Chapter Three
Shit.
Gut punch. No doubt that was the guy Cuss saw her with two years ago, holding her and kissing her, and now, he held her and whispered some shit in her ear.
They may be broken up, but one thing became crystal clear. The guy still had feelings for her, and she had feelings for him. She let him touch her and hold her and whisper shit in her ear. She’d never let him hold her. She’d never even touched him, not unless he counted the time she rode on the back of his bike, and he didn’t because she had no other choice.
Cuss’s nostrils flared. His stomach soured. Clenching his jaw until it hurt, he tore his gaze from them and met Mellow’s stare.
“Took care of shit?”
He nodded. By the time he looked back, Tiff was striding his way with tears in her eyes. His gaze snapped to the ex’s and narrowed, a silent threat. He had to give the guy credit. He had balls. Cuss gave the ex his worst glare, and he didn’t even blink.
He then met her gaze. Still livid she hadn’t called him and now jealous, he sniped, “Take a little longer to piss me off some more?”
She swallowed, holding those tears back. “Can you stop being an asshole for two minutes?”
He shrugged. “Depends if you can do what I say when I say it.”
Tiff glared, headed out of the apartment, and down the hall to another. He followed behind, watching her closely. She pulled the key from her pocket and unlocked the door. Parting it, she stepped inside, and immediately switched on the light, scanning the room repeatedly.
Not good. That prick stalker of hers fucked with her head in a bad way. It meant even if he took care of the problem, she’d have a hard time getting rid of that fear. That kind of shit stayed with you long after it ended. He hoped, despite the sickening feeling in his stomach, it didn’t mean the prick found a way in her apartment.
He entered, slammed the door shut, locked it, and did the same, scanning the apartment but for a different reason. Being there was surreal. For four years, since she moved away to college, he wondered where she lived, what her home in LA looked like. In his head, he pictured it time and time again, high-end fancy and expensive furniture and décor like her parents’ house. He’d been in it once. But this, her place, just the opposite, low key, homey, and comfortable; what a home should look like. Much like the apartment they’d just been in but bigger and open concept.
To the left, the kitchen, a wall divided it from the hall leading into a dining room and living room. The dining room table, a dark wood, sat four. In the center stood a green vase with lilies. A large cream-colored sectional occupied most of her living room. Behind it, a large painting, an abstract, but to him, it looked like a mother and child. Across, two bookcases filled with text books. In between, a large flat screen TV. The entirety decorated simply in green tones, a glass plate on her coffee table, matching the vase on the dining room table. Frames scattered around the rooms on the shelves and walls with pictures of her, her parents, her friends—one from back home, Tina, but most were from the two girlfriends he just met.
She set her phone on her dining room table and faced him. “Okay, so what do you want to talk about?”
He caught her gaze. His stomach knotted like it did every time he looked at her. She was that beautiful, beautiful in a way that every time he saw her he was reminded. He knew it the first time he laid eyes on her. She’d been a gorgeous girl then. Now, she was a stunning woman, and she got more so with every passing day. Petite and lean with curves, a mass of dark chocolate, long hair, sleek and straight framed her heart-shaped face. Her lips full, eyes a piercing green that grabbed hold of your soul and didn’t let go. And her smile… She had a smile that lit up her whole face, a whole room. He remembered it, hadn’t seen it for a long time, not unless you counted dreams.
He swallowed, refocused his thoughts, and blurted, “I’m staying.”
“I figured you wanted to rest, so you’re more than welcome to crash on the couch for tonight. Is your friend—”
He shook his head. “He’s not staying. Mellow and Bud are headed out tonight. I’m staying here with you till you graduate. Then I’m gonna take you home.”
Her eyes widened. “W-what?” A whisper.
Why this surprised her, he didn’t know. Did she think he’d leave her after what he did to the prick? What if there was blowback?
Brows furrowed, she whispered, “My dad’s paying you to do that?”
He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to scream. He couldn’t lose his shit on her again, so he schooled his voice before he spoke. “No.”
“Then why would you…” She looked away. “Why are you—”
“’Cause I want to.”
Her eyes shot to his. “Because my father’s paying you.”
He closed the distance between them, snaked his arm around her waist, and hauled her forward until he plastered her against him. Letting out a small gasp, her hands went to his chest. She angled her head toward his, her feverish breaths hitting his face.
He didn’t know why he did that, thought maybe because her ex held her. He was still nursing that jealously and needed to make it go away. Whatever the reason, he was glad he did. It felt good to hold her. No, amazing. Her reaction felt better.
