Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Nevaeh

T he bathrooms small, and that’s saying something coming from me. Heck, it’s only a little bigger than the one in the RV, but it has a bath with a shower above it which is one thing the RV doesn’t have.

I lean against the cool tiles as the water runs down over me, wondering how I keep letting this happen. The first time, I could blame alcohol. But now?

I’m weak, dammit. So freaking weak.

In my defense I tried to be strong, but the man has magical hands. And just when I thought I was getting control of myself he went and played the ‘she’s so innocent card’ and tried to bullshit me with how painful his erection was and how I couldn’t get pregnant having sex outside rubbish. I write sexy books and watch porn like everyone else, for goodness sake. There is a big difference between innocent and na?ve. I’d have laughed my head off if the whole thing hadn’t turned me on. I’ll admit, I’m a little confused by my reaction to it all, but clearly he got off on it as much as I did so I refuse to feel bad about it. I might even see how this thing plays out. As long as I don’t have to wear pigtails and call him daddy, it might be fun.

“Ugh no Nevaeh, you’re supposed to be resisting him.” I mutter to myself. This is what Amity means when she says I’m the trouble maker. I don’t agree that I make trouble, but lord knows I find myself in the middle off it far too often.

Damn biker voodoo.

Frustrated, I turn the shower off and climb out. I grab a towel and dry off without looking in the mirror, not wanting to see my reflection and her judgy eyes looking back at me. Wrapping the towel around my body, I make my way to the closet and rummage around until I find a comfy-looking T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. The idea of wearing his underwear feels strangely intimate, but since he ripped mine from my body, I really don’t have much choice.

I shiver at the memory, and my cheeks heat up as I remember what happened after. I can’t believe I squirted. I mean, I’ve read about it, but I never really thought it was a real thing outside of porn—kind of like those fourteen-inch penises that somehow don’t end up sending women to the ER. Or the mythical G-spot that no real-life man can find without a map—and maybe the promise of a participation blow job just for trying.

Now I feel like I’ve been schooled—in the best and worst ways and I have some awesome ideas to add to my new book, if nothing else. I pause as a thought occurs to me. What if Havoc’s the exception to mankind? What if he’s just ruined me for all other men? Oh, God, what if I can never have an orgasm again?

“Okay, calm down, Nevaeh,” I mutter, realizing that I’m starting to spiral.

At least there’s something to put on the “con” list. Sexual contact with the man turns me into a crazy woman.

With a sigh, I put my bra back on and pull the T-shirt on over my head. It falls to just above my knee. Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to wear the boxers. I pull them on, knowing they’ll be too big, but they’ll have to do. I don’t trust Havoc not to storm the fortress again. The boxers might not stop him, but going with nothing would be like leaving the door wide open for him.

I pause at that analogy and wonder, not for the first time, how I became a writer.

Shaking my head, I take a deep breath and head downstairs, my stomach rumbling at the smell of pizza. I walk silently into the kitchen and watch Havoc as he washes something in the sink.

Every time I look at him, I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. We might not work outside my dreams, but there’s no denying the man was created with sex in mind. His body is a work of art—muscles shifting with every movement, and a presence that fills the room. He’s gorgeous, but not in a conventional way. He’s far too rough around the edges for that. But there’s no denying the primal, unfiltered energy the man exudes that would have women around the world lining up to bend over for him.

“Like what you see?” His deep voice makes me jump, and I silently curse myself for not being stealthier.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Baby, I could feel your eyes on me. You were staring so hard I’m surprised my pants didn’t catch on fire.”

I shake my head and look away so he doesn’t see me blush. I hear him walk over to me, but I keep my eyes on the fridge magnet, which seems so out of place that I almost ask him where he got it.

“Cupcake, you can stare at me anytime you want. I promise I’ve never wanted to be objectified more than I do right now.”

Despite my best intentions, I feel a grin tug at my lips as I turn to look at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I think you mean sexy.” He smiles and picks up the two pizza boxes off the counter. “Table or sofa?”

I glance at the couch and picture us snuggled up together. “Table.”

He smirks, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking—he probably does. We walk over to the table, and I sit as Havoc places the pizza boxes down. He pulls a chair out and drags it closer to me before opening the top box and sitting down.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a plain cheese pizza and a meat lover’s.”

“I’m not picky. Cheese is fine.”

He moves the boxes so they’re both open and picks up a slice of cheese pizza, handing it to me before taking a meat one for himself.

“So Amity says you’re a writer?”

I frown at him. Amity usually keeps that to herself because she knows I don’t like people knowing. But then, with the signing and everything, she probably thought it didn’t matter anymore.

