Chapter 8VoxRoseVox

Chapter 8

Vox

Been away six days to meet Mendiaz and a few new guys there who’ll work for us from now on. Was nice being in Mexico but I was eager to come back to see her. Especially since I know she’s getting married to a so-called Messiah.

Hell no.

I promised myself to not fall for a woman, but I haven’t said anything about protecting one. And despite the situation, I'm pretty sure Rose isn’t keen on the idea of marrying this old guy.

Or perhaps she is? If it’s her Leader, then perhaps she’s glad she’s getting married?

Nah, from the look she gave me last week, she wanted it as much as someone would want a death penalty.

I take my phone in the basement of the club and open my app, looking at the rewind of her morning.

I fuckin’ miss her.

As I watch her, a sense of calm hits instantly. She's got this way about her, real peaceful, each move smooth as she braids her hair. It's like she's got this magic, quieting the storm in my head, pulling me right into the moment. Every flick of her wrist, every gentle tug on her hair, drags me deeper into her orbit, hooked on what she's doing.

I’m like an addict waiting for his next fix.

I shut down the app when she leaves the room. The idea of her being tied to another man, trapped in a life she might not want, stirs up a primal sense of possessiveness deep inside me.

The word echoes in my head like a fuckin’ relentless drumbeat.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

It's a dangerous thought, one I know I should resist, but it clings to me stubbornly. I haven’t even thought about the implication of dealing with a client from our club.

What will Ares think?

If anythin’ I’ve always been a loyal soldier to him, ready to die in battle at his orders without hesitating.

Pacing back and forth in the dimly lit basement, the scent of metal and blood hits me, reminding me of who I am and where my loyalty lies.

What the fuck should I do?

Can I get her out of her cult without wanting, well, more from her?

The image of Rose, with her golden hair and curves that’d make any man fall on his knees, flashes through my head. Skarn circlin’ her like a damn vulture, ready to claim her and I wanna tear him apart with my bare hands.

But what should I do about Ares?

Even though he’s only ten years older, he's been like a mentor to me, showin’ me the ropes, teaching me what it means to be a true brother. Going against him feels like stabbing my own blood, a betrayal I ain’t ready for.

You’d be a traitor, an outcast.

He always said, don’t mix women and business, and that’s why this is tearing me up. Defyin’ Ares is a risk I never thought I’d take, yet leavin’ Rose to her fate is a burden I can't bear.

The club or my angel?

For the first time in a long time, I don’t know where my loyalty should lie. The only thing that'll clear it up is the look in Rose’s eyes. That’s where I'll find the answer: does she really want this marriage, or is it forced on her? If she wants it, then I won't stand in the way of her happiness, even if it kills me to say.

For now, as I pace the cold concrete floor of the basement, Novac’s body still hangin’, his blood pooling at his feet, I'm caught in a damn mess, torn between loyalty and… something I never wanted to feel again. Thought I could roll through life with my brothers, the club, and my bike. That I’d never need to get close to anyone, never risk losing someone I cared for.

But here I am, trying to protect myself with walls while she keeps knockin’ 'em down, one by one.

Can I be strong enough to push her out?

-

It’s six, the music is blasting hard in the main hall, and I decide to shut down my office for the day. Wrapped up club business, checked the basement, balanced the books, and even shared a beer with Viper and Steele to try to distract myself. But throughout it all, one thing kept naggin’ at me—a vivid image of a thick, blonde braid.

"Up for a ride, Vox?" Steele asks, itching to hit the mountain roads for a sunset cruise.

"Not today, brother. Got some things on my plate," I reply, grabbing a spoon from the bar before heading out.

Mounting my bike, I feel its power beneath me, the engine's rumble a comforting presence. Navigating the busy streets, the city noise fades into the background as I lose myself in the engine's rumble. Rose's presence lingers, stirring somethin' deep inside me.

You already know what you’re choosing, just get ready to face the consequences.

Luckily, I’m heading toward something that could help me let off some steam. A small, cold smirk creeps onto my face.

It’s always nice to know you’re about to make the world a better place after killing a piece of shit.

Time to pay a surprise visit to Mr Collins. Wasn’t hard to find his address on the internet, and knowing what he did to my angel, it’s only fair I return the favor. He’d hurt what’s… mine . Can’t let this happen.

Mine you said?

I touch my jacket inside my pocket, feeling the spoon under the leather. Won’t kill him too fast, that would be too easy. Nah, I’m gonna make this hurt a bit more than it should.

An eye for an eye.

Literally.

I maneuver through traffic easily until I reach a comfortable neighborhood, with white fences and tidy lawns, similar to my area. Parking in front of his house, I keep my helmet on, wondering how best I can scare the shit out of him. Hearing noise in his garden, I step on the perfectly mown law and walk to the side of the house.

