Celia
It is a hot summer afternoon in Miami Beach. That doesn’t keep the windows from fogging up with my sighs of adoration as Xander Regio, dressed in a black leather jacket, pulls into the driveway. The sound of his bike interrupts the silence of the afternoon sun, but I don’t mind one bit. Especially as he removes his helmet, and his long, thick, jet-black hair blows in the breeze of the afternoon wind.
Xander moved into the apartment next to mine a few months ago. We often say hello and wave. Sometimes I think I catch him checking me out, which I shouldn’t enjoy so much. But he’s not bad to look at, and despite my best efforts to think about anyone or anything other than the bad boy next door, I find myself daydreaming about him. A lot.
I’ve been perched on my windowsill all afternoon, quietly hoping I’ll catch him coming or going. Today, as he steps away from his bike, helmet in hand, he glances up and our gazes tangle. I smile and he returns it. Something inside me melts, and a fast daydream forms that he’s coming home to me after a long day of work. Any minute now he’ll cross the threshold, kiss me hello, and scoop me into his strong, waiting arms.
Outside of my daydream, the very real eye contact we share is long and meaningful enough that I decide to do something I’ve never done before. I jump up from the windowsill, trying to ignore the rapid beating of my heart, and make my way out the front door. Perching my sunglasses on my nose, I make my way down to my little red coupe, pretending to get something from the glove box. I swear, I can feel his stare on me. But I refuse to meet it.
Until he says my name.
“Hey there, Celia.”
Feeling the blood rush to my cheeks, I smile, but I’m certain it looks more like a cringe. “Hey,” I manage to stammer. “Nice ride, Xander.”
“This ol’ thing?” He runs his hand along the round side of the gas tank.
It’s black and layered with red, orange, and yellow flames, and a hint of blue, as if it is licking the skyline. It’s beautiful. And obviously custom. My oldest brother, Joseph, painted cars for a living, so I know a custom job when I see one.
“Maybe you’d like to go for a ride sometime?” His voice has a slight accent to it, maybe Italian.
“I’d like that, but to be honest, I’m kinda scared of bikes.”
“Nothing to be scared of,” he says to me with a panty-melting grin. “Think about it.”
As he walks away from me and toward our complex, I can clearly read the back of his leather jacket, which displays the logo of a local MC club—Bad Knights of Vice City.
My heart shouldn’t beat faster at the sight of it. Never mind my intuition. He has bad written all over him, literally. But I’m not ready for our conversation to end.
“Have you had dinner?”
He pauses on the first step and turns back to face me. “Are you offering?”
I close my car door with my hands empty. Obviously my attempt to busy myself outside proved worthless. I offer a quick nod. “What do you like?”
I immediately scold myself for asking such a broad question, especially since I can only offer a meal from the meager contents of my kitchen.
“Baby, I think I’d like anything you’d like to make me.”
I flush and smile. “I’m sure I can whip something up you might like.”
His brows rise and the side of his mouth lifts in a crooked grin that makes my panties wet. “Invite me up.” He steps to the side and offers his hand in a gesture for me to pass. “After you, chef.”
Clearing my throat, I bow as if to royalty and then climb the stairs two at a time. I know he’s staring at my ass, and part of me enjoys it. I don’t like to be reduced to eye candy, but for Xander, I can make an exception.
Opening the door to my home, I turn back to him briefly. I’ve never been this close to Xander. His cologne is light, not heavily drenching his scent. I also pick up the smell of grease and motor oil. Does he work in a garage? His hands aren’t dirty.
Meeting my gaze once more, he smirks. “Like what you see?”
I press my lips together in an effort to not swoon. I love what I see, always have, but I don’t want to jump into his arms, wrap my legs around his body, and beg for him to take me here and now. That can wait till we’re inside, at least.
“Maybe,” I whisper as a blush heats my cheeks.
We step inside, and he pushes the door until it clicks, then turns the deadbolt. I’m not worried he locked us inside. It’s more to keep everything in Miami out. Everyone thinks of Miami as a big party city, and for the most part it is. But there are also gangs and violence and plenty the news doesn’t shed light on.
A part of me fears Xander and his motorcycle club could be mixed up in some of that. I’ve heard stories about the Bad Knights of Vice City, the women they keep in their circles, the parties, the drugs, the violence. I shouldn’t be inviting any part of that into my apartment, but there’s something about Xander that I can’t resist.
I push my worries out of my thoughts for now and move toward the kitchen. I quickly scan the refrigerator and cabinets and come up with a plan.
