Chapter Twelve

Cutter

The rumble of my Harley cuts through the stillness of the industrial part of town as I ride to Elaine's place. The old factory buildings hollowed out and graffitied stand like tombstones, marking the death of a more prosperous time. It's fitting in a morbid sort of way—Elaine's family home nestled among them, a mausoleum to her past sufferings.

She didn't want to come back here. I can't blame her. The house is filled with memories of her parents—they were cold, unyielding people from the little she's told me. Even while they lived, she might as well have been a ghost haunting the attic of that decrepit house. But it's hers now, free and clear, and it seems stupid not to use it.

I throttle down, feeling the vibration of the bike between my legs. The thought of Elaine up there in that attic stirs something wild in me—a primal need. I want more for her than just survival—more than my cramped room at the MC clubhouse, where privacy is a joke, and every moan could be ammunition for the guys' next round of ribbing.

Here, in this desolate place, no one will hear us. No one will interrupt.

As I near her house, my thoughts take a darker turn, edging toward the carnal. I think about the last time I saw her, the curve of her hip as she leaned over that rickety table in her attic. There's an itch in me to explore those curves with rough hands—to map out the territory of her body that's been hidden beneath layers of fabric.

I imagine tying her hands with my belt, rendering her helpless under my touch. My mind sketches the image of her looking up at me with those big doe eyes, filled with trust and something fiercer—need. The thought of her submitting to my desires, letting me push her boundaries in search of new peaks of pleasure, is intoxicating.

I can almost feel the softness of her skin, the heat of her breath as she whimpers my name, a mixture of pleasure and desperation. The anticipation coils tight in my gut. I'm going to show her things she's never felt before, sensations that will make her forget every harsh word, every cold shoulder her parents ever gave her.

Yeah, I'm going to make damn sure Elaine knows she's wanted and desired, not just by anyone, but by me. Cutter. The man who will tear down her walls and build her back up, piece by screaming piece.

I kill the engine, the last growl of my Harley fading into the dusk. My boots hit the gravel with a satisfying crunch, and I can't wipe this stupid grin off my face as I swing my leg over the bike. I'm buzzed with anticipation, my blood singing with the thoughts of what's to come.

The back door to Elaine's inherited hellhole creaks like a dying man as I push it open. The stench of dog pee is like a slap across the face, and I wrinkle my nose, cursing under my breath. My eyes scan the graffiti-marred walls—tags from local gangs trying to mark territory that no one really wants. It's a dump, but it's where she's sheltered herself away from the world.

"Fuck me," I mutter, my vision already slicing through the grime and seeing potential.

I imagine the walls cleaned up, maybe painted in some warm color that'll make her feel safe, a couch here, a rug there, hell, maybe even some curtains. It won't be the Ritz, but it'll be miles from this shithole. It'll be ours—a place where she doesn't have to hide in the shadows but lives like a normal person in her childhood home.

Elaine isn't going to be an attic rat forever , I vow to myself.

As I tread through the filth, the sound of my boots echoes in the darkness. At the foot of the attic steps, I pause, reaching up to pull down the creaky fold-out ladder. It descends with a groan, dust motes dancing in the air like tiny specters.

"Elaine! Baby, it's me!" My voice is rough but warm, carrying enough to let her know who's coming up and the endearment so she doesn't get scared.

She's had enough fear in her life. The thought tightens something in my chest, a protective instinct that has nothing to do with the club or its rules.

Each rung brings me closer to her, the woman who has unwittingly become the center of my fucking universe. The attic is a stark contrast to the dereliction below—cleaner, lived-in, with the smell of simmering food hitting me in the best way. My stomach growls, reminding me I skipped lunch.

"Smells good up here," I say as I spot Elaine hunched over a small hot plate, her focus on the pot before her.

Moving in close behind her, my hands find the curve of her hips with familiar ease. She stiffens under my touch, and I can feel the coil of tension in her body. But I let it slide, my curiosity piqued by what's cooking. Leaning around her, I peer into the bubbling mixture.

"Whatcha got there? Dog or cat?" I tease, trying to draw a lighter mood from the heavy air.

