Chapter 13

Mia

“Hey,” a raspy familiar voice expresses while I stretch myself in the sheets, my legs weighing a ton after last night. God, why did I choose to run away in the woods? I could have picked a more elegant and swift way out. Always acting before thinking.

So stupid .

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Ares saw me and, well, kind of made me let my guard down, which I didn’t expect. The way he grabbed me and asked me to fight, as if he knew I had it in me, broke my heart.

That was the first time someone had tried to keep me.

So much so, this man had run after me into the woods, asking me to keep on fighting.

To stay true to myself.

I knew in my heart I couldn’t leave. That I needed to stay to see if maybe, just maybe we could become more. That this whole shitshow of a marriage could become more than what we both ever expected from it. The way his hold had tightened when I told him about Kiara made my heart pound so hard in my chest, I was afraid of it bursting out of my skin.

He was hurt. Yes, my larger-than-life husband, president of the biggest MC club in the country, was hurt. The look in his green, leafy eyes was unmistakable. He thought I had left because of him, and I didn’t expect his words to break my heart that much.

Perhaps this marriage could become something more.

Perhaps there was hope.

He carried me against his warm body, making me feel safe and loved in a way that made butterflies storm in my belly. But then, as he tucked me in our bed, his leather scent covering me like a balm, I remembered something. The look in his eyes each time he saw my clothes on the floor, the way he clenched his fist when I was late, his jaw ticking each time I answered him with a sharp answer rather than what a good, tamed wife should have replied with.

Ares had forgotten something crucial last night, that perhaps got lost in this dramatic end-of-romantic-movies escape.

He forgot he hates mess, chaos and anything that doesn’t go as planned.

And I’m, well, I’m exactly like those things. No, actually, I am those things.

So I drifted into sleep, trying to hide the tears of the hard truth he didn’t seem to grasp yet. He would get tired of me eventually. I knew it.

Am I crazy to stay and see if we can figure this out?

Maybe.

But perhaps I am a little bit crazy because after spending months with my grumpy husband, I began liking him more than I thought. He has this way of being all broody and cocky, and then, there’s another side of him: protective, caring, almost… loving . I guess escaping didn't seem like such a good decision after seeing the way he chased me into the woods and looked at me like I was one of the seven wonders.

If there’s hope, wouldn’t I be stupid to not give it a shot?

“Hey,” I mumble in my sleepy morning voice as I watch my hot-as-hell husband button his black shirt, tattoos escaping up his forearms.

Stop staring.

“Shouldn’t you be at the club? You’re never here at…” I turn toward my phone on the bedside table, “nine. Is everything alright? Did somebody die?” The man never wakes up after sunrise. Surely, there’s something wrong if he’s still here. Even on a Saturday, he keeps on working like the weekend doesn’t exist.

“Nah, just wanted to see you before heading out,” he says in this should-be-illegal voice.

“Oh.” That I didn’t expect. Ares is a workaholic, and he stayed…for me.

“How d’ya feel this morning?” He eyes me like a hawk.

“Alright,” I say, massaging my legs, “my legs hurt a bit.” He lowers down to sit beside me, his hand touching my left leg over the covers, massaging it gently but firmly. I swallow, trying to avoid the heat rising in me. I could push him away, though.

I could.

“Do you need the doc to come check it out?” He studies my face with hooded eyes.

“No, I’m fine. I'll stretch a bit,” I assure him.

He nods, his hand still burning my leg, igniting a fire that keeps on expanding.

“Are you worried about me?” I say with a half-smile because Ares looks more like a ruthless gang president than a loving husband. His gaze sharpens, darkening with a predator’s focus, like a lion coiled to pounce on its prey.

“Can’t a husband worry about his wife?” His tone is so low it hits me right in the stomach. We stay a minute like this, the electricity building in the air as if it could be cut with a knife.

What is he doing to me?

There’s an aura about him. It’s really, really confusing. One minute, I want to snap at him, and the other minute, I want… him .