This guy even has garden gnomes and cutesy crap all over. Fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing.

He’s there. I recognize him from the pictures I saw online. He’s cuttin’ wood with a saw, without a fuckin’ care in the world, not knowin’ what’s about to happen to him.

I like it. The element of surprise adds a bit of fun.

I’m not a patient man, so I step towards him, his eyes widening at my sight, his mouth about to cry for help before I shut him with a firm hand and put my Glock 27 on his temple.

He’s much more docile now.

“On your knees,” I order, forcing him on the ground.

Where he belongs.

A cold chuckle comes out of my mouth. This fucker has no idea what I’m about to do.

“You did somethin’ wrong, hurting someone who didn’t deserve it,” I say, pressing the barrel against his flesh, making his body shake at its contact. I can see the panic from the pulse under his jaw and how he keeps lookin’ left and right for a way out.

“You made the mistake of hurtin’ Rose, and fuck, that was a dumb move,” I say with a bitter laugh. I lift his face to lock my gaze with his, tilting my head slightly. “I know you believe in punishment… and so do I.” I take the spoon out of my pocket and show it to him, his eyes confused at the sight of the utensil.

That’s my favorite part.

“I’m gonna kill you for what you did to Rose, but first we’re gonna take your eye out. Won’t be right if you don’t hurt, ya feel me?” I say with a low threatening tone.

“Now I'm gonna remove my hand and you're gonna shut the fuck up if you don’t want me to bring you back to a friend who’s particularly good at torture, alright?”

Almost sorry for Carter cause I know he would have had a blast, but I need to kill him myself. This shit is… personal.

He nods eagerly, probably thinking I’m gonna spare him if he behaves.

Pathetic.

Keepin’ my gun pointed at him, I take out manacles from my jeans pocket.

“Wrists out,” I order. He lifts his trembling thin arms towards me, and I restrain him, closing the manacles enough so that the metal digs into his skin, making him bleed. I look around and find a small piece of dirty cloth on the floor. He must have used it to wipe his sweat while cutting the wood. Grabbin’ it, I shove it in his mouth, gagging him, and enjoying the distress in his eyes.

I enjoy scaring the shit out of him. That's what he deserves for hurtin’ an angel.

Restrained and unable to yell, I take a look around, checking that no one can see us.

Perfect.

Putting back my gun in my holster, I fist his hair, angling his head towards me, his reflection in the glass of my helmet, making him watch himself terrified.

That's when I take the spoon and shove it in his left eye, in a precise movement learned after years of practice. His body fights me, tryin’ to escape the assault so I hold on tighter to his scalp, letting him know that there's no escape.

Turnin’ the spoon in the hollow of his eye, I pull it toward me in a slow motion, lettin’ him feel his eyeball leave his head. His cry is swallowed in the cloth. I know there’s a chance he'll faint, but I can't have that.

Wouldn't be fair for Rose.

I need him to be present to hurt. Lettin’ the spoon and his eyeball fall at his knees, I slap him hard in the face.

“See, doesn’t feel good when someone hurts ya. Should have thought about it before breakin’ her fingers, don’t ya think?”

His face bleeds hard from his missing eye. I punch him, makin’ him fall on his side like a fuckin’ pathetic weak man. Ignoring his pleas, I secure my gun with a silencer.

Alright, I’m done here.

I shoot him in the head, his body jerking back as if a truck had hit him.

Problem solved.

I head back to my bike, thankful for my black gear to conceal the blood drippin’ all over me. It would be a shame to scare the housewives chattin’ on the other side of the street.

We wouldn’t want that, would we?

-

The sun has set when I arrive to my house. Parkin’ my bike in my driveway, I sigh. It's been a long day but I want to see her before fallin’ asleep. After removin’ my helmet and puttin’ it on the bench of my entry, I decide that I will break in her house after havin’ dinner. Just want to look at her like last week, when I watched her sleep, tucked under her covers, her breathing echoin’ in the room, making my chest tighter. I enter my living room when I hear a noise.

Taking my gun from my holster, I raise it in front of me, ready to kill whoever is here.

Gettin’ closer from the noise I heard, I walk to the back of the couch, trying to be as quiet as possible.

At this distance, there's no clean shot. Whoever is in my house will have his brain blown up everywhere in the room.

Fuckin' pain in the ass to clean.

Reachin’ the couch, I make one last step and freeze.

My angel is curled up in a ball on my couch. Her eyes are shut, while her slow breathing tells me she’s been asleep for a little while.

She knew she could come here, and she did.

She fuckin’ did.

She took the blanket I gave her the other night and used it to cover her body, but the fabric must have slipped cause it only covers her legs now. I want to put the cover back on her, but it feels wrong to let her sleep here. She won’t be comfortable enough to spend the night and I don’t want her to be tired cause of it.