“How about homemade pizza?”
I swing my gaze back to catch him looking me over. When our gazes clash again, his burns like melted chocolate. He licks his lower lip, and I forget to breathe. I should be scared of this man. He’s tall, thick with muscle, tattoos, and runs with a motorcycle club. Every bit of him screams danger. But none of that scares me right now.
“That sounds like the way to my heart, baby,” he murmurs like he’s pouring more of that melted chocolate all over me.
I swallow hard and try to smile casually. That might be easier to do if it didn’t feel like he was about to eat me for dinner. I pull in a deep breath and force myself to focus on the task at hand. If I’m really going to pull off homemade pizza for this ridiculously sexy man, I have to keep my wits about me.
“Perfect,” I say lightly, even though I’m trembling as I collect ingredients and arrange things on the counter to get started.
“How did I get so lucky to have a neighbor like you, Celia?”
I can feel a blush rush to my face once more, and a grin pulls my lips. “Fate?”
He answers with a low growl that somehow connects directly to the growing heat between my thighs.
“How did you know my name, anyway?” I ask.
“You think I wouldn’t make it my business to find out the name of the beauty living next to me the second I moved into this place?”
I hide my smile and set to work making the dough.
He drops onto one of the stools at my island counter. “I see you coming and going during the week. Do you have a boyfriend?”
The smile on my face stretches a little more than what I would consider comfortable. He knew my name, and now he’s asking about a potential love life. Is he interested or simply making conversation?
“Well… I work at a pediatrics office during the day.” I consider my next words and smile. “By night, I’m a vigilante for justice.”
He chuckles. “I bet you dress in a catsuit, huh?”
“That’s me,” I muse. “Seriously though, I don’t do much at night. I love to cook, but it’s just me. No boyfriend, no husband…no girlfriend either, just in case you were wondering.”
I think back to my ex-boyfriend I broke up with over a year ago. I’m pretty sure Damian was the son of Satan himself. He was a beautiful man, and he knew it. He played that to his advantage—then he hurt me in more ways than one. As if breaking my heart wasn’t enough, he beat me down too. If he had too much to drink, he would yell at me, put me down, and eventually hit me. The last time he touched me, I ended up in the emergency room.
Then my whole life changed. All I cared about was hiding from him, because I knew the restraining order would only keep him away for a time. Once the horror of what he did to me faded in his memory, he’d be back.
I exhale a deep breath, purging him from my thoughts and this moment with Xander. I’m safe now. I haven’t seen Damian in months. Hopefully he’s given up on me once and for all. I have to believe it so I can have peace, but the fear is hard to let go of.
“I wouldn’t mind if you had a girlfriend. Now that you’ve planted that thought in my head, I’m having a hard time thinking of anything else.”
I blink and pull myself from my memories of Damian. Then I roll my eyes. “Of course you would. What is it with men wanting to see women together?”
He shrugs. “Women get off watching guys together. Maybe it’s the idea of being there but not being allowed to join. You can watch but you can’t touch.”
I had never thought of it that way. “I suppose.” I look to his vest once more and point to the badge that reads Vice President. “What does that mean?”
“You really want to know?” He holds my stare, never flinching. His focus on me is unnerving. It does something to my insides.
I nod. “I do.”
“I oversee day-to-day operations of our chapter. Coordinate events and relay information between the president and members.”
I prop my elbows on the counter and rest my chin on my palms. “What’s it like being in a motorcycle gang?”
“Curious kitten, aren’t we?”
“I only know what I saw on Sons of Anarchy. Is that what your group is like?”
“Not quite. We convey a certain persona, but it’s not for what you might think.”
I nod a few times and motion with my hand for him to continue.
“Okay, well, we don’t smuggle drugs or weapons. We don’t beat our women. Most of the guys in the club are loyal, and not just to the club—to their women too.”
I exhale a shuddery breath. His words shouldn’t rattle me so much, but they do. No drugs. No violence. No guns.
“I bet you get a lot of women coming around looking for hookups.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Hollywood has really sensationalized the motorcycle club lifestyle. No, women don’t come around as often as you’d think. Some hope they can score a quick fix, but that’s not what we’re about. But many do get interested in our charity.”
The word charity catches my attention. “Your gang runs a charity?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily refer to us as a ‘gang,’” he says using air quotes. “We’re more like an active group of men protecting abused women and children.”
“Really?” I raise my brows. “I never would have guessed that.”
That’s the truth. I never would have suspected a group of intimidating leather-clad men had devoted themselves to that kind of cause. But my heart melts hearing it.