She chuckles, a sound that seems too rare coming from her, and shakes her head, dismissing the absurdity with the grace of someone who is used to worse jokes than mine. "Neither, smart-ass."

For a moment, I really look at her, seeing beyond the shadows of this place she's made her refuge. The laughter softens her face, lighting up her eyes, and damn, if she isn't beautiful. It's like I'm seeing her clearly for the first time since that night at the clubhouse all those months ago—the memory of her pressed against me, warm and alive, flooding back, and it's all I can do not to pull her into my arms right then and there. But I don't because this is Elaine's safe space, and I'm just a visitor. At least for now.

The scent of the stew seems to thicken the air as Elaine's hands move automatically, ladling the hearty mix into a bowl. I watch her closely. She's got this delicate way about her that belies the strength I've seen flash in her eyes from time to time.

"Been busy today?" Elaine asks casually.

Leaning back against the counter's edge, I cross my arms. "Had to deal with some scum threatening the MacKennys' stability."

Her hand jerks slightly, sending a small splash of broth over the bowl's rim. The stew pools on the worn wooden floorboards, but she doesn't seem to notice, her eyes wide and fixed on me, the spoon clattering against the ceramic. The tremble in her fingers doesn't escape my attention—fear has a scent, and it's starting to mingle with the aroma of her cooking.

"Hey," I say, my voice low and steady as I step closer, trying to reassure her without spooking her further. "You don't need to worry about that. You're safe here with me." I lock eyes with her, trying to impart the certainty I feel. "Kyle made it clear you're under our protection."

I mean every word. Psychotic tendencies aside, I'm a man of my word, a follower of orders. And when Kyle, our president, lays down the law, you can bet your last bullet I'll follow through. No harm will come to Elaine while she's with me, not by my hand or anyone else's. It's an unspoken promise that is as solid as the iron of my Harley.

"Understand?" I ask, searching her face for any sign that she believes me.

Elaine's chest rises and falls as she attempts to steady her breathing, her eyes still locked onto mine. She nods at my words, a fragile attempt at composure. I can tell by the taut line of her shoulders and how her fingers grip the table's edge that she's fighting a battle within herself. It's a struggle I know too well but for different reasons.

"Look at me, Elaine," I coax gently, softer than most would ever hear from Cutter, the psycho. "I'm here now, ain't nothin' gonna happen to you."

She looks up at me, her gaze skittering over my face before settling on my eyes. There's a vulnerability there that tugs at something deep in my gut. I've seen fear before, witnessed it on countless faces, but this is different. This is personal.

"Really?" Her voice is small, almost lost.

"Really." My affirmation is a gravelly promise.

Elaine's lips part as if to speak again, but instead, she takes a step forward. Her movement is hesitant, her hand lifting slowly as if unsure of its destination, until it lands lightly on my cheek. The touch is a whisper against my skin, warm and tentative.

"Thank you, Cutter," she murmurs so quietly it could be mistaken for the sigh of the wind. "Your words mean more than you know."

I freeze, not from fear or surprise, but from the unexpected surge of protectiveness that floods through me at her touch. It's a sensation I'm unaccustomed to that doesn't fit with the man I see staring back at me in the mirror every day.

"Anytime…" I manage to say, but my voice trails off as I realize she's close enough to feel her breath against my face.

"Anyway," Elaine starts, pulling back ever so slightly, her cheeks flushed with mixed emotions. "I-I was trying a new recipe today… thought you might like it. The attic isn't the best place to try new things, but I added some basil to the stew. I've never used it before, but I think it adds something—"

Her words tumble out in a nervous torrent, each sentence overlapping the next as she babbles about finding an old cookbook buried beneath some boxes, about the challenge of cooking on the hot plate, about anything and everything except the tension that zings between us like live wires.

I could listen to her babble all day, finding comfort in the normalcy of her chatter. It's a stark contrast to the violence and chaos that usually fill my days, and it makes the stew simmering on the hot plate seem like a banquet fit for a king.

"It's perfect," I say, finally breaking into her monologue, my voice rough with sincerity. "Just like you."