Circlin’ around the couch, I kneel in front of her body and wrap my arms under her knees and back, carryin’ her in firefighter mode. She’s as light as I thought she would be. Reachin’ the stairs, I take them carefully to make sure she won’t wake up and carry her to my bedroom. I would normally never enter this room with my boots on, with my habit of always puttin’ them in the entry, below the bench, on the left, like the maniac that I am, but it doesn’t even bother me right now.

I’m about to set her down on the edge of the bed when I catch myself.

Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my fucked up life.

She fits perfectly in my arms, warm and smellin’ like vanilla, and I can't help but bury my face in her hair and kiss her forehead.

Crossin’ the lines I swore I wouldn't cross.

Carefully, I lay her down on the bed. It's new havin’ Rose in my space, but at the same time, it feels… right. Like she's supposed to be here.

She's the first woman I've brought here. I don’t usually bring anyone into my home. I prefer to stay at the club or some crappy motel when I've got a girl with me.

I pull my arms away, and she squirms a bit, grabbing onto a piece of fabric on my forearm, yankin’ it towards her like she's cravin’ my closeness.

No, don’t do this.

I freeze, my breath hitching as Rose's fingers grip my sleeve. It sends a jolt through me, my blood pumping harder under my skin. Her hold tightens, like she's reachin’ for some kind of lifeline in the dark. She's lying there, so peaceful, so vulnerable, and yet even asleep I can see how strong she is.

This girl is trapped in a cult, mute and goes through punishment like it’s a damn normal thing. Gotta hand it to her, she's got more backbone than most men I know.

I can't peel my gaze away from her, even though I'm wrestling with a whole mess of memories hitting me hard.

Flashbacks from my little brother Jamie sleeping on the couch when we were younger. Then from his blooded face as we crashed into a car that night that changed it all.

A part of me wants to pull her closer but there's another part, a more rational one, that knows I need to keep my distance.

Keep her at arm’s length. Keep your walls up. That’s what kept you alive all those years.

I run a hand through my hair and sigh.

Fuck it.

Screw the rational part of me, screw the consequences. If I can't hold her in my arms, at least I can stay close to her and watch over her while she sleeps.

That’s what she came for anyway, right? If she came to sleep here, perhaps that means I can help her fight her nightmares?

Lettin’ her grip fall from my sleeve, I lay her down completely on my bed and I settled into the armchair beside it.

Close enough to reach out and touch her if I want to.

Far enough to keep my sanity.

Resting my forearms on my thighs, I take her in, every detail of her, from the wild tangle of her hair to the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

Fuckin’ love when she lets her hair down.

She's like a damn goddess lying there, so peaceful, so innocent. And for the first time in a long time, I feel somethin’ stir deep inside me, somethin’ I thought was long dead and buried the night of the car crash.

I sigh and lean back in the chair, my Glock pressed against my back.

Maybe it's reckless, but right now, it feels like the right thing to do.

Rose is here and that's all that matters.

Rose

A warm touch is caressing my face, making me wish it was Vox’s hand. I’m still asleep, curled up in soft sheets that smell like musk and soap. The hand keeps stroking my cheek until a finger reaches my lower lips.

“Hi, sleepyhead.” A deep raspy voice wakes me up instantly.

Where am I?

Opening my eyes, I locked them with the only man I feel safe with. I should hate his touch, I should push his hand away and listen to the rules of my community, but I don't.

Instead, I embrace it.

Vox.

“Breathe, Angel, it’s okay, you’re safe,” he says, lowering his hand on my jaw and taking my chin between two of his fingers. My eyes must be wide with confusion because I see a glimpse of a smile at the corners of his lips.

“Found you on my couch yesterday. Just put you in my bed so you’ll be more comfortable.” He swallows, looking deep in my eye with his cobalt gaze. “I stayed on the armchair the whole night,” he adds, answering the silent question he saw in my eyes.

How could he know I felt overwhelmed at the idea of us sleeping in the same bed?

Truth is, even if the idea of sharing a bed with him feels unusual, it doesn’t feel wrong. Not at all. I’m actually surprised by how comfy his bed is, how tidy everything is and how right it all feels.

Like I could be living here and it would be the most natural thing in the world.

Something inside me love the fact that he carried me to his bed knowing I would be more at ease there. Knowing that he slept on the armchair, beside me, respecting my boundaries while still protecting me.

Are you insane, Rose? Get it together.

Looking at the clock on his bedside table, I see that it's only six in the morning. He must have noticed that I get out of the house by eight every day to go to the Institute and wanted me to have a bit of time to go back to get ready for the day.

