CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Elaina—

The smell of bacon cooking has my eyes popping open. Early morning light streams in the windows, and I can hear the sizzle of the meat in the pan. Rolling over, I find even Rosie has deserted me.

I pad into the kitchen, yawning, and head to the coffeemaker.

Baja's already fully dressed. He's got on a gray thermal under a flannel shirt. He stands, moving the bacon around in the pan, but glances over his shoulder. "Mornin'. Sleep okay?"

"Fine," I say with no emotion, and I think he gets the hint. I fill my cup and take a seat at the bar, hiking my butt on a bar stool. Sipping my coffee, I wait for any reaction.

It takes about forty-five seconds before Baja tosses the tongs down, flips the burner off, and walks over to me.

"You're pissed, right?"

I ignore him.

He exhales, then occupies the stool next to me, takes my hands, and spins me around to face him.

"You want to know why I keep running hot and cold?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I'll show you. Get some clothes on and meet me at the truck." He moves off the stool, grabs his keys and phone, and stalks toward the door. "Come on, Rosie."

I gape after him, wondering why any of this involves driving somewhere.

I hurriedly dress in jeans and a sweater and follow him out. He doesn't open my door this time, just sits brooding behind the wheel with Rosie in the backseat.

Climbing in, I look over at him and click my seatbelt, but he says nothing, just backs out and drives down the street.

He drives us for about ten minutes to the other side of Durango, then he crosses the Animas River and climbs a slight hill. We pass under an arch that reads Greenmount Cemetery.

I look over at him, but he's slumped in his seat, his hand at his mouth, and he seems to be buried in his thoughts. We go around a curve, and when we crest the hill, there it is… spread out before us.

Pine trees line the road, and I see a field of cemetery stones of varying shapes and sizes. Trees in the distance are changing colors to bright reds and golds, and beyond them, mountains rise up. The grass is still green, and everything is well-maintained.

We pass a sign with the rules. "It says no dogs," I murmur.

"We'll crack the window and leave her in the truck. This won't take long."

A million explanations run through my head. Maybe he's showing me the graves of some of his brothers. How sad.

He parks along the single lane pavement, rolls the windows down enough for Rosie to get her head out, then shuts the truck off and gets out.

This time I don't wait for him to come around to my side, and I meet him at the bumper. He holds his hand out, and I slip mine in his. Then we walk a good distance, passing grave after grave.

"They're over here," he breathes.

They. Plural. More than one brother is buried here.

We stop at a dark polished granite marker. The last name across the top reads Barnes . Under it are two names. Hannah and Sophie.

My eyes dart to Baja.

"This is what I'm afraid of, Elaina."

"Who are they?" I ask, fearing I already know. Hannah has a year she was born and a year she died. Sophie only has one year engraved under her name.

"I was with Hannah for two years before she got pregnant. She was so excited when we found out we were having a daughter. We fought over the name. She wanted Sophie. I wanted something else. Hell, I don't even remember what it was anymore."

"What happened?" I whisper.

"Back then there was an MC making a move on our state. The Phantom Marauders. They were trying to push through New Mexico. Witnesses said they'd seen them roar up the highway just before Hannah was found. She'd been run off the road. Hit a tree. She was eight months pregnant."

"Oh, my God," I whisper.

"She was already dead when the trooper got to her; they transported her to the hospital. Thought they could at least save the baby, but she passed with her mother."

I set my hand on his arm. "Oh, Baja. I'm so sorry."

He lifts a chin to the marker. "Hannah wanted to call her Sophie, so that's what I put on the stone."

"It was such a tragic accident."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. It wasn't an accident. That MC ran her off the road on purpose."

"Why would they do that?"

"I had a club emblem on the back of my old truck. She was driving it that day. They targeted her."

"It's so senseless."

"Not to them. That's what this life does—it destroys. And last night, it could have been you."

"And yet you stay in it."

"It's what I am now, Elaina. I'm a Royal Bastard officer, and I'll die one."

I don't say any more. To tell the truth, I'm at a loss for words.

His phone goes off and he pulls it from his pocket. "Let me take you home."

"Is that the club?"

He nods.