He smirked. “No, baby girl, your dad ain’t paying me. He came to me to do the job. The job was to take care of your stalker. Already took care of him, and I ain’t getting a dime of that money. Told your dad, now I’m telling you. Whatever he’s paying is gonna go to the club. It’s gonna go to all the brothers, all of them except me. I’m not taking it ’cause I handle your shit for free ’cause I wanna handle your shit.”
Her gaze held his. “W-why?”
“He fucked with you. He fucked with me.” He hadn’t meant to admit it, but it slipped out. Not the time to make declarations. For one, it was too soon. A lot of time passed since they’d last seen each other. They may have known one another for more than seven years, but during that time, they only spoke several times, meaning they didn’t really know each other. Last, he needed to get on her good side before he confessed what he wanted, what he’d always wanted.
She shook her head. “No. He—”
“You’re scared.”
She didn’t say a word, but he knew he was right from the tears that instantly welled in her piercing green eyes.
“I—”
It hurt to see her so close to tears, hurt to know he was right, and it hurt in a way his body reacted to it, the arm around her waist tightening. Still, he was angry she hadn’t kept her promise, and what it meant. She’d rather live in fear than come to him.
Heat flushed his body, his muscles stiffening, fury at the cusp. “Don’t deny it.” His voice firm. “You’re living in fear, scanning your apartment before you walk in. You’re terrified.”
He leaned into her, so his mouth was just an inch from hers. That close, she was breathtaking. He held onto his anger and kept going. “I could’ve fixed it. I would’ve fixed it. You knew I could and would. All you had to do was keep your promise. Was it so hard?”
Those tears in her eyes drifted down her face. Without losing sight of his gaze, she nodded.
“Why?”
She buried her face in his chest, fingers clutching him, and a sob tore from her throat.
Then he lost it, lost the will to stay angry. Lacing his fingers through her hair, he cupped the back of her head, holding her against his chest, and rested his chin on the top of her head.
Cuss let her wails pierce the air, let the sound resonate inside him until his whole body ached. Hands rubbing her back, still he held her tight waiting for her body to stop trembling. Then he dropped his head. His lips against her ear, he whispered, “It’s okay, baby girl.”
His hands at her back slid up to her cheeks. He then angled her face to meet his. Even crying, she was stunning.
Insane.
He wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. “It’s taken care of. You don’t gotta be afraid anymore.”
She tilted her head down, face close to his chest. “Why don’t you just g-go?”
“Not going. I’m gonna keep you safe. Stop arguing, I’m not changing my mind.” He kissed the top of her head and breathed deep, taking in the scent of her hair. Flowers, he never smelled anything like it. “Gonna be okay, Tiff. I promise.”
Pulling away from his chest, she slanted her head up to meet his stare and swallowed. “You said you took care of him. You don’t need to stay. I’ll be fine.”
He didn’t know if she was trying to piss him off again. Hard to care. He held her close with her gaze on his, and even with her face blotchy and red, she looked more beautiful than he remembered. Only natural. Every time he saw her, she was more so. Every day, she grew more.
Unconsciously, he trailed his thumb down the side of her face. “Baby girl, I’m gonna stay to make sure there isn’t blowback. I’m gonna stay until you feel safe, which is gonna be when you’re home.” A lie. It’d take a lot longer than two weeks for her to feel safe, but he didn’t want to tell her that. Somewhere deep inside, he held hope he hadn’t lied.
She tore herself away, creating a distance he didn’t like one bit. “Two weeks? You can’t be here for two weeks. I mean… Where will you stay?”
Two weeks with Tiff. Two weeks living with her, breathing the same air. He grinned. “Yeah, two weeks, I’m staying here with you. You’re gonna have to put up with my shit for that long. I’m messy. I can’t cook for shit. I listen to music loud, and I have a tendency to walk around naked.”
Her eyes widened, face flamed.
He chuckled. “I’ll try not to do the last unless…”
She slapped his chest. No power to the hit, so it was cute. “Stop that.”
He laughed. “I said I’d try.”
She stared at him for a moment then released a loaded breath. “Thank you, Thomas…” Biting the side of her lip, she added, “For…taking care of my…shit.”
The curse sounded so forced. He never noticed it before, probably since every other time she’d cursed, she’d been angry.
His lips twitched, fighting a smile. “Don’t ever need to thank me for handling your shit.”
She looked away. “Complex.”
He leaned in. “Come again?”