“Don’t know if you want to get ready here but if you do, the shower is behind the door, and the towels are under the sink,” he says, clenching his jaw, making a motion of his chin to the door in front of the bed.

I always shower in the morning, but I could go back to my house and do it there, and besides, it would be, hum, inappropriate for me to shower in his home, especially now that I’m, well, engaged .

Ew.

He stands and walks toward another door on the left side of the room.

“Gonna make you breakfast, take your time, Angel,” he says, looking at the bed, as if his eyes were trying to avoid me. His body is suddenly tense, the opposite of when he was stroking my cheeks a minute ago.

This is all crazy. I shouldn’t even be there.

But I am.

Because yesterday, laying on my bed, I couldn’t find sleep after trying for hours, and the only thing that kept going through my mind was him and the invitation he gave me last time I was there.

So after days of waiting for his return, I did what I shouldn’t have done days ago. I walked out of my bed, tiptoed to the garden and stepped inside his house through the bay window just like he said I could. I fell asleep on his couch waiting for him to return.

I wanted to be close to him, to be protected from the nightmares by his warm presence.

And I must have had a lucky star because he came back that night from wherever he was.

I nod at his words, accepting the shower and the breakfast he’s offering me. His eyes tell me that he knows as well that what we are doing is crossing a line. One that can’t be reversed. My house is a few meters away. I can eat and shower there.

Why would I do this here?

As my heart quickens, I tuck out the covers and walk to the shower, feeling his eyes on me. His gaze is like hot lava running on my skin and making me almost whimper. The tension in the room is thicker than I’ve ever felt, and I hear his exhale before walking outside the room and storming downstairs.

God.

Is it me or does the room suddenly feel like a hundred degrees?

As I walk into the bathroom, I catch a whiff of mint soap and notice how spotless everything is, just like the rest of his place. Then my eyes land on something familiar.

No way.

There it is, on the edge of the bathtub—a bottle of my favorite vanilla-scented shower gel. He must've spotted it the night he came to mend my hands. I can’t believe he took the time to notice this and to actually buy one for his place.

Did he know I would be coming here one day?

I let out a soft sigh as I pick up the bottle, feeling its comforting weight in my hands.

Or did he buy it for him…? To smell my scent whenever he wants to?

A strange primal urge in me wants him to have bought it for himself. So he could feel my scent even when I’m not around.

You’re crazy.

Turning toward the sink to grab a towel, I stare at myself in the mirror. Something has changed in my reflection. Barely noticeable but it does change. As if the veil of obedience was slowly slipping for my face, revealing a stronger version of me.

A braver one.

Touching the surface of the mirror with my finger, I wonder who this girl is. I thought a version of me died two years ago in the fire, taking away my voice with it and burying it under layers of fake smiles and silence. But perhaps I'm wrong, perhaps losing my voice was only the beginning of something more.

The old Rose would have never slipped out of her bed at night to sleep in a stranger's bed.

The old Rose would have never let a man touch her.

The old Rose would have stayed put, too scared of punishment.

But becoming the fiancée of our leader and discovering what a true connection feels like with Vox… just turns my world upside down. It’s making me question everything. As I remove my clothes slowly, I fold them on the counter, entering the shower and enjoying the hot water burning my flesh.

This act of transgression should make me feel embarrassed but I’m not.

If this is what freedom tastes like, then I want to savor every drop of it.

I'm standing naked in his shower. In his home. The thought of his tattooed body, wet and standing in the exact spot where I am now, sends a warm shiver through my stomach. Each drop of water cascading over my skin awakens a sensation both foreign and exhilarating.

The steam surrounds me, clouding my thoughts in a haze of desires. As I massage the vanilla-scented shower gel onto my skin, its fragrance wraps around me like his arms, easing away my uncertainties.

I recall our first meeting in the garden, trying to remember every inch of his tattooed skin, the intricate designs across his athletic muscles. I imagine his strong, veiny forearms pulling me close, and—

Shaking my head, I pull myself from my fantasy, pressing my hand against the wall as the water continues to fall around me.

This is wrong. I should never imagine those kinds of things.

What if my parents knew I was here? What would my community say? Could I live with myself then?

Turning the water off, I dry my skin with one of his cushy towels. I reach out and touch the fogged mirror, clearing it to meet my own gaze.

What do you really want?

-

Putting my nightgown back on and trying to do something with my wild thick hair, I sigh.

I wish I could have worn something more… pretty. Like a t-shirt and jeans, molding my body, not an ankle long brown shapeless dress made to hide my figure. When I see what girls my age wear in the street, I can’t help but envy them. It must be nice to wonder what you will wear every day and try to mix and match different patterns. And to be able to enhance your features, just enough to feel… feminine .