We're both quiet on the drive back, each in our own head. I'm not sure I can think of a way to overcome a roadblock like the one he just revealed. But as I sit here in the seat next to him, watching him brood over the death of a woman and baby he obviously loved, knowing their loss must have destroyed him, I know one thing. I never want to leave his side. He's the man I was always meant to be with. I can feel it in my bones.

Now I just need to make him see that.

When we get to the house, I almost expect him to drop me off and go, but he shuts the truck down and heads inside with me.

"Don't you have to go?" I ask.

"Waiting on another call first."

He wanders into the living room and sits on the couch.

I sit next to him and study his face. He looks tired and sad, and I'm sure it took a lot out of him to take me to that grave.

I cup his face and turn it toward me. He meets my eyes.

I don't say anything, because there are no words. I just want him to feel better, so I press my lips to his. It's a gentle kiss, no pressure, no urgency, but he doesn't push me away, and I take that as a win. Threading my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, I trail kisses across his jaw and down his neck.

His hand lifts, and I feel his palm stroke down my back. Soon his other hand cups my face.

Shifting, I move between his legs, going to my knees, and pop open the snaps on his flannel shirt. He's got a thermal under it, and I drag the fabric up and trail another line of kisses across his abs, down to his jeans.

When my fingers fumble over his zipper, I'm half expecting him to stop me and push me away, but he doesn't. I undo his jeans and his hard cock springs forth into my waiting hands. It's long and thick, and there's already a drop of precum on the crown.

I stroke him once, twice, then lower my head and take him into my mouth. He sucks in a gasp at the first contact, and when my eyes flick to his, he's watching me intently.

His palm strokes my head as my mouth moves up and down until his shaft is slick.

"God, baby. You feel so good."

His hips lift to meet me, and soon he's cupping my face and fucking my mouth with a slow rhythm that sends a flash of desire through me, soaking my panties.

I want him. I want him more than I've wanted any other man.

Giving him pleasure right now is all I can think about. I want to drain every drop of stress from his body. I want to leave him in a relaxed heap, so drained he can't move.

His breathing increases until its sawing in and out of his lips.

"I love the feel of your mouth on me." His motions increase and soon his hips are lifting and thrusting in an unstoppable wave of desire. "So good. So fucking good."

And then he goes still, and the streams of hot ejaculate jet down my throat.

"Take it all, baby. Take it all."

I do. Every drop.

His head falls against the couch cushion as his labored breathing slows. He looks at me with sated eyes and a tender smile.

I press soft kisses along the warm skin of his stomach.

He drags me up his body for a kiss. "I push you away, but you want to know the hell of it? You don't have a clue how much I need you."

"Maybe I do," I whisper.

The phone in his pocket rings, and he drops his head.

"Goddamn it." Digging it out, he looks at the screen. "It's the club. Sorry, I've got to take it." He lifts me out of the way, zips his jeans, and strides onto the deck.

I get to my feet and head into the kitchen, stare at the bacon and grease congealed in the cold frying pan. I dump it in the trash, pop a slice of bread in the toaster, and check the clock on the wall. It's 10 a.m.

Baja clomps through the house to his room. I hear what I think is that case under the bed being drug out and unlatched.

My pulse kicks up with my heart rate. How many more times can I watch him walk out the door armed and ready for war?

When he emerges, he's got his cut on, and I'm sure there are weapons under it. Pausing in the doorway, he studies me. "I've got to go."

"I know."

"C'mere."

I walk to him with trepidation.

He cups my face. "I don't know how long I'll be gone. The girls are coming to get you at noon. I may not see you before the party."

"They're really still having it?"

He nods. "Crazy, I know."

"Insane."

His thumb strokes my cheek. "I've shared things with you I haven't shared with anyone. You mean something to me, Elaina. You mean a hell of a lot to me. I'm just struggling with what to do with that. I never thought I'd want to go down that road again. Risk all that pain again. You understand?"

I nod, too sad for words. I'm not sure he sees a future for us.

He presses his lips to mine, and then he leaves me. Alone.

I watch him drive away. I have no clue where he's going, but if it's the club calling, I can only assume they've got a hit on those plates, and they're going out to take care of those Rat Boys.

On the inside, I'm terrified, but on the outside, I'm numb.

Everything is spinning out of control.