“I’m sure you’re not the only one. When we get the call that someone needs help, we venture out to the property, sometimes with police, sometimes without. We stand where we’re needed, outside, inside, wherever. If the ex shows up to start trouble, we’re there to prevent said trouble from happening. The children, more often than not, are scared shitless of us until they’re not. Some of my guys look like the textbook definition of a motorcycle gang member. Tattoos, beard, stuff like that. But at the end of the day, they’re hugging, sometimes crying with those kids. That is our goal and purpose—to offer protection when the police may not be enough.”
I swallow over a wave of emotion. “That is amazing.”
“It’s easy to make assumptions about someone like me, isn’t it?”
Do I want to admit that? Not really. I feel like a fool already. I definitely stereotyped the man just because of how he dressed and what he rode.
“Celia?”
I love the sound of my name on his lips.
“I’m thinking if I want to answer your question.”
He stands from his seat, then rounds the small island of my kitchen until he’s made his way over to where I stand. He’s tall and towers over my small frame. He has to be at least six-foot-four to my small stature of five-foot-three.
He touches my chin with his finger and thumb, lifting my face up until our eyes meet. “Tell me.”
With a sigh, I melt against his touch. He’s gentle, yet firm. I imagine, for a moment, what it would be like to be with him in bed. He has to be at least ten years older than me, which means he’s plenty more experienced than me.
I reach up and wrap my hand around his tattooed wrist. I remove his touch from my chin and take a step back, putting space between us. “I thought you were like what I saw on TV. Dangerous. Lawless. Violent. Obviously, I was wrong, but I’ll admit that was my first impression.”
He closes the gap between us again. I don’t mind.
“And you invited me into your home, under the impression I am a monster, to offer me homemade pizza?” He made a tsking sound with his tongue. “You’re a brave woman, Celia, but being brave could get you into trouble. If I were the type of man you expected me to be, the type of man you expected from my club, well…”
Our slow chase ends when my back reaches the wall. I’m stuck, with nowhere to go. Fear should be coursing through my veins, but it’s not. My anxiety and adrenaline should be on full blast, but I’m oddly calm.
“Why did you invite me into your home, Celia?” He presses his palm to the wall above my head and leans in closer. His cologne surrounds me, devours me. I’m nothing more than a puppet on a string for him to play with.
My eyes never leave his. “I wanted to get to know you.” Heat rushes to my face with my next words. “I think you’re incredibly hot.”
He grins. He touches my jawline gently with his fingers and grazes them ever so softly toward my ear. He tugs a few strands of my hair away and whispers, “I’ve been curious about you too, baby.”
Holy all things hot. I need Xander Regio to touch me more, kiss me hard, and rapture my body in a way I’ve never experienced.
The words “Kiss me” float from my lips.
He doesn’t object. Instead, he lowers his mouth to mine. His lips are soft like velvet, but possessive too. He slides his tongue across my lips, and I open for him. He moves it in and out of my mouth with slow precision, a teasing act of seduction that makes me want to beg for more.
I fist my hands in his leather vest as a moan escapes me. He smiles against my lips, and I quickly pull away, realizing it was me that made a sound.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he whispers. “I want to hear more of those sounds, baby. And I want to be the one to inspire them.”
“You’re an amazing kisser.” Standing this close, I’m able to see the laugh lines around his eyes, and I wonder if he’s older than I originally suspected. “Is it okay to ask how old you are?”
“I’m forty-two. And you, my beautiful lady?”
I nibble on my bottom lip before answering. I have never been involved with a man this much older than me. Would it creep him out? It doesn’t bother me, so hopefully it wouldn’t.
“I’m twenty-six.”
His smile spreads even wider, and there’s a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. “Does that bother you?”
I grin and run my hands up his chest. “Not in the least.”
“Good answer.”
Xander
Celia is officially my new preoccupation. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was a sweet, quiet librarian. But I suspect there’s more to her than her sweetness now that she’s boldly invited me into her place for dinner. Now that she’s letting me kiss her. And I can’t wait to lure more of this little sex kitten out to play.
So there’s an age gap between us. It doesn’t seem to bother her, so why let it be an issue?
Her lips are soft and sweet, and she tastes like a smooth piece of caramel. She’s addictive. I want more, need more.
Resting my forehead to hers, I brush her silky blond hair gently from her shoulder. Every touch feels electric between us. Which means I’m already hard as a rock and I’m aching to get inside her. Reaching down, I adjust my cock in my pants as it strains against the denim.