“Yeah.”

“What do you write?”

“Romance novels.”

“Really? I’ll have to check them out.”

“You read romance?” I cock my brow at that. I can’t picture it.

“After being away for years, I learned to appreciate anything I could get my hands on,” he admits. That’s the second time him being away has been mentioned but he never says he went nomad. It makes me feel like I’m missing something.

“What do you mean when you say you were ‘away’?”

He looks at me for a moment. “What did Amity tell you about me?”

“You’re from another chapter, and your old lady was a b-word.”

He snorts at that. “You can call her a bitch. It’s true.”

“I don’t swear much, and I’ve never liked that word anyway.”

“She slept with my brother and is expecting his kid.”

“Okay. She’s a bitch,” I say, making him laugh. “So when you say ‘away,’ do you mean metaphorically or that you put distance between you?” I ask, taking a bite of my pizza.

“No, I mean I was locked away in a six-by-eight-foot cell.”

I choke on my pizza, and Havoc curses, hitting my back as I cough uncontrollably. When that doesn’t help, he grabs a bottle of water from the kitchen and hands it to me.

I swallow a few mouthfuls before looking at him, my eyes watering. “Explain,” I rasp out, taking another drink of water.

He rubs his hand through his hair and sighs. “My brother was on his second strike when he got into a fight with someone and put him on life support.”

“Okay. What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

I scrunch my face, trying to understand what he’s saying. But clearly, I don’t.

“My president ordered me to take the fall for my brother.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. “Are you kidding me? That... I... Why would your president do that? Why couldn't your brother serve time when he was the one who committed the crime? Wait! Did the guy survive?”

“Yeah, he woke up and made a full recovery.”

“And you served five years for this? Five years that were your brother’s to serve? That’s crazy!” I shout, unable to hold back my outrage. His lips twitch at my reaction as he waits for me to calm down.

“I’m sorry. Go on,” I say, trying to rein in my anger.

“No worries, Cupcake. Anyway, he would’ve served way more time. It was my first offense. And Khan—the president—he said he needed my brother for some big deal. He straight-up told me that if I didn’t take the fall, I’d be kicked out of the club in bad standing, and every other club out there would turn their backs on me. It sounds stupid now, but this is the only life I’ve ever known. My father was a biker, and his father before him. It’s a legacy I wanted to continue with my own kids. But instead, I ended up with a criminal record and an ex-old lady.”

“I’m so sorry, Havoc… And I thought my family was messed up.”

“I guess my family makes yours look tame, huh?” He chuckles, but I just shift uncomfortably.

He doesn’t miss a thing, his face turning serious. “Or not. Talk to me, baby.”

I close my eyes and let out a tired sigh. “It’s not like it’s a secret. Most of the guys at the club already know.”

I start picking at the label on the water bottle, avoiding his gaze. “When I was ten, my twin sister was kidnapped from our front yard.”

He curses, but I keep my eyes on the label I’m peeling.

“The only suspect was a man called Alan Ellwick, a pedophile who we found out lived nearby. He was killed when the police tried to question him. Apparently, he panicked and pulled a gun, forcing officers to open fire.”

“Suicide by cop?”

I shrug. “He was wanted for questioning in another case, too, apparently, so maybe he knew he wasn’t walking away this time. I don’t know. What I do know is he died, taking all the answers with him. There was nothing for a couple of years. No body, no new witnesses or suspects, and not a single sighting. It’s like she just vanished, and we had no choice but to exist without her in this awful state of limbo. Then, out of the blue, someone confessed.”

I swallow hard, remembering the wild mix of emotions back then–relief, anger, hope, rage. “His name was Newton Helms. He was serving a four-year sentence for vehicular manslaughter. I thought it was finally over, but he was stabbed and killed inside before police could look into it.”

“Did they think it was him?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. He had no priors involving kids or violence, but there is always a first time. I tried to find some kind of peace with it all. If he was guilty, then at least his death meant he couldn’t hurt any more little girls. Of course, I told myself the same about Alan.”

He reaches over and slides his hand over my thigh, giving it a light squeeze.

“I know it’s not much, but at least you can draw comfort from the fact they’re both dead and likely rotting in hell.”

“John Cyrus, Michael Perkins, Alfonso Ramiro, Daniel Waterman.”

He frowns at me. “I don’t know who they are Cupcake.”

“Neither do I, but they all confessed to kidnapping my sister too. Each of them claiming to do unspeakable things to her. Police realized it was some kind of fucked up competition between inmates at various prisons. Nobody knows how they were communicating with each other. No letters or emails were found.” I sigh, wondering, not for the first time what makes these animals the way they are.