For the first time in my life, I want him to see this part of me. To look at me with desire and want, not just a weirdly dressed girl wearing the same brown clothes every single day. My dress looks more like a potato sac than anything else.

It’s not about the dress, Rose, he’s not like that and you know it.

He seems like a free man, riding his bike, coming home at strange hours, having a tidier home than most people I know. The kind of man that have women crawling at him everyday. And by my memory of the girl at his barbecue, he’s used to seeing women wear way less clothes than I am.

Why would a man like him desire a girl like me?

My hands shake as I grip the staircase railing and join him in the kitchen, trying to hide the blush spreading across my cheeks from having just showered in his house.

A pen and notebook are waiting for me on a stool next to the island while he makes a mug of tea, watching me with attentive eyes, like a lion studying its prey. I feel his gaze like wax dripping over my skin, each passing second leaving a searing sensation.

"Sit," he says in his warm voice, sending shivers down my spine, as he gestures to the stool in front of him, the island separating us.

Thank god. I don’t think I can handle more tension right now.

He's dressed in a black t-shirt that accentuates his thick, tattooed arms. I have to force myself to stop staring, closing my jaw before sitting. A corner of his lips lifts.

Come on, Rose, be more subtle.

Circling the island, he puts the mug in front of me, briefly touching my jaw with the back of his hand, making me melt at the contact. It feels natural, him touching me.

I wish I could stand and rush into his arms, burying my face in the crook of his neck, but it goes against everything I’ve been told since the day I was born.

“Made pancakes, do ya want some?” he says, putting away a jar of flour.

He made me breakfast.

I had never seen a man cook.

Never.

In the Faithful Lambs, only women are allowed in the kitchen, for some strange reason, so men have no idea how to cook. When a woman is ill, another one from the community has to come and cook for her husband, making sure he never has to make anything by himself. I must look shocked because a slight grin flashes on his handsome face.

“Is that a yes?” I nod eagerly, feeling hungry and unexpectedly cherished by the fact that this man, this biker covered in tattoos, has cooked for me. He chuckles as he places a plate with four huge pancakes in front of me.

It looks so good.

"Maple syrup or butter?" he asks, holding each option in his hand. I point to the butter with a large smile.

"Here, Angel," he says, handing me the butter.

That nickname still takes my breath away each time he says it.

I silently mouth "thank you," watching as he reads my lips and nods slightly in return. I enjoy communicating with him in my own way, knowing that simple things can be understood through lip reading by most people, though I rarely do it. With him, it feels different. I want him to understand me, to find our own language. As I reach for another bite of the fluffiest pancakes I've ever eaten, I pause to look at him for a moment.

I want to know everything about him. But I don’t even know where to start.

I'm not sure how I should act right now, it's so far out of my comfort zone, so different from the rules I've followed my whole life. Raising an eyebrow, he looks amused and asks, "Want somethin’, sweetheart?"

I pick up the pen and try to think of something to ask without appearing too eager to know about him.

"What are you doing today?" I write in the notebook and show it to him.

A small smile appears on his face. “Well right now, I’m enjoying breakfast with ya, and after, the usual,” he sighs, “Club business.”

Club?

Looking at his house and the people I saw in his garden, it looks like he’s a part of some community. But I don’t know anything about motorcycle clubs and he certainly looks like he won’t tell me more about it.

Circling the island, he takes a mug of steaming coffee and sits on the stool next to me with a larger smile on his face.

“Can almost hear the questions in your mind. What do you wanna know, Angel?”

Angel. That word makes my knees weak and my blood pulse each time his lips say it. His blue eyes lock with mine and my breathing quickens at the sight of his angular jaw, chocolate short hair and tattoos on his neck.

It should be illegal to look that attractive.

Reaching over me, his arms brushing mine, he grabs the notebook and the pen.

“C’mon, shoot.” I’m surprised by his gesture. He doesn’t look like an open book; why would he be okay with me knowing things about him?

“What do you do at the club?” I write and hand over to him.

As Vox turns towards me, I'm totally focused on his reaction. His expression shifts subtly as he reads it, eyes flickering with indecision. It's like he's not sure about letting me in on a part of himself.

I'm holding my breath, waiting anxiously for his reply, unable to look away from him. I can feel the conflict inside him, torn between wanting to share with me and wanting to protect himself.

Then, something changes. I see it in the way he straightens his shoulders and the determined look on his face.

“I’m the vice-president of the club. I deal with our men, make sure orders are followed and shipment arrives on time. I also negotiate with other… clubs and take care of the different issues we can have with some, hum, individuals.”

Vox's words sink in, and I watch as he suddenly avoids eye contact.

That’s strange.

I can't shake the feeling that there's more to the story than he's letting on, like he's afraid to tell me what he really does.

“Like a manager?” I write.