“How about that pizza?”
She looks down, catching the movement. “Hungry?”
“Absolutely. You’ve had this effect on me for quite a while,” I tell her.
Her cheeks blush a slight shade of pink. It’s sexy as hell. “Really?”
“You’ve caught my eye on a number of occasions.”
“Why haven’t you talked to me, then?”
I offer a shrug. “You come home wearing scrubs. I wasn’t sure if you were a med student, nurse, doctor, or maybe a veterinarian. I wasn’t sure I was your type.”
She smiles and runs her fingers over my badge that reads Vice President. “If I were a doctor or a vet, I wouldn’t be living in an apartment. I’d have a place near Miami Beach, drinking mimosas on a daily basis, and having charity balls.”
I raise a brow. “Charity balls?”
She stares off as if she can imagine the scene unfolding before her. “Yes. I would dress in a spectacular princess-style dress and would be accompanied by”—she pauses and looks into my eyes—“maybe you. We could entertain our guests with drinks and hors d'oeuvres, then urge them to cut a check to one of my favorite causes—preventing domestic violence.” A breath catches in her throat. She’s on the edge of something but doesn’t speak again. She shifts her gaze to me once more, then lowers her sight to the floor.
I frown and touch her chin, tilting her head up. “What just happened? You were telling me something beautiful, then you disappeared.”
She sighs and pulls from my embrace. She moves back to the dough at the counter. “How about that pizza?”
She sprinkles flour onto the counter, then presses the dough into itself, I can’t help but wonder what’s running through her mind. Something happened, but what?
“Celia?”
She continues to massage the ball of dough. Having experience with those who have been abused, I know when someone is hiding something, and she clearly is. I won’t pressure her to spill her darkest secrets, but if she’s willing to share, I’m willing to listen.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, then sets the dough down. She cleans her hands and wipes them on the dish towel. “Look, I’m sorry I lead you on here. I like you,” she says with a soft laugh. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a while, and I finally made myself make the first move. Then to hear you wanted to meet me too, it made it easy to get to know you. But I’m not ready to do the share your life story with the new person thing. Not yet, anyway.”
I nod and cross my arms over my chest. “No one was asking you to share anything you’re not ready to share, but there’s something there. I can see it. I’ve been in my club and helping others long enough to recognize issues when they’re presented. I also call it like I see it. I’m not just a motorcycle club guy, Celia. I have a masters in psychology. It doesn’t mean anything here or there, but when you’re ready to talk, I’m here to help. Always. I’ve helped many—”
“I get it,” she interrupts. “Thank you.”
She reluctantly meets my gaze, and I can’t help but feel I’ve pushed her too far.
“Right,” I offer and take a few steps away from her. “I’ll, umm, I’ll go. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
“Don’t leave,” she tells me as she rushes around the counter. “I just…I don’t…ugh,” she groans and runs her hand down her face. “I’ve had a hard time getting close to people since my ex. Trust issues, I guess.”
It doesn’t take much contemplation for rage to start curdling inside me. Seeing the bruises on the women and children we helped would often leave me wanting to pound the offending bastards into the earth. It takes a weak-ass man to beat on a woman or child. I have zero respect for anyone who felt different. I would never lay a hand on a woman, even if she was throwing punches.
“I’m not asking who or when, but is he still an issue?”
She looks to the ground, to her side wall, then finally meets my gaze. “Not for a while. He didn’t like taking no for an answer, but I think he’s finally moved on. Look”—she steps closer—“I didn’t realize you were involved in helping domestic violence victims. I don’t want you thinking that’s why I asked you up here.”
I take to heart what she tells me, but I can’t help the sly grin that plays on my lips. “Why did you invite me over, then?”
She smiles. “Pizza and conversation. To get to know you better.”
“I’m good with that,” I tell her. “I’m glad you were outside when I came home, but I also noticed you didn’t get anything from your car.” I wink, teasing her.
She blushes once more.
“Celia, I should tell you now. I’m not a relationship kind of guy. The club is my family. It’s a rough lifestyle and not for everyone. I love what we do for families, but not everyone in our group is as clean cut and considerate. It takes a strong woman to live this lifestyle.”
She wraps her arms around her waist as if she’s holding in her stomach. “I understand what you’re saying, but like you, I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I’d like to have you as a friend, if that’s okay.”
I take a step toward her, take her hands in mine, and lift them to my lips. I press a kiss to each knuckle. “Friends who kiss?”