“In the end people stopped listening to these random confessions and they eventually tapered off. By then the damage was done. My mom just couldn’t handle it anymore and slit her wrists. And my dad... well, he couldn't look at me without seeing my sister. He couldn’t stand to be near me, but he couldn't let me go either. He was stuck in the past, and I was stuck with him.”

“Sounds like we were both in prison. I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

I give him a sad smile before looking back down at my hands. “Part of that’s my fault. I gave in because it was easier than fighting with him. He had been through so much. I thought if I could make him happy, maybe he’d go back to being the dad I remembered—the one who loved me, not the one who just tolerated and resented me.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away.

“You know what’s funny, though? People think you should just get over losing someone. That you’re supposed to move on, live the life they couldn’t, or some crap. What they don’t understand is that the pain never goes away. It’s always there, a living, breathing thing. You don’t get over it—you learn to live with it. You adjust, but you’re never the same. You walk with the ghost of your past beside you.”

I turn to look at him, surprised to see the look on his face. It’s like my pain physically hurts him.

“If I could take it away?—”

“I wouldn’t let you. The pain reminds me to breathe and that she was real. And even if every breath I take hurts without her, it’s one more breath than she’ll ever take.”

He pushes his chair back and pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around me. For a second, I’m not sure what to do. When was the last time someone held me? Amity does, sure, but it’s not the same.

“I’m not sure why I told you all of that. Amity is the only person who knows it all. When people ask, we usually give them the simplified version––the pedophile was the main suspect and the cops killed him––end of story. The reality though, is there are so many loose threads that my whole life is just a tangled web of knots I stand no chance of unraveling.”

“Thank you for telling me.” He murmurs against the top of my head.

Even though I know I’m playing with fire, I slowly relax into his hold, wrapping my arms around him and resting my head on his shoulder, letting his warmth chase away the cold thoughts of my family.

We sit like that for I don’t know how long before I lift my head and look at this strange, impossible man. Maybe in another life, if I were another girl, things would have turned out differently.

I kiss his lips, catching him by surprise, and slide off his lap while he’s still in shock. “Now, while the weather seems to have calmed down, I think it’s time you took me back.”

He looks at me with an odd expression, one I can’t read, but something about it has the hairs on my arms stand on end.

He gets to his feet and backs me up until I have nowhere else to go. “I didn’t know about your sister, but I’m in too deep to back out now.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, frowning.

His nose skims across my cheek before he presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’m not going to hurt you, Cupcake. Not now, not ever.”

“Havoc, you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

“I’ve decided I’m keeping you.”

I stare at him for a moment before I burst out laughing. But when I see the look on his face, my laughter dies. “You’re joking, right?”

“You won’t give me a chance.”

“Guess I was right not to,” I snap, trying to shove him away, but it’s like trying to move a mountain; he won’t budge.

He trails his hand down and flicks my nipple, which immediately hardens. “Your body knows who it belongs to. I just need your brain to catch up. I’ll be good to you, Nevaeh. There’ll never be anyone who loves you like I will if you just give me a shot.”

“Love? You’ve known me for half a fucking second.”

“I thought you didn’t swear,” he teases.

“I don’t murder people either, but there’s a first time for everything.”

He doesn’t flinch at my threats, grabbing both my wrists and pinning them to the wall above my head. “I like it when you’re feisty. I like it when you’re sweet. I like it when you come on my cock and say my name.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to like it from five hundred fifty yards away, because when I get out of here, I’m going to shove a restraining order down your throat.”

A grin spreads across his face, and he looks… happy. Honest to God happy when all I want to do is stab him in the eyeball with a pair of scissors.

“Look, if you let me go, I won’t say anything. I’ll pretend none of this happened. We’ll leave and get you some help. Maybe some fancy pills with a name I can’t pronounce. And one day, we’ll look back on this and laugh.”

“I hope so. It’ll make one hell of a story to tell our grandkids.”

My mouth drops open in shock, which he takes advantage of. His mouth slams down over mine, and his tongue invades my mouth, making my brain short-circuit for a minute before I remember I’ve basically been kidnapped.

I bite his tongue, hard, tasting blood.

He pulls back and smiles, blood staining his teeth. He looks like a fucking maniac. And even though I don’t think he’ll hurt me, I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know this guy.

“Havoc, please?—”

“I’m going to leave you alone for a little while, give you a chance to get your head around everything. Your laptop bag is beside the couch, but there’s no internet. If you get bored, the TV’s got satellite. I’ll be back tomorrow, and then we’ll get started.”

“Start what?” I whisper.

“We’ll start making you and me an us.”