“You’re the most complex man I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not. It’s just you don’t know me that well. I don’t know you well either. Since we’ll be living together, we’ll learn, quick.”
She nodded.
****
Tiffany woke in the middle of the night with a jolt. She sat up in bed and did what she always did, scanned the room.
She couldn’t see. It was dark, the light in her bathroom had been turned off. Not good. She left it on, always. In fact, she couldn’t sleep without it on.
Hands shaking, heart pounding, she took a deep breath and pulled her covers aside, reaching into her nightstand for the can of pepper spray.
Her gaze adjusting to the dark landed on her parted bedroom door. A bad sign. She always locked it, couldn’t sleep unless she did.
She stood slowly so as to not make a sound then treaded toward the door.
A figure came into view, tall, broad. She let out a scream, lifted the can of pepper spray, and let loose.
“Fuck!”
Oh, shit. She knew that voice. Thomas. How could she have forgotten he was there? How could she have forgotten he took care of her stalker?
He let out a slew of curses, one hand covering his eyes, the other reaching into her room. He flicked on the lights.
Um. Wow. Thomas shirtless, all muscle, every inch like something out of a magazine, pecs, abs, that “V” muscle near his hips. On the left side of his lower abdomen, he had a tattoo, the club’s insignia, the same on the back of their leathers, a beautiful set of intricate, lifelike wings burning in flames with a skull in the middle. Under it read, “Hell Ryders MC.” Somehow the position and intricacy perfectly complemented the tattoo covering the length of his arm that spread to one of his pecs.
Damn.
“Tiff. What the fuck?”
Her gaze snapped to his face. “I-I’m sorry I thought…”
He strode into her room and then bathroom, flipping the light on.
She followed behind. “I’m sorry…I… You scared me.”
He turned on the faucet, bent over, and splashed water on his face repeatedly. “Fuckin’ shit. This shit stings like a motherfucker.”
Yeah, that was the point. “I’m sorry…I… The bathroom light wasn’t on. I always leave it on, and the door in my room was open, and I always lock it…”
He faced her, eyes red-rimmed, droplets of water cascading down his face and chest. Her gaze trailed down following the rivulets.
“Tiff?”
She snapped her stare back to his and bit the side of her lip. His eyes seemed to be getting redder. Her fault. She swallowed then spoke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
Hiding a smile, he shook his head. “My fault. Shouldn’t’ve unlocked your door and turned off your light.”
Of course, he had. Why wouldn’t he? Thomas had no limits. He did what he wanted when he wanted. She didn’t know him well, but she knew this.
Crazy, it appealed to her.
Insane, it made her feel safe.
“How did you…um…” She looked away. “…Unlock my door?”
“Picked it.”
She tensed, her eyes shooting to his and narrowing.
“Don’t give me shit about that.” He smirked. “If your door’s locked, I can’t get to you.”
Made sense. Still couldn’t he have told her this before she fell asleep? “Why’d you turn off my light?”
He shrugged, his gaze slid down her neck then lower.
She glanced down. She wore her nighty, a royal blue teddy with black lace on the edges that did little to hide her B-cup breasts. Cheeks flaming, she crossed her arms over her chest.
His gaze snapped back to hers and hardened. “The prick ever been in your apartment?”
Geez. What was with him? Smiling and joking one minute then angry the next? “W-what?”
“Your stalker. He ever been in here?”
“We went on a couple of dates, so yeah.” A couple of dates it took her to realize something was off about him. She’d been right but figured it out too late.
His jaw went hard. “Meaning you invited him in.”
She nodded.
The vein in his neck pulsed. “He ever been in here when he wasn’t invited?”
She didn’t want to answer but didn’t lie quick enough.
His eyes widened. “I’m taking that as a yes. Probably why you lock your bedroom door and leave the light on.”
Yep.
“What I don’t get is why the hell you’d wear something like that…” His gaze shot to her chest then met hers again and further hardened. “When the prick’s been in here before.”
“Um… You said you took care of him.”
He cocked his head. “Then why did you lock your door and leave the light on?”
Damn, a good point. Still, she had to defend herself. “Am I supposed to stop living because he’s sick?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t change when this shit went down. You lock your bedroom door, leave lights on, and scan your apartment the moment you walk in. Don’t tell me it never occurred to you to sleep in something less revealing in case the asshole broke into this place.”