She tilts her head slightly with a grin. “I would be okay with that.”
“Good. How about friends who do more than that?”
She shrugs, and her smile widens. “I’m good with that. I have needs like anyone else. As long as you don’t expect more… Feelings. Commitment.”
“So you’re saying you want to be friends who fuck?”
She nods and nibbles on her bottom lip. I have a longing to cup her face and suck her lip into my mouth, kiss her, and taste her entire body. She’s a beautiful woman who deserves so much more than what I could ever give her. And a lot more than she’s asking for.
“Celia.” I trail my fingers up the bare skin of her arms. Her skin pebbles with chills. “I would love more than anything to give you what you need, but I need to know you would really be okay with just being friends. If feelings get involved—”
“They won’t.”
I raise a brow. “When people sleep together with no intentions of falling in love, someone always ends up getting hurt. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She presses her hands to my chest and runs them up to my neck. Her body is flush against mine as she whispers, “What if it’s you who gets hurt?”
I move my hands around her back, cupping her delectable ass. “Well played,” I whisper and press my aching erection against her. “Then how about we get started on our new friendship?”
Celia
I wasn’t sure what to expect when Xander took his leather vest and T-shirt off, but a man sculpted by God to be the example for all mankind was not what I expected. Xander is cut with muscles in places I’ve only seen on models, weight lifters, and movie stars. I don’t know whether to keep gaping in awe or begin exploring every delectable inch of him.
We’re in my bedroom now, and he stands only in his boxer briefs. His chest is thick and bare, with pecs that ripple as he moves. I could run my tongue over his stomach and never stop admiring the endless waves of his abs. His biceps offer protection I could fall asleep in without feeling frightened of anything.
His eyes gleam with half-lidded lust. I’m in disbelief that this is happening. That he’s really here. The object of so many fantasies, and he’s better than all of them. My breath catches in my lungs when I take another visual pass over his chiseled body.
“I take it you like what you see?” he asks.
“What in the world makes you think so?”
He smirks. “Call it a hunch.”
I laugh, and as he grins, there’s a hint of crow’s feet around the outer parts of his eyes. And it’s beautiful.
I remove my clothes and sit on the edge of my queen-size bed in only my lacy black panties with my legs crossed.
Xander closes the distance to me and drops to his knees. He runs his calloused hands up my thighs, and I uncross my legs.
He places gentle pressure to my inner knees and pushes my legs apart. “If this goes too far for what you’re ready for, just tell me. I’ll ask you where you are, and you say green, yellow, or red. Green, you’re comfortable and want me to keep going. Yellow, you need me to slow down. Red is a hard stop and everything comes to a halt. Sound good?”
I swallow and wonder what his plans are that would make me consider saying red? “I’m assuming the same goes for you?”
He chuckles. “Darlin’, I promise, there’s nothing you can do that would ever make me scream red.”
I giggle. I can’t help myself.
He surprises me by grabbing the back of my knees and yanking me toward the edge of the bed. I squeal with a laugh.
He cradles the back of my head, threading his fingers through my hair. He leans in, presses his lips to mine, and yanks my head back.
I gasp and arch my back.
“What’s your color, baby doll?”
My heart is beating so hard I think he may hear it. Fear clinches on the edge of my psyche, but recognize I’m not scared. My breathing comes back under control, and I take a deep breath and slowly release it.
“Green.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to ask again.”
“It’s green.”
“Good.” He pulls me down onto the bed by my hair, then releases his grip and moves his hand down my bare skin from my shoulder to my breast, pinching the nipple slightly.
With his other hand, he presses his thumb into the lace of my panties, rubbing circles over my clit.
“Damn, baby, you’re so wet already.” He moves the fabric to one side and exposes my core. He then pushes a finger into my pussy, his thumb back to my clit. He moves his finger in a come here motion, and the movement triggers something inside my body I haven’t felt until now.
I’ve had sex before, and it was good but never mind-blowing. I have a feeling sex with Xander is going to be unlike anything else I’ve experienced. He’s barely touched me, and I’m ready to come apart.
“Oh God,” I groan into the air and grip the blanket on my bed.
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then you’ll love this.” He pulls his fingers away. I immediately miss him. He yanks my panties down my legs, then pushes my legs up and farther apart. I feel his breath on my most sensitive places before he presses his fingers on either side of my clit, giving it a slight pinch. I gasp at the sensation and inhale a sharp breath when his mouth settles over my pussy. He flicks my clit with his tongue and sucks on it while his fingers plunge deep into my core.
