Chapter Nine
Ripper fell asleep. In fact, it was possible he was still asleep or in an alternate universe. The second his lids parted, he felt it—the heat of a body cuddled close. He saw long blonde hair in his face. Lying flat on his back, he turned his head. That blonde hair fell away, and he came face to face with her, with the beautiful woman he hadn’t been able to erase from his mind, not for a single day, not for a single hour. She lay on her side facing him, her head on his shoulder, her arm resting on his stomach.
Just like before.
Except she wasn’t pressed against him, no, that was Bree, still burrowed on her side between her mother and him. A dream come true. Crazy, but it felt like heaven. He, her, and their baby girl… Perfect. Except it was a lie.
Emelia hadn’t been his for more than five years, and it was possible she’d never been his.
So why had she cuddled beside him? Because he fell asleep, and she had nowhere else to sleep? Because her body had naturally drifted toward body heat no matter who it belonged to? Because she meant to cuddle with Bree not him?
He glanced at the bedside table and realized he slept for five hours straight. Mystifying, it’d been years since he got that much sleep. He hated to admit it, but he knew the reason was her. The last time he slept so long, so peacefully—the last night she spent with him.
And there she was, the woman he couldn’t have, taunting him with something else he couldn’t have. Another something he’d have if she’d never left—sleep, peace. He didn’t know if she meant to fuck with him, but it didn’t matter. It felt like it because he wanted her, couldn’t have her, and had to live with her. Torture of the worst kind.
He tore his gaze from her too beautiful face. Then he slowly extricated himself from the bed. Turning back, he peered at Bree. For Bree, the torture was worth it. Shifting, he took a step before he heard a whisper.
“Bryce?”
He held still for endless moments. Without turning to look, he swallowed. “Yeah?”
“H-how was your trip?”
Small talk? He turned so fast it was a wonder he didn’t get whiplash. She sat, her hair a mess around her face, making him wish he never left her bed.
“Fine.”
“Glad you’re back.” The blanket she held at her chest fell away.
He darted his gaze down to her chest, that “Harley” inscription blaring, reminding him why he’d been so pissed. “Out. Side. Now.”
Her eyes widened. She stood and neared. He followed her out the door and closed it on his way out. Glancing around, a few feet away, he spotted Hash with a couple of taps. One kissing his neck, already topless, the other knelt in front of him unfastening his jeans.
Clenching his jaw, he strode to Hash and hauled the tap kissing his neck away.
“What—” the tap began.
Hash’s eyes cracked open. He parted his mouth, no doubt about to protest.
Ripper spoke over the tap. “What the fuck, brother?” His arm shot out. “You realize I got a five-year-old sleeping feet away?”
“She’s sleep—”
“Shut. It. Brother.” He grasped the tap kneeling in front of Hash by the elbow and yanked her to her feet. She stumbled.
Taking a step toward Hash, inches from his face, he sniped, “She wakes for whatever reason and comes out here and catches you getting a blowjob, I’ll have to cut off your dick to make sure it doesn’t happen again. What the fuck do you think we got rooms for?”
Hash’s jaw hardened. Despite this, he nodded.
Ripper turned, strode toward Emelia, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into his room behind him. He forced himself not to slam the door shut and took a series of steps toward her. She stepped back several times until her back hit the side of the dresser beside the door and behind her.
“Thank you for—”
He shook his head. “Didn’t do it for you.”
She nodded. “Well, thank you anyway. I was worried about Bree seeing the guys with—”
“Listen.” He waited for her to say anything. When she didn’t, his gaze snapped down to the tee she stole. After a long pause, he met her stare again. “Take. It. Off.” His voice low, deadly.
Her lips parted. “W-what?”
“My tee. You stole it. I want it back.”
She looked down at herself as if she hadn’t realized what she wore. When she met his gaze again, her cheeks had a rosy tint to them. “You gave it to me.”
Yeah, he had, but that was before. “You gave me plenty then took it all away.”
Fuck. Rip shouldn’t have said that. He should pretend he didn’t care. He just couldn’t help it, like he couldn’t help what came out next.
“You took something else too, something I didn’t even know I had.”
