can’t think of a single thing to say to her. Not that I could actually tell her any of the things that are running through my head without sending her sprinting in the opposite direction. For as long as I’ve known her, Izzy has made her rules perfectly clear - she doesn’t do relationships and she doesn’t go back for seconds which means I’m so fucking screwed it’s not even funny. My gaze drops down to her lips and I wish like hell I could grab her arm, pull her across the seat, and kiss her until she agrees to make an exception to her rules, just this once. Yeah, right. Izzy’s goddamn middle name is obstinate so that’s never going to happen. I continue down, unable to pull my eyes away from the swell of her tits and I lick my lips. Her nipples pebble, pressing against the fabric of her tank top and I bite back a groan as I meet her gaze again.

Goddamn.

There is that look.

“Something you need?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and pinning me with a look that dares me to push this too far. Fuck, I just want to touch her, kiss her, make her understand that there is something between us, something that we can’t ignore but if I did that, she would be gone. I shake my head, trying desperately to clear it as I pull the truck into a spot in front of the clubhouse and put it in park.

“Nope.”

As our eyes meet again, her teeth sink into her bottom lip and my cock jumps. Is it just in my mind or is she looking at me like she wants to eat me alive? You can never fucking tell with Izzy because the only thing she loves more than flirting with absolutely anyone is fucking with them. But I’m beginning to see it for what it is – a defense mechanism - and Ali’s words have been playing in my head non-stop since I picked Izzy up from her house a week ago. My phone rings, breaking the spell and pulling me out of my thoughts. I sigh as I pull it out of my pocket and check the caller ID.

Mobley.

Shit.

This can’t be good.

Mobley almost never calls me since he doesn’t want to get too involved with the club, worried it’ll fuck up his career, and when he does reach out, it’s very rarely good news.

“Hold up,” I say to Izzy as she reaches for the door handle. She turns back to me, her brows drawn together in concern, and I flash her the phone before accepting the call and pressing it to my ear. “Max, I’m always nervous when you call me first.”

He scoffs on the other end of the line. “I gotta keep you on your toes, don’t I?”

“I suppose,” I mutter with a laugh. “What’s up?”

“Well, something was bugging me about that case you asked me for on Friday night so I wanted to go back and read through the report on the scene and the statement from the hospital, you know? See if anything stood out to me.”

I nod. “Okay, and?”

“And it’s gone.”

My whole body jerks. “What? What do you mean it’s gone?”

“The whole goddamn file is gone, fucking vanished into thin air like it never even happened.”