He pushes his digits in and out, drawing out more and more untapped pleasure. I feel like I’ll die a happy woman after tonight. As he sucks and laps, he pushes and drives me toward the orgasm building within me.
My breathing turns heavy, and my chest heaves. My body begins to convulse as I come with violent throbs of pleasure. The sensation rips through my body, completely shattering me, leaving me in pieces. I am officially ruined for any other man, and we haven’t even had sex.
After he pulls away, I release my legs lazily. I can’t bring myself to open my eyes. Not yet at least. I’m still trying to catch my breath. Then I hear the sound of a condom being ripped open, and I finally open my eyes and look at him.
His cock is huge, thick, and perfect. I long to feel it inside me. He catches my gaze and smirks.
“Crawl up on the bed, baby girl.”
I didn’t hesitate. I move up toward my headboard and rest my head on my pillows. As Xander presses one knee, then the other, and edges himself closer, he looks like the Big Bad Wolf on the hunt for his Little Red Riding Hood.
Consider me the prey, because I’m ready to be devoured so thoroughly by this man.
“What’s your color, baby girl?”
“Green,” I say without hesitation.
“Good. If you want to stop, tell me before we start.”
I smile and cup the back of his head. I bring him down to me and press my lips to his. I can taste myself on him. “I’m good. I promise.”
He grins, and I can feel the head of his cock as he presses it into my pussy. He fills me, and the man’s girth is more than what I was ready for. He pauses for a moment and stares into my widened eyes.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” He pulls out and pushes back in gently, easily. He moves atop me, this beast of a man being ever so gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I nod and close my eyes, falling into the intense sensations of him.
“Don’t close your eyes. Look at me, baby.”
I hesitate for a moment but reluctantly open my eyes. The moment our gazes meet, I gasp, as his thrusts become harder and possessive. He stares into my eyes as if he’s seeing me, all of me, directly to the innermost part of my soul.
His body rocks against my own, and I’m lost to the passion, his groans of pleasure, all of it.
I’ll never be the same person again after having Xander Regio.
Xander
It’s been a few days since I last saw Celia, which is an enjoyable kind of torture. We’ve been sexting all week, from simple messages that remind me of our night together to the nude selfies she sends that don’t allow me to think of anything beyond her sensual petite curves and all the places I’m dying to spend more time worshipping.
Celia is so much more than I expected. And I’m enjoying every second of the surprise. She’s exquisite. Eager and open. Sweet and submissive too. Everything that presses my buttons.
Most of the people in the club live a certain kind of lifestyle. Every one of us are alpha, through and through. It’s the control, the dominance, and having our partner submit to our control with the utmost trust that drives us.
When I was with Celia, I picked up on subtle hints of submission. Holding that control, witnessing her give every part of herself over, even if just for an instant, is what’s kept me up every night since, thinking of doing it all over again. As good as the sex was, holding her in my arms after was almost better. That’s when I felt her really let go. I could have spent the night and let her dream in my arms. Leaving her was close to torture, but if we’re going to stay friends—very good friends—that’s how it needs to be.
Especially when MC work has dominated my life the past few days. Today promises to be a challenging one. After a meeting our president called, we’re riding to help a mother and her two daughters from the mother’s abusive live-in boyfriend who won’t leave.
Driving in formation toward the destination, we pull to a stop at a light in the middle lane of a six-lane highway. Riding on the right side of our pattern, I glance over through my dark shades at a family van that has three children in the back seats. One of the kids, a young boy, waves with a toothless smile. I chuckle and offer a wave back. After that, he and his siblings are like bouncing balls on a rubber mat.
The light switches to green, and I take off once more, riding a few miles until we arrive at the neighborhood of our destination in a middle-class suburb. The house we pull up near has a moving van out front, and in the yard are boxes that have been ripped open, their contents thrown about.
We park and turn off our choppers. I set my helmet down and scan the area.
Across the street are two police cruisers. Two officers approach the front door while two others make their way to the back of the home.
They knock.
No answer.
They knock again, and this time a woman screams from inside.
Immediately our group rushes toward the home, but the officers at the front door hold their hands up to stop us, and we slow down.
“Police!” yells one of the officers. “Open up or we’re coming in.”
“You have no right,” yells a man.
“We’ve received a call for domestic violence. We have reason to believe there are lives in danger. Open up or we’re coming in.”
Moments later, the officers push through the front door, and the boyfriend is taken into custody. He’s brought out to the front lawn and stumbles, falling on his face, an officer on top of him.