The bowl clinks softly against the wooden surface as I set it aside, my hands now free to frame the softness of Elaine's face. Our lips meet, and something electric charges through the space between us, igniting a fire I hadn't realized was simmering just beneath my skin. She trembles at first, but then, as if a switch has been flipped, she melts into me, her fear dissolving into a heated urgency that mirrors mine.

Rising from my seat, I pull her up with me, our kiss unbroken, fervent, a dance of tongues and teeth and everything unsaid. My fingers find the hem of her tank top, tugging the worn cotton upward in one swift motion. It floats to the floor, forgotten, as we become a tangle of limbs and need.

As my lips meet hers, a rush of warmth floods through me, igniting every nerve in my body. Her breath mingles with mine, a delicate dance of desire and anticipation that sends shivers down my spine. I feel the softness of her lips, the gentle yet firm pressure as we draw closer, our bodies instinctively leaning in, craving more.

Time seems to slow, each second stretching into eternity as we savor the sweetness of this kiss that speaks volumes without a word. Her scent envelops me, intoxicating and familiar, filling my senses with an overwhelming need. I can taste the faint hint of her favorite lip balm—there is much I crave to discover about her.

Our lips move in perfect harmony, exploring, teasing, and deepening the kiss with a fervor that leaves me breathless. My hands slide back up to cradle her face, my fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer as if to fuse us. I feel her hands on my chest, gripping my shirt, her touch setting my skin on fire even through the fabric.

Her small sighs and gasps send waves of pleasure through me, urging me to kiss her deeper, harder. The world around us fades away until the two of us are lost in this moment of pure, unfiltered passion.

I can feel the intensity building between us, a magnetic pull that I can't resist, nor do I want to. This kiss is more than just a physical act but an expression of everything we feel, everything we are. And as our lips finally part, leaving us breathless and wanting more, I rest my forehead to hers. Elaine smiles. Our bodies come together with a primal intensity, every touch stoking the flames higher. I worship at the altar of her skin, tracing every curve and line until she's gasping, clinging to me like I'm the only solid thing in a spinning world.

Elaine walks backward, pulling me with her. We crash onto the bed, Elaine underneath me, her breaths coming fast and ragged. Heat pools inside me as I hook my finger under her bra's lace, dragging it aside with a roughness that's all too familiar. Her nipple, ripe and inviting, finds its way between my lips. My tongue rolls over the delicate peak, coaxing it to hardness, feeling it pucker and pebble, a sweet contrast to the softness everywhere else.

"Ah, Cutter," she gasps, her hands tangling in my hair, urging me on without words.

Her encouragement is fuel, stoking the fire within me, and I obey, trailing kisses laced with hunger down her body.

Reaching her waistband, my fingers work with eager impatience, unbuttoning her jeans. I peel away the denim and cotton barrier, revealing her, laid bare and beautiful, trimmed to perfection. My gaze lingers there, soaking in the sight of her pussy, the thrill of discovery never growing old. A wicked smirk stretches across my face as she arches up to meet me, a silent plea written in the arch of her spine.

"Beautiful," I murmur, more to myself than to her, admiring the view that only I can see.

I press my palm against her chest, pinning her to the mattress with a firmness that's a command and a caress. My smile is all dark edges as I slide down her body, settling myself between her thighs.

"Please, Cutter," she breathes out, and it's music to my ears, a symphony of desire and anticipation. Her plea is all the permission I need.

My mouth descends, my tongue drawing a lazy path until I find that sweet spot. Her cry fills the room when I flick over her clit, the sound raw and unfiltered. Her fingers tangle fiercely in my hair, holding me where she needs me most. But this isn't about control—not tonight. This is about giving, about taking every moan and turning it into a fire.

For once, the thought of pleasing her consumes me. The old Cutter would've taken what he wanted, satisfaction his only goal. But Kyle's words echo in my mind, molding my actions. "Keep Elaine happy," he'd said, and I finally understand why. With every pull of my mouth and stroke of my tongue, I'm not just following orders—I'm rewriting the man I am.