“Not really, Angel.” He runs a hand over his chocolate hair, as if he didn’t know how to explain it to me. I bite my lip, trying to read his expression for any hint of the truth. His eyes, usually so warm and inviting, now seem guarded, almost distant.

No, I didn’t want this…

It's like there's a wall between us now. A wall I’m determined to break through. As if he could feel my uncertainty, he sighs, his large rough hand covering mine on the countertops, making my belly filled with butterflies.

“Truth is, Rose, I’m not a good man. Far from it. The things I do… they should never come close to an angel like ya.”

I frown.

Why would he say that?

He’s only been good to me since the day I met him. Writing with my other free hand, I shake my head and hope that he will understand my humor, perhaps that will manage to break his walls. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, it’s not like I will say it to someone else.”

Tightening his hold on my hand, he shakes his head, warmth coming back into his eyes and a smile tugging at his lips.

“Rose, Rose, Rose,” he says, like a prayer, his eyes slowly drifting to my lips. I shrug one shoulder, smiling back at him. Pushing slightly back in his stool and leaving my hand, he gestures something to me.

My jaw drops on the floor.

What?

What did he just do?

Did Vox just sign something to me?

Vox

The look on her face is priceless as I sign “ You are beautiful ” one more time, hoping she got what I was tryin’ to say. I’m about to ask her if she understood when I suddenly see her eyes filling with tears, her lower lip trembling.

Shit, what did I do?

“Angel? C’mon, come here,” I say, standing and reaching for her, surrounding her with my arms, hoping it will appease her tears. I’ve never really been sensitive to people's emotions before, especially with the amount of men ending up practically dead in front of me, begging for their lives. It has become so common that I’m surprised by how Rose gets to me. How she carries her emotions on her face, like a book she opened for me to access, somethin’ precious she’s allowing me to see.

Did I do somethin’ wrong signin’ to her?

I wanted to show her that she didn’t have to do all the work and that I could learn sign language for her. After watching a few videos last night when she was sleeping, I learnt a few things.

What about keepin’ her at arm's length then?

Her body is still shaking a bit, but the tears have stopped. Kissing her forehead and sliding my arm up and down her back to soothe her, I try to push back a bit to look at her. Damn, touching her is really becoming a vital need now. I take her chin between my thumb and my index and raise her breathtaking face to me.

“Just wanted to tell ya,” I try with a reassuring smile. Her lips are so close to mine I wish I could fuckin’ devour them. But I hold on. Don’t want to scare her away.

What? Why?

A part of me wants me to scare her, push her boundaries so far so she would never come back and leave my walls in place, far from her full lips and pure heart. But another part tells me to stay and take care of her, to let her break my walls, push the bricks one by one and allow her sweetness into my dark soul.

Our gazes connect, her proximity drawing me in but I know I can't indulge in the temptation. With restraint, I step back, stoking her delicate cheek with my rough hand.

She closes her eyes and relishes in my touch, biting her lip as she smiles.

Good. Thought I’d fucked up for a sec. How can this tiny woman make me so nervous all of a sudden? Damn, and that fuckin’ smile? It shouldn’t be allowed to look that good.

No wonder Skarn chose her for himself. That’s some old lady material I got right in front of me.

Old lady?

My mind makes a double spin at the thought.

When have I ever thought about a woman becoming MY old lady?

It has NEVER happened.

Also, Rose is too pure for my lifestyle. She would run away as soon as she knew what I was really doing.

Right?

How could I tell her, this beautiful angel, that I’m the one doing the dirty work for the club? Sending messages to other gangs when Ares asked me to. Messages in the form of cutting throats and torturing men.

How can I tell her that I actually don't feel anything doing that part?

The dark side of me is numbed by the idea of making my enemies bleed.

No, she wouldn’t wan t anythin’ to do with a man like me, and she would be right. How could an angel like her want to dance with a devil like me?

Tugging a strain of her damp hair behind her ear, I inhale loudly, remembering that she was in my shower a few minutes ago while I was frozen in front of my sink, my knuckles white from pressing the wood countertop with my hand. Thought my teeth would actually break from how clenched my jaw was at the thought of her a few meters from me.

Never thought she would take my invitation to shower here. I mean, not that I’m complaining, but she could have gone home.

Why did she do it?

Can’t even fuckin’ process why she came into my home last night. Was she lookin’ for a shelter away from her nightmares? Or was she lookin’ for me?

The small pressure of somethin’ on my chest takes me out of my thoughts.

What is she-?

Her index draws somethin’ on me. She repeats the patterns a few times before I get it. It’s an question mark that she’s writing. On my fuckin’ chest. I have to take a sec to breathe slowly and gather myself at this fuckin’ adorable gesture.

I could fuckin’ get used to that.

She wonders how I learnt it?