“Shadow and Ash are coming after lunch, sorry ‘bout that. I need them this morning. They’ll drive you wherever you want this afternoon. Just keep them close, alright?”

I frown.

Keep them close?

“Is there something I should know?”

He sighs, stopping his hand, and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Just keep them close. Can you do that for me, princess?”

“Jeez, I’m not a five-year-old who can’t handle your world, talk,” I fire back because I’m so over men, thinking women can’t process darker topics. As if we had been made to only blab about clothes and makeup.

He sighs. “Fair enough.”

He puts his hand back on my leg in a possessive hold I am way too much into.

Calm down, Mia.

He just likes the idea of you.

Don’t you dare get attached.

“We got a few threats coming from a gang in Pennsylvania.”

“How many?” His eyes widen at my answer as if he wasn’t expecting me to ask for details. I was born in this world too, and even if I was not partaking in it, I observed it closely during all my childhood.

“Too many to let you out alone without losing my mind,” he deadpans.

Oh.

Could this dangerous, broody, grumpy man really worry about me?

“Aren’t you used to threats?”

“Yeah, I am, but it’s different this time.”

“How?”

He stands, approaching me and cupping my cheek with his palm, my body embracing his touch immediately. His touch distracts me from his change of topic.

“Wear your red dress tonight,” he commands before kissing my forehead, which I’m starting to really get addicted to. There’s something so hot about a dangerous man being gentle to a woman. It’s making my knees weaken.

Get it together, Mia.

“Tonight?” I frown.

“Forgot to tell ya, we’re hosting a fight night at the club. It’ll be good for you to properly meet the guys.”

“Wait, wait a second, you mean you’re going to fight tonight?” My eyes widen.

He nods. “Said it was just a testosterone show if I remember correctly?” The corner of his lips rise wickedly.

My lips part .

How am I going to react at the sight of someone hitting him? Why does it feel really wrong all of the sudden?

“Are you sure about fighting tonight? We could, um, we could just watch the fights together—” I fidget with the covers.

“Nah, I want you to see me fight, princess. I’ve been wanting it ever since you talked about it on our wedding day,” he murmurs with a smug smile.

Is he trying to impress me? And why does his attempt at, wait, courting me in his strange and twisted way work?

“Shadow will drive you there. You’ll eat with the guys and then come see the fight. I’ve got it all planned out. Just wear the red dress,” he commands.

What is it about him and this red dress?

My thoughts get interrupted by what he just said.

“Wait, I’ll have to eat there?” Anxiety already tingles in my fingers.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I got it all planned out. Larry’s fixing you something.” His hand falls from my cheek to my wrist as if he’s counting my heart pulses. His jaw clenches, and his gaze softens on me, turning me into a puddle.

“The food thing…I want to, I mean… Could you explain it to me? I just want to understand.” His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist gently. My heart is pulsing hard, and my head is already buzzing as if a panic attack is just around the corner.

“No.” I shake my head, trying to make the sound go away. Apart from Kiara, the only person I ever told always minimized it or made fun of me for being such a picky eater. I gave him the list. That’s enough.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow. I guess most people should be afraid of his gaze darkening on them, but it only attracts me more to him.

Like a moth to a flame.

“You're just gonna mock me, Ares, and I'm done having people judge me for this.” I shrug casually as if this is a normal conversation to me. As if I’m not on the edge of a catastrophic panic attack.

“I won't, I fucking swear.” His emerald eyes pierce my soul with determination. “What happened last time was my fucking fault. I should have known better, Mia.” He bites his lips as if he’s mad at himself. He swallows and then looks at me with intensity, taking my breath away. “You're my wife, Mia. I wanna do better.”

Trust him, he didn’t make fun of you last night.

Just give him a shot.

I don’t argue. The anxiety of the topic distracts me from everything else.

I can do this. I can talk about it. The world won’t stop turning if I talk about it out loud.