And as Elaine shivers beneath me, her grip on my hair a lifeline, I know I'm doing more than leaving her breathless. I'm shifting the balance between us, finding pleasure in her pleasure, something I never thought I'd crave. Kyle was right. Keeping Elaine happy might just be the key to a life I never dared to imagine for myself.

Elaine's body trembles, a quake that ripples through her from the inside out. Her shivers rake through her, and her moans of pleasure make me harder. Elaine is coming undone beneath me, and I'm the one who has unraveled her.

Rising urgency takes over, stripping away clothes. The T-shirt is tossed to a forgotten corner, and boots are kicked away with a thud that mirrors my racing heartbeat. Jeans and boxers—useless barriers—are next, discarded in a heap of denim and restraint. Now it's bare skin against skin, with nothing between us but the heat we're generating. Agonizingly slowly, I push into her. Every inch I claim is a new discovery I'm conquering, not by force but by invitation. She's tight around me, heat, silk, and everything a man could drown in willingly. Then, I move faster and harder, the way I know how, the way I've always known, but only this time, it's different. This time, it's not just about taking but about giving back every ounce of pleasure she wrings from me.

Elaine meets me thrust for thrust, her nails digging crescents into my back. Each mark she carves is a wordless declaration that she's here, feeling every bit of this and as lost in the sensation as I am. Her legs wrap around me, pulling me deeper, urging me on without a single spoken plea. She's taking all of me, and in this moment, I'm not Cutter the ruthless, Cutter the cold—I'm just a man driven by something more than need.

Her eyes are wide open, locked onto mine, with a hunger there that mirrors mine. We're two halves of a shared madness, spiraling together toward something neither of us has known before, something that feels dangerously close to a connection, to wholeness. As I pump into her and feel her clenching around me, I realize that maybe, just maybe, there's more to this life than the ride-or-die creed I've lived by. Maybe there's room for something like this—wild, raw, and unexpectedly tender.

Locking eyes with Elaine, the intensity of our connection refuses to waver even as I'm teetering on the brink. The release comes like a tidal wave, and in its wake, a thought that's both terrifying and exhilarating washes over me—I could have a life with this woman, something real and lasting.

"Elaine," I gasp, my breath ragged, muscles quivering.

My gaze never leaves hers. It's as though she's anchoring me to this moment, to the possibility of a future I'd never dared to envision. She's not just another warm body, another conquest. She's the calm at the center of my chaos.

The tremors of pleasure begin to subside, and I'm suddenly aware of every point where our bodies are joined and her warmth envelopes me. Gently, I roll off her, taking care not to crush her with my weight. I lay there beside her, our sweat-slicked skin barely touching, and the vulnerability I've always guarded against threatens to break through.

"Are you okay?" I ask, my voice rough with emotion. "Was it… was it good for you?" My heart thuds erratically, uncertain but needing to know she felt even a fraction of what shook me to the core.

Elaine turns to face me, her expression soft, eyes glistening with a sheen of satisfaction. "It was so good," she whispers, a smile curving her lips, and I can feel the sincerity of her words wrapping around me.

Relief floods through me, soothing the raw edges inside. Her hand reaches out, fingertips tenderly tracing the line of my jaw, and I lean into her touch. It's strange, this gentleness between us, but it's a strangeness I want to get used to.

"Good," I murmur, closing my eyes for a moment. When I open them again, the world hasn't shattered. It's still just us here together, wrapped up in the aftermath of something that feels a lot like hope.

The world feels silent except for our mingled breaths, and I let the stillness wash over me. The warmth of Elaine's body beside me is a strange comfort I'm not used to feeling. Kyle's words echo in my head, his belief that I could be more than what I am and could find some kind of good with Elaine. Maybe the bastard is right.

"Elaine," I start, propping myself on one elbow to look at her. Her hair fans out on the pillow, a dark contrast to the pale sheets. "There's someone I want you to meet." It's a simple sentence, but it feels like I'm crossing into new territory.

"Who?" she asks, curiosity lighting up her features.

"Do you remember Charlotte?" Her name stirs a protectiveness in me. Charlotte, with her laughter that's too loud and her love for coffee, and who sees the world through the wonder-filled eyes of a child. "She's… special to me. Like the sister I never had."