“Watched a few videos while ya were sleeping. Not too bad for a newbie, right?” I smile, taking a sip of my coffee.

She smiles, shaking her head as if she was in awe of what I just told her. Can’t help but stare at her gorgeous angelic face. Fuckin’ love the habit she has to scrunch her nose when she smiles. Wish I could see those pouty lips every fuckin’ day.

I’m so fucked.

Rose is slowly getting under my skin as each day passes and I’m not sure if I’m gonna be able to push her out. Not that I am a part of her plan anyway since she’s about to get married to another man. This thought makes my body tense and there’s an urge to protect her like I’ve never felt before. The pull is so strong she must see it on my face.

“Tell me about the wedding,” I ask coldly, trying to hide the fury bubbling under my skin like a volcano about to explode.

Furrowing her brows, she puts the palm of her hand flat on my heart, leaving my t-shirt as the only thing between our skin.

Don’t do this, Angel, my black heart’s gonna burst if you keep your hand on it.

Her gorgeous lips form a small “o” as she feels my fast heartbeat.

Taking a quick glance at my eyes, she then turns herself to take the notebook and starts to write quickly. After what seems like two whole minutes, she turns towards me, handin’ me the note with a shaking hand. I don't want to seem too invested so I take it slowly when in fact I'm just that close to snapping.

“The Shepherd, our leader, chose me as his bride. My parents are over the moon with the idea, it's a great honor for our family. I was raised for that, to get married in the Faithful Lambs community and make as much children as possible. I don’t expect you to understand. It’s… complicated. I don't really have a say in it,” I read with my blood sizzlin’ under my skin.

WHAT. THE. FUCK?

It's written like a poem learnt by heart, just like when I put my Glock on people's heads and they suddenly start to talk. I guess I have to find who's making her do this, cause from the pale look on her face, it’s not her choice. The last sentence makes me bite my fist, wanting to pace the room like a lunatic.

No fuckin’ way I'm lettin’ her go through with it.

“You don't have any say in this? At all?” I snap, making her step back as if I had physically push her.

Shit.

Last thing I want is to scare her, but right now I want to burn the world to the ground and find the fuckers who are planning on taking her freedom away.

“When is the, fuck, the wedding?” I say between gritted teeth.

“In two months,” she writes.

“The guy you're marryin’, he's sixty, right? Have you thought about what you would have to do with him to get children? Do you even want children now?”

Fuck, I've snapped . Happens rarely to a calm guy like me but fuck, if you don't get out of your skin for stuff like this then are you even alive?

I fist the note in my hand, crushing it, and throwing it on the counter between us. Then I stare at her, wishing to see any form of rebellion in her eyes, anythin’ that will tell me that's she's not okay with this. But she's not looking at me, avoiding my eyes, her hands fidgeting with the pen, her lips murmuring somethin’ I'll never be able to hear.

Scared.

That's what she looks like .

Tilting her head she writes, “How do you know that he is sixty years old?”

That's what she's wonderin’? Damn it, if I tell her that her fuckin’ fake Messiah buy guns from our warehouse to sell to different cartels around the country, will she believe me?

Giving her that piece of information would also give away what my club actually does.

Am I ready for her to run away so soon?

Yeah, you have to let her go.

Fuck, I can't keep that from her just for my sake. Running a hand in my hair, I exhale loudly like I'm about to jump off a cliff.

Will I will able to forget the look of disgust in her eyes when she'll eventually walk away from me?

For her, I'll do it. She needs to know the truth and I sure won't be another person lying to her.

Perhaps, fuck, perhaps she'll stay even knowin’ what I do.

“Your dear Leader buy guns from my club to sell to another gang,” I state blankly, like a cold truth that needed to be said. "He's not the saintly figure you've been led to believe. And I can't stay fuckin' silent watchin’ ya get trapped in this thing.”

Rose's eyes widen in shock, her hand trembling as she processes the revelation. She looks at me with a mixture of fear and disbelief, shaking her head like I just told her a lie. I can almost hear her lips sayin’ over and over, “No, no, no.”

“It's true, Rose, it's the fuckin’ truth.” Her smile disappears, looking at me with daggers coming from her blue pools, watching me like a stranger she must be wary of.

No. Fuck. No.

Is she mad at me because I deal with weapons?

Or is she shocked about the news of her freaking Shepherd?

I'm startin’ to spiral like a fuckin' maniac.

“Rose, please, talk to me, don't push me away.” I'm shocked at what just came out of my mouth.

Since when did I ever beg for someone to stay near me?

Not since the day I saw life escapin’ my little brother's eyes when I was begging for him to stay with me in the car crash.

Don't think about it, stay right here with Rose .

She takes the notebook and scribbles fast. Her writing is suddenly harsher than before.