“Get off me,” he cries out as he’s carried off toward the cruisers.
One of the other officers meets us at the front. “All clear,” he announces with a nod toward us. “Thank you for what you’re doing here.”
“It’s never a problem,” I tell him.
We step into the home, and it looks like chaos met a hurricane with a side of hoarding. It smells like three-day-old hot garbage, and I have to hold my hand over my nose to not gag.
Two small girls, maybe ten and eight, come out with their mother. The woman is beaten and bruised, blood coming from her nose, mouth, and one of her ears.
My whole body tenses with rage.
The older girl keeps her eyes focused on the floor. The younger one spies me, probably not quite sure what to make of us.
“Hi there.” I bend down to her level and offer a smile, pushing my sunglasses up on my head. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Molly, but mommy said I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” she answers.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. My name is Xander. I heard you were in trouble, so I was sent here to make sure you get someplace safe tonight.”
After Molly regards me for a moment, she blinks up into my eyes. “Like a guardian angel?”
My heart twists with pity for the poor child. I nod. No one deserves a guardian angel more.
“Then where are your wings?” the older child asks.
“They’re invisible,” I tell her with a wink. “Only other angels can see our wings and halos.”
The mother smiles our way and hugs her girls closer to her. “Thank you,” she utters tearfully.
Standing tall, I offer a nod and walk her and the girls outside. “He’s gone. And he’ll never hurt you again.”
“Never say never.” Her whisper is rough with doubt and fear.
“There are programs and—”
“I know.” She presses a finger over her busted lip to halt the conversation. “Not now.”
I nod again and escort the three of them outside to a waiting police cruiser.
“It’s not often someone gets to ride in a legit police car,” I tell the girls. “I mean, I’ve never ridden in one. I’m kind of jealous here.”
The officer chuckles as he opens the door. “Never say never,” he says, repeating the mother’s words.
When the mother and girls aren’t looking, I flip him off with a wink. He chuckles once more and closes the door, securing them in the backseat.
“Nice work,” I say.
“Same to you guys. Hopefully they’re done with that prick.”
I hope they are too. Hopefully justice and the system will serve the boyfriend the punishment he deserves and the girls the support they’ll need.
As I start back toward my bike, I overhear “Code fifty-five at Bridgeway Apartments on North Michigan Avenue” from one of the cruiser’s radios.
“What the hell?” I say under my breath.
Mike, the Bad Knights of Vice City president, walks up. “Isn’t that your place?”
“Sure as hell is. I don’t know what it could be, though. The complex isn’t that big.” Then it hits me. I swallow hard, and a fresh wave of adrenaline races through my veins. Celia. She’d mentioned an abusive ex. I can’t imagine what I’ll do when I get to her. I just know I have to.
Celia
“How did you find me?”
My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths as Damian corners me in my apartment. Thank God I managed to dial 9-1-1 before he forced his way into my apartment. I’d left the door unlocked briefly after getting home from errands—a mistake I swear I’ll never make again.
The dispatcher is still on the line as I hold my phone in a death grip beside me. “I have a restraining and protective order against you,” I yell, hoping the operator on the other end understands the situation without having to talk to me.
Damian only sneers, then turns to shut the door and lock the deadbolt. “Like I give a shit. We both know that piece of paper means nothing. I’ll see you whenever I want. Just a matter of tracking you down, sweetheart.”
He swipes at his nose. Is he back on coke? Probably. Knowing he’s not in his right mind, I’m more scared of what he’ll do. It’s been so long since we’ve been face to face. I have no idea what spurred this visit.
My eyes burn with tears, and I dig my nails into my palms. Sliding down the wall into a ball, I shove the cell into my back pocket. The call is still going, but I’m losing faith that help will get to me before Damian does.
He bends down and grabs my face roughly. “You think you can get away from me? You think I would let you go? No, sweetheart, you’re mine. You’ll always be mine. I’ll let you go when I’m dead, and then I’ll still fucking haunt your dreams. Yeah, I’ll always be here.”
He lifts my face in an attempt to kiss me. Nausea and rage boil up inside me. I can’t turn against the force of his grip, so I bite his lip, cutting through the flesh until I can taste blood.
“Bitch!” He spits, and his palm strikes my cheek.
I slam back against the wall. I grit my teeth, but I don’t cry out. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a cry.