Elaine sits up, wrapping the sheet around her. "I remember her. I'd like that, Cutter. When?"

"Tomorrow morning? At Baked Goodness." My voice is uncertain, a rarity, but this matters. Charlotte matters, and so does Elaine's opinion of her.

"Then it's a date." She nods, her smile genuine, and something inside me eases. "If it's important to you, then it's important to me too."

As she agrees, I feel a flicker of something unfamiliar. I pull her close again, breathing in the scent of her hair, letting myself believe, just for a moment, that things can be different.

This woman, Elaine, she's broken and soft in all the right places. And I find myself thinking maybe I could be happy with her. Well, as happy as a guy like me can get.

Almost happy.

For a psycho.

"Elaine…" I say, my voice low and steady with conviction, "… you belong to me now. And I'm gonna keep you safe. Always ."

The rumble of my Harley cuts through the morning air, a deep, comforting growl that's music to my ears. Elaine clings to me from behind, her arms wrapped around my waist. She's new to this world—the world of leather jackets and brotherhood, loyalty and rebellion. Today, she's getting a taste of the family side of it.

We pull up in front of Baked Goodness, the scent of fresh pastry mingling with my bike's exhaust. I cut the engine, relishing the sudden quiet, save for the distant town sounds and the soft chatter from inside the bakery. Isabelle owns the place, her connection to the club solidified through Jamie, Kyle's brother. A sense of pride swells in my chest, knowing we're all intertwined, part of something bigger than ourselves.

What I'm asking of Elaine is no small thing for me. There are parts of my life I don't share with anyone. Charlotte is more than just a friend, she's family. She sees straight past the ink on my skin and the scars I carry right into my heart. To her, I'm not Cutter, the man who has seen and done too much. I'm just me.

The familiar scent of fresh pastries wafts through the air, but before I can fully appreciate it, a blur of excitement bursts from the bakery's doorway.

"Charlotte!" I call out, barely getting the words out before she's upon us, her feet barely touching the ground as she skips forward.

But then she stops dead, her joy faltering into a heart-tugging frown as she catches sight of Elaine standing next to my bike.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I ask, concern etching my voice as I swing my leg over the bike and reach out to put an arm around Elaine.

"Nothing," Charlotte says, her voice small, not convincing me in the least. I know that look—it's the fear of change, the worry of being replaced. And my chest tightens because nobody can replace my Char.

"Come here." I move away from Elaine and open my arms.

After a hesitant second, she steps into them. I pull her close, wrapping her up in a hug that I hope conveys everything words can't. She's important and irreplaceable, no matter who else comes into my life. She holds a piece of my heart that's hers alone.

"Missed you, Cutter," she mumbles against my leather jacket.

"Missed you more, Char," I say, letting the truth resonate between us.

Charlotte steps back, her eyes flicking between Elaine and me, a wrinkle of confusion creasing her brow. "Who's she?"

I reach for Charlotte's hand and squeeze gently. "Do you remember Elaine? You and she met at a party at the clubhouse," I say, trying to keep my tone even and reassuring. "She's my girlfriend." Her hand trembles in mine, but I hold on tight. "But you know you're my special girl, right, Char? No one can ever take your place. We're friends, always." The words are a promise, an unbreakable vow etched deep in the marrow of my bones.

Elaine shifts beside me, her gaze softening as she looks at Charlotte. She reaches out, her hand brushing against Charlotte's free one. "Can I be your friend too?" Elaine's voice is tentative, almost shy.

Charlotte's eyes widen, searching Elaine's face for sincerity. Then, slowly, a smile starts to bloom, tentative at first but growing stronger until it's the Charlotte smile I know so well—the one that could light up the darkest corners of any soul.

My heart swells, relief flooding through me like a dam burst open. Watching them together, it feels like a weight has been lifted. They might come from different parts of my life, but here they stand, their hands linked, and I can't help but think this is how it's meant to be.

"Friends," Charlotte echoes, her voice laced with newfound warmth, and I feel like I've just won more than any jackpot could ever give me.