“I don't believe you. It's all a LIE. Perhaps YOU are the one who wants to trap me. You're the criminal dealing with GUNS!” She underlines the last word. Her note hits me like a punch in the face.

What I was fuckin’ afraid of just happened .

She's turning her back on me as I follow her, tryin’ to make it all alright again even though I know it's too late. But perhaps I can still make her change her mind.

Perhaps .

Trying to calm my voice down, I inhale and gather myself.

“You can run away, Rose, but deep down, you know I’m not the one who’s tryin’ to hurt ya. I'm not the one pushin’ ya to do things you can't stomach the idea of and I'm not the one hittin’ your fingers and drownin’ your head in the fuckin' tub,” I say, more harshly than I wished. I'm too fuckin' overwhelmed to cool down as my mind is desperately tryin’ to keep her close anyway I can. Right now, all I want is for her to realise that the people she cares for are not doin’ her right, that it's all been a fuckin’ lie since day one. And if all I've got is now to hit her with the truth, then I'm takin’ it.

“I get you don't want to trust me on this, but–just look then. Just open your eyes and see who's truly takin’ care of ya.” I step towards her, towering over her petite figure.

“Those people, your folks, they just want ya to follow them blindly, but you know that's not meant for ya. Otherwise you wouldn't be here with me, you wouldn't try to find other ways to exist.” She flinches.

Good, I struck a chord.

Her eyes fill with tears, making me want to step to her and make them go away but it's not the time.

“Tell me I'm wrong, Rose, tell me it's all been a mistake, you coming here, and I fuckin’ swear I won't bother you anymore.”

That's the last blow, the last thing I say before she collapses on the floor as I reach for her and manage to grab her body before it touches the ground. She's shaking like a leaf, fisting my t-shirt like I'm about to disappear, her head crushed in my neck. Can feel my t-shirt dampen at the amount of tears fallin’. She raises her face toward me, shaking her head and patting my heart with her palm.

So no, she doesn't think we, whatever the fuck we are, is wrong .

I exhale loudly, my body relaxing a bit at knowin’ that she won't push me away.

“Thought you'd never talk to me again,” I say, squeezing her body even closer to mine, her legs straddling my thighs, both of us sat on the floor of my living room. I'm suddenly aware of our position and try to remove myself to not make her feel uncomfortable, even though I fuckin' burn for her.

But when I try to let her go, she nestles herself even closer to me, her legs locking my waist like she never wants to let go. I take her face in my hand like a crystal glass ready to shatter, wondering what she's thinking. And I think I get it, she's shaking her head in disbelief but also in a sort of warm way, her eyes swingin’ from my eyes to my lips. She keeps her arms around my neck and lets her forehead fall on mine.

“I know it’s not what you wanted to hear,” I murmur. Because she was born in such a shitty situation, I can’t help but feel sorry for my angel.

A sad smile dances on her face. She’s gonna need time to accept this truth but maybe one day she will. I try to fight the relief of this sight, keepin’ my walls up, but it's fuckin' hard especially when we’re this close, my arms now on her neck and lower back, her curves meltin’ into my body like a perfect fuckin’ puzzle.

We stay like this for a while before a noise takes our attention away.

Her parents must have woken up.

Damn it.

I help her get up carefully and I squeeze her hand before letting it go.

“Wait a sec, got somethin’ for ya,” and walk to the kitchen, opening a drawer where I keep burner phones. Can come in handy when you're on the run.

You never know when you might need one.

Comin’ back to her, I take her hand, open her palm and put the phone in it. Nothin’ fancy, just a classic burner phone. I chosen an easy one for her, knowin’ that she probably never got the chance to use one.

“All you gotta do is turn it on. My number is already in the contact. Just hide it well and always keep it on mute.” She furrows her brows.

“You ever need me, you text me, and I'll find you,” I say, still surprised by my words, but that's the truth. I won't let anythin’ happen to her anymore. Can't fuckin' stand the idea of her gettin’ hurt.

Careful, Vox.

I don't tell her that this specific phone has a tracking app connected to my phone. No need to scare her away, but at least I'll know where she is at all times. Perhaps I'll be able to relax a bit by tracking her down.

Nothin’ wrong with a little bit of stalking.

Her lower lips tremble a bit at my words, her eyes looking over the phone in disbelief. I hate that she doesn't get to know about the world and that seeing this phone in her hand is like a strange device from another galaxy.

Closing her palm, she hides the small phone in her hand and steps back, turning toward the bay window of the garden. I hold my breath, watching her silhouette leave my home. Right before disappearing from my sight, she turns her head to me, locking her blue eyes in mine for a few seconds.

Goodbye, Angel.

Then she goes away, takin’ with her another brick from my already crumbling walls.