“It's complicated, the food, I mean. I'm not sure you could understand.” My hand instinctively plays with my pink nail polish.

“Try me.” His tone is encouraging, serious, weighting the importance of it.

“Okay… So, my mom used to restrict what I could eat when I was little. I think she was afraid I got fat or something, which is stupid because I was just a child,” I say with a cold laugh because who could ever restrict a child from eating? Ares stays silent, focused on me.

You can do this. He’s not laughing.

“She was obsessed with staying young and fit. I mean, you saw her, she’s perfect and all that. Anyway, I think she made a transfer on me, yelling at me when I would eat carbs or processed foods.” The memories of her taking my plates away at dinner in front of the whole family still haunt me at night.

“Then I became a teen, and that's when she really got heavy with the ‘clean food’ obsession, punishing me when I ate anything other than her approved list like almonds, veggies, and protein bars. It took me time to figure out that I had, um—”

The world won’t stop spinning.

Just say it.

“—an eating disorder. I…I don't like to talk about this, but that's clearly what it is. I asked my parents to see a doctor, but they didn't take it seriously. They thought I was whiny about it. But I looked it up on the internet and plenty of people have it, I mean mostly girls. It's called orthorexia. So…that's that.”

That’s the first time I said it to someone. The first time I explained in my own words fully. When I tried telling it to friends before, I could never go to the full extent of it. They were already too bored or feeling awkward about it. Even Kiara and I never really talked about it. She just knew what to do and knew it was too difficult for me to put into words. I tried going to a doctor by myself last year, but I never made it past the waiting room. I was too anxious to face it and talk to a stranger about it.

Orthorexia.

The shadow haunting my everyday life.

And he’s still not laughing. I’m fighting back the tears and feel his hand move, lacing his tattooed fingers with mine.

Breathe, breathe.

“Thank you for telling me, princess.” His voice is rough yet softer than ever.

“Thank–thank you for listening.”

Am I blushing?

We stay silent like this, the sound of our breathing filling the room until it gets too much, making me want to crush my body into his arms and rest my face on his chest like last night. Close to him. In a safe place.

I suddenly feel too overwhelmed and remove my fingers from his, standing up in my underwear and rushing to the bathroom. Before sliding the door, I turn and look at my husband, whose muscles are still very noticeable under his sleek black suit.

“I’ll see you tonight, big guy.” I find back my confidence once I’m up and on full display.

“Eight o’clock sharp,” he says, watching his silver watch and heading toward the door.

I roll my eyes. What is it about this man and time management? I have my own business, and I’m not that strict about it. Total control-freak.

“Did you roll your eyes at me?” Stopping in his step and turning himself toward me, his eyes feast on my body shamelessly. I’m not shy about it. I’m comfortable in my own skin, and showing it never bothered me in the least.

“Maybe,” I say with a sly smile, resting the side of my body on the door, accentuating the curve of my hips.

“You do that again, princess,” he growls, pulling on his jacket, standing in front of me in his black suit, turning me into a puddle, “and I’ll show you exactly what happens when you test me.”

“Oh, in that case I will do it as often as I can,” I dare him.

“Mia…” His hand flexes repeatedly as if something is getting under his skin.

“Come on, where’s the fun if you always get what you want?” Shaking my head, I bite my lower lip.

“I always do, Mia, always, one way or another,” he reveals, cocking his head.

“Cute you think so,” I say before blowing him a kiss in the air. “Now, out of my way, big guy. I’ve got a lot to do today.” And then I close the sliding door with a smug smile. Ares' face is priceless as I watch him disappear behind the sliding door, his jaw ticking and his fists clenching.

Dark, grumpy and dangerous.

In an ideal world, I guess those adjectives would scream "red flag."

But what can I say?

Red just makes me look so good.

Ares

“Still no trace of him, boss. Maybe he’ll show up tonight,” Shadow rasps, rubbing his chin, probably worried about his old lady, Erin.