“Have you missed me, Celia?” he says softly, almost sweetly, like he didn’t just lay a hand on me. “I’ve missed you.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I meet his gaze and think of Xander. How different the two men are. How one stands up to abusers and the other is like a vulture, taking everything he can from anyone he can. Thinking of Xander almost breaks my resolve to not cry. Because right now, I’d give anything to see him. To rush into the safe haven of his arms and trust that Damian can’t hurt me again.
“Stand up,” Damian growls as he grabs me by the biceps.
“You’re hurting me!” I scream and try to push him away, but he doesn’t let go. “Let me go!”
“Never gonna happen, Celia. No more running away,” Damian orders. “You’re coming with me.” As he steps back, he pulls a gun from the band of his jeans.
I freeze, and my eyes widen. “Oh my God, why do you have a gun? What are you going to do? Shoot me if I don’t leave with you?”
“Nah, sweetheart, too messy. But I’ll shoot you in the foot to get you to move if I have to.” He lifts the gun and aims the barrel toward my foot.
“No, please don’t!” I scream and sidestep a few paces. “I’ll come with you. Just please, don’t shoot me.” Tears slip down my cheeks and land on my shirt. I quickly swipe them away and point toward the bathroom. “Just let me get a few things, okay? Please?”
“What could you possibly need that I can’t get for you? Let’s go,” he growls.
“Okay, I’m going,” I say with my hands in the air. “Don’t shoot me.”
I send up another silent prayer as I step past Damian, trying to keep my front side to him. He can’t see my cell. If he does, he’ll take it and he’ll see I called for help. Then he’ll kill me. I know he will.
Reaching for the door, I turn the deadbolt, then the knob. As I open the door a crack, men wearing black catch my attention. It’s the police, and right behind them is Xander.
Relief that he’s here and fear that this is far from over war inside me. Somehow I gather courage to think and act quickly.
As soon as I’m in the frame of the door, I drop to the ground and yell, “He has a gun!”
Gunshots pop in the silence. I scream, covering my head and pulling myself into a fetal position. Moments later, it’s over, and everything is quiet. I hear sobbing, and it takes me a minute to realize the sound is coming from me.
Strong arms surround my body, but I fight their hold until I recognize the deep, soothing voice it belongs to.
“Celia, it’s me. It’s Xander. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I open my eyes and look into his warm and loving but also sorrowful ones. My lip trembles, and I lunge into his embrace.
He scoops me into his arms and carries me away. Feeling the coolness of air conditioning, I open my eyes to find I’m sitting in his lap inside an ambulance. I remain in Xander’s embrace as an EMT checks me over for injuries.
“I’m fine,” I mutter softly. “I’ll probably just have some bruises.”
The small space is eerily quiet, and I begin to shake when the reality of what’s happened really sinks in. “Is…is he…?”
“He can’t hurt you anymore, baby. You did everything right. None of this is your fault,” Xander whispers in my ear.
I turn harder into his embrace, wanting to burrow myself there until tonight feels like nothing more than a bad dream. Right now it’s the most horrific moment of my life—even worse than when Damian beat me so badly it landed me in the hospital.
I shudder at the memory. What if I’d gone with him? What if I hadn’t called the authorities? He could have done whatever he wanted to me.
What if this was the rest of my life? Running and hiding from him. Always looking over my shoulder. Always afraid.
“She can stay with me tonight,” Xander tells the officer who’s poked his head into the back of the ambulance to check on us.
I lift my head to look into his eyes. “Are you sure? I can stay with my parents.”
“If you’d rather go to your parents, I’ll take you.”
I contemplate that a moment, then shake my head and lean into him. “No, I’d rather stay with you.” That’s the truth. Xander makes me feel safer than anyone ever has. And that’s what I need tonight.
“I’d like that,” he murmurs. “And I want you to stay as long as you want.”
I blink up at him again. In this moment, it’s hard to imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else. Maybe it’s the shock of what I’ve been through, but I’m compelled to tell him so.
“I’ve never felt more safe or more cherished than I do with you. Thank you.”
He takes my hands in his and presses his lips to the back of my knuckles. “You’ve gone through a lot today, and I’m guessing you went through a hell of a lot more before you managed to leave him. I’ll never be like him. I know you’re going to be scared sometimes. The fear he put inside you is going to take some time to overcome, but I’ll be here for that. I’ll be here for whatever you need, baby.”
“I thought you didn’t do relationships. That sounds…serious. Are you sure this is what you want?”
He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, and I worry that I’ve given him the perfect opportunity to back out when I desperately need him to stay. When every ounce of being wants to be his for as long as he’ll have me.
“I want you, Celia. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, so don’t doubt it for a second.”