Damn, another valid point. She changed plenty, checking locks two or three times before bed, leaving lights on. She took several self-defense classes too, carried pepper spray on her key chain, and so on. Paranoid, maybe, except she had reason. Still, she never thought about changing what she wore to bed. She should’ve, and the fact she didn’t made her feel like an idiot. “I changed the locks, and I put alarms on the windows. It’s how he got in the last time.”
His jaw twitched, face flushed. “The last time!” He leaned into her. His breaths hit her face when he said, “So there was more than one time?”
It was late, and she didn’t want to talk about this. Actually, she didn’t want to discuss this at all. Plus, he was getting angry, really angry in a way he’d probably find her stalker and do something he could get arrested for. Again. He already took care of him. She didn’t know what that meant exactly, though she figured it probably included a beating. She didn’t want to think about what he’d do if he knew all the details.
Keeping calm and her voice level, she quirked a brow. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”
“No, we’re gonna talk about this shit right now.”
“You already took care of him, so—”
“Yeah, but I can take care of him in a way he never fucks with anyone’s head ever again, in a way he won’t be breathing anyone’s air.”
The color faded from her face.
His arm shot out. “Surprised? It scare you? You gonna be afraid of me now?”
“No,” she whispered. Not a lie, the truth. It didn’t surprise her, but it did worry her. It could land him in jail for a lot longer than the last time.
Even to her, this rationale sounded absurd. She was scared for him but not of him after he admitted he’d kill a man?
Her stalker terrified her. In fact, she’d never been that afraid in her life. Considering she was a magnet for shit men, that said a lot. In a matter of two months, she changed the way she lived, barely went out unless she had a class, checked every door, every window countless times, jumped at any sound. When she went to the police, they told her there was little they could do. Worse, another woman reported she’d been stalked by the same man. Then when he broke into her home, her main concern had been getting him out. He threatened her, told her if she called the cops, he’d do something much worse to her and her friends, so she hadn’t.
She supposed a man who preyed on women and got off on terrifying them wasn’t a good person, but it didn’t mean he deserved to die. It meant he should be locked up, forever.
Still, she should be scared of Thomas, afraid of anyone capable of killing another. She couldn’t explain it fully, except that she knew Thomas would never hurt her. For years, all he did was save her.
“Don’t kill him, Thomas. You’ll end up in prison. Then you’ll be losing pussy for a lifetime.”
His eyes flared. “Trying to be funny? This isn’t funny! I’m serious!”
Even though he screamed again, she kept her composure. “I’m serious, too. You kill him, your life’s over. The club would miss you. Your family would miss you.”
“The club would go on. My biological brothers wouldn’t give a rat’s ass, and my mom would continue to work her ass into the ground to spoil them.”
She swallowed. “I would miss you.”
He stilled, his eyes growing hard in a sad way. She’d seen that look once before.
“And not because you’re always saving me.”
His gaze warmed. He released a breath, and the tension lining his shoulders melted. When he spoke again, his voice softened. “How many times did he get in here?”
“Twice.”
His jaw hardened but his eyes remained soft. “Did you call the cops?”
She shook her head. “He said he’d hurt Donna and Marianne if I did, and by that point, I couldn’t get away from him. He always followed me. He would’ve known the minute I walked into the police department. I could’ve called, but I was…” scared.
He wrapped his arms around her and tugged her, plastering her against him. Her cheek on the hard planes of his chest, his warmth permeating her skin, she circled her arms around his waist and held on. Her nipples hardened under her teddy. He stilled, pulling his lower body away from hers. Face flaming, she released him and took a step back.
“Should’ve called me, Tiff.”
She spared a glance at him. “Yeah, I should’ve.”
He grinned. “Finally gets it.”
She chuckled softly. “Promise me you won’t kill him, Thomas.”
Lifting a brow, he shot back, “You think I’ll keep my promise when you didn’t keep yours?”
She smirked. “I know you would because you’re that type of man.”
A small smile played at his lips. “What type of man?”
“The type who keeps his promises.”
His gaze further softened. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “So are you going to promise me?”
He shook his head. “I can’t ’cause if he fucks with you again, baby girl, I’ll kill him.”
Her brows furrowed. “I wouldn’t want you to. I wouldn’t want you to—”
“I know, and I’ll try my hardest to keep it in mind if he fucks with you again, but I don’t know what he’s capable of. What I do know, he hurts you, nothing can stop me from putting him in the ground, so I can’t promise you.”
Tiffany wanted to ask why. She did but couldn’t force the words out of her mouth. She didn’t want to hear him admit what she thought to be true, didn’t want to hear he protected her because he still saw her as that helpless sixteen-year-old girl.