I’ve secured every family member of my men—doubled security and added protection for the wives and kids. That’s where our enemies hit us. Nero’s been sending pictures of our close ones with red crosses over their faces, and I fucking hate it. Makes everyone tense when we should be focusing on expanding and not on trying to catch this motherfucker. We know they haven’t gotten close yet ‘cause I have intel outside our territory. But we need to find Nero, and fast, before somebody gets hurt.

Red hair flashes in my mind, but I shove it away. The thought reminds me of my girl, her hair all entangled and wild on our sheets this morning. I stayed up late watching her, then woke up even earlier than usual because I wanted to look at her face when she woke up and make sure she was okay. From her sassiness this morning, I think she’s good for now.

It fucking wrapped my chest in barbels when she told me about her mother punishing her with food. I’ve never cared about anyone to that degree, but fuck, knowing little Mia had to put up with so much shit doesn’t sit right with me. Which is why I called her father this morning after leaving our home to set up a meeting. The guy has no idea why we’re coming to see him, thinks it’s a fucking family visit.

Like hell, it is.

“Nah, he won’t be there tonight,” I say as I rest my palms on the wood of our massive mahogany table in the large room where we hold our meetings. Twelve seats decide the fate of hundreds of our men on the ground. I play it democratically because there are always more ideas in twelve heads than in one, but in the end, I always make the final call.

“Nero likes to put up a show. He won’t come directly to us, not here, at least. It’ll be twisted, more personal,” I explain, knowing the guy has a reputation for hitting where it hurts the most.

Family.

Wives.

Mia.

“Yeah, I agree. The folks here said he was trying to get rid of his human trafficking ring to take over drugs. No wonder he’s coming for us,” says my VP Vox from the speaker in the middle of the table. He’ll be there next week when Mia and I go to Chicago to see her family. He’ll make sure everything runs smoothly. Best right man a prez could ever think of. He’s set up three new warehouses, all running day and night on the West Coast and making us a fuck ton of money.

“What should be done about the threats, prez?” asks Blade, standing with his hands behind his back like he used to do in the army. Old habits die hard.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Think, just think, what would you do if you were Nero?

"We're not gonna wait here like sitting ducks," I snap, my voice hardening. "We'll set up teams on the ground and track his every move. I want to know where Nero was last night, what brand of coffee he drank this morning, and what car he plans to drive tomorrow. No stone unturned. We’re going on the offensive—if he’s coming for us, he’ll regret ever trying." I glance at my brothers, who are all nodding firmly.

Good.

“Start organizing the teams. Vox, I need intel on the last shipment intercepted at the Canadian border. Carter, you’ll be on duty with Ash tonight. I’m off to my office. If you need me, you know where I am,” I say firmly, letting Vox take the lead in the meeting and heading to my office, where there’s always so much to do. All the hours in the day could never be enough. Opening my computer, I immediately type what’s been on my mind since last night.

Search: Orthorexia.

I had never heard of this condition, but as she described it to me, I knew she wouldn’t be able to heal from it on her own. And I sure as hell won't make the same mistake her neglectful parents did. I'll find the best damn doctor in the country, and I'll come with her if she needs me to. Already sent a text to the doc this morning to get a list of specialists he’d recommend for her.

As I look into it, I notice patterns I have seen in Mia since she came here. How she avoids certain food groups like carbs and oil, the way her body shuts down completely when she eats out of her list of approved ingredients, and how she literally spirals about mold growing in her body. The way she was concerned about going out tonight, and I fucking knew if I hadn’t asked Larry to make something for her, she would have questioned coming over.

Can’t let this thing run her life, especially such a smart and fiery person like her. I take a bit more time reading interviews about folks who have the same condition and get as much information as I can to be more prepared next time and think about what could trigger her in our home and out of it.

Thinking about my wife’s food. Didn’t think I would ever do that when I married her.

I guess there’s a first time for everything.

And for Mia, I’m ready to go all in.