Charlotte releases my hand and turns toward Elaine, their fingers intertwining with the ease of old friends rather than two people who hardly know each other. There's no hesitation in Charlotte's step as she leads Elaine toward the bakery's entrance, her shoulders squared with a sense of purpose.

"Elaine, how do you like your coffee?" Charlotte asks, her voice brimming with pride and enthusiasm.

I trail behind them, watching as Elaine responds with a smile that matches Charlotte's in its brightness.

"I love a good latte. Extra foam, if you can manage that," Elaine replies, playing into Charlotte's expertise.

"Extra foam, coming right up!" Charlotte declares, pushing open the door to Baked Goodness with a flourish. The bell above chimes, announcing our entry to Isabelle, who looks up from the counter where she's arranging a selection of pastries.

"Isabelle, this is Elaine," Charlotte announces, tugging Elaine forward into the warm bakery. "My new friend and Cutter's girlfriend."

Isabelle's eyes flicker to me for a brief second before she steps around the counter, her apron dusted with the evidence of her craft. She extends her hand to Elaine, a genuine smile lighting up her features.

"Welcome to Baked Goodness, Elaine. It's great to meet you." Isabelle's welcome carries the weight of family and community—the same feeling that permeates the very walls of this place.

The scent of freshly baked bread and the sound of laughter fill the bakery as I lean against the wall, my arms crossed over my chest. Watching Elaine fit into this world, my world, with such ease, it's like watching the last piece of a puzzle click into place. The Loyal Rebels, my brothers, have always been my anchor, but something about today makes everything feel more complete.

Elaine's smile is infectious, her laughter mingling with Charlotte's bubbly chatter and Isabelle's welcoming tone. A warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the warmer weather creeping in from outside. It's a sense of belonging and home that's been elusive for so long. Right here, with these people, I'm not just Cutter of the Loyal Rebels, I'm a man with a life that's finally shaping up to be about more than just the next ride or fight.

The bell above the door chimes again, a familiar soundtrack to the bakery's daily rhythm, and I turn to see Annette step in, her hand gripping Beathan's tiny fingers. Tyson follows, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. His eyes meet mine, and he nods at me with a grin.

"Hey there, Cutter," Tyson calls out, his voice a deep rumble that cuts through the soft hum of conversations. "What brings you into Baked Goodness?"

"Tyson," I reply, pushing off from the wall to greet him with a clasp on the shoulder. There's an unspoken understanding between us—another thread in the web of connections that makes this life what it is. "Just bringing in my girlfriend, Elaine, to meet Charlotte." I glance at Elaine, who is now chatting animatedly with Charlotte as they beam at Isabelle.

"Girlfriend?" Tyson asks.

"Yep."

He looks from me to Elaine and back again. "I thought she was…" Tyson doesn't finish his sentence.

Knowing what he means, I say, "She was, but she's mine now."

Tyson looks surprised, but his attention moves to Charlotte as she walks toward us, a steaming cup in her hand and a mischievous glint in her eyes. The warm scent of caramel and vanilla drifts toward me before she even reaches us. Everyone's eyes flicker with curiosity as she sets the mug on the table next to me. It looks like it belongs at a kids' birthday party rather than in the calloused hands of a man more accustomed to the rawness of the road.

"Here you go, Cutter," she says, her voice bubbling with pride. "Your extra-special caramel macchiato with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, just how you like it."

A gentle ribbing rises from the crowd within Baked Goodness, a mix of surprise and amusement. My cheeks heat up, betraying a rare moment of vulnerability as I look down at the concoction that contradicts the ink and leather image I portray.

"Man, never would've pegged you for a sprinkles guy." Tyson chuckles, shaking his head with a wide smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

"Hey, we all got our vices," I retort, my voice steady despite the blush that refuses to fade. I glance up at Elaine, whose lips curve in an affectionate smirk, and I feel a surge of defiant pride.

"Guess I like what I like," I say with a shrug, meeting her gaze. The warmth in her eyes tells me she gets it—that underneath the tough exterior, there's room for sweetness too.

The laughter around us softens with nods and smiles of understanding. I'm surrounded by family—both blood and chosen—and realize these small revelations, these glimpses of true self, are just another part of the ride.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.