The color faded from her cheeks as she bit the side of her lip and closed her eyes tightly.
“Take. It. Off.”
Parting her eyes, she swallowed. “I-I can’t. I’m not wearing…any—”
“Not my problem.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Bryce…p-please…please, don’t.”
A fantastic act from an amazing actress, the meekness, the hurt, the tears, all of it took his anger to new heights.
Fisting his hands, he leaned into her. “Seen it before. Wasn’t impressed.”
Brutal. Strike to the heart. No, she didn’t have one in regards to him, anyway.
She wobbled. Without even blinking, tears fell, staining her beautiful face. And still, she made no retort, made no move.
“Off!”
Gripping the hem of the shirt, she tugged it over her head. He drew away slightly, giving her room. She extended her hand to give him the tee.
His gaze raked her, except for a thong she was naked underneath. His dick hardened to a painful degree. Stare glued to her chest, her beautiful, plump breasts. She’d never been big, not like he liked them. A B-cup, but the prettiest he’d ever seen, probably because they were hers.
He wanted her, always wanted her. Dreamed of having her again so many times, and there she was nearly naked, and he couldn’t have her. He disguised his groan with a growl, realizing then the mistake he made by asking for the shirt.
Like he wanted to continue torturing himself, his gaze drifted down her stomach then traveled to her rounded hips. He wished for a moment she’d turn to give him a view of her perfect ass. Fuck. He hissed. The hiss died on his lips when he spotted a horizontal scar a few inches under her belly button.
He looked at her face. Streaks of tears lined her too pale cheeks, and she hadn’t made a sound. Crying silent tears, why? Wasn’t the point to make him feel bad, manipulate him?
“What the fuck is that?”
She shook her head. “P-please…just let me go,” she whispered. “I know I deserve it, but please…”
He studied her, watching for moments too long as those silent tears continued to trail down her face, down her neck. Her expression a mixture of anguish, torment, and shame. As the seconds ticked, his chest constricted making it hard to breathe. It took a while, but finally, he realized it.
She wasn’t acting. She couldn’t be. The greatest actress couldn’t pull this act. She deserved it. He shouldn’t care. The thing was he did. He more than cared. It hurt him to hurt her. So, in the end, all he’d done was hurt himself.
The pain of losing her never faded, never dulled. Even now, he had her near, and that agony hadn’t ebbed. Why continue to hurt her, hurt himself? When would enough be enough?
Closing his eyes, he endured the searing ache in his chest. “Keep it. Get dressed.” He waited. After hearing her movements figuring she dressed, he parted his eyes and met hers. “What happened?”
With trembling fingers, she wiped her face. “Nothing—”
He took a step coming an inch from her. “What happened?”
“I had Bree.”
“That scar’s from—”
“There were complications.”
The breath froze in the back of his throat. “Complications?”
“Yes. It—”
He clamped his jaw so hard he didn’t know how it didn’t crack. “So what you’re saying is, you could’ve died, and my daughter would’ve ended up in foster care?”
Tears fell and fell even as she shook her head. “N-no, I swear…I—”
He fisted his hands. “You what?”
Her eyes widened. “I h-had a will. If anything happened to me, you would’ve been notified.”
That, too, didn’t make any fucking sense. He hadn’t been good enough to raise their daughter, he thought that’s why she left, so why name him Bree’s guardian?
“You’re lying.”
Shaking her head, she whispered, “No, I s-swear. You would’ve been—”
He didn’t believe her and wanted to get the truth out of her, but he couldn’t take the sound of her choked voice, the anguish in her eyes, the tears drifting down her face any more, so he dropped his head and stared at his feet. “Just go.”
“What?”
“I said, go. Now. Go.”
After she left, he came to realize she hadn’t lied. The woman he’d known was long gone. It killed to know that the woman he fell for no longer existed, but it gave him hope. Maybe, just maybe, he was in love with the old Emelia. Maybe knowing the old her was gone, he’d finally get over her and move on.
****
Bryce had been brutal that morning. She took it, but she didn’t know how much more she could take. He’d killed her once. With the little left of her, she had the will to raise their beautiful daughter, but if he kept it up, he’d kill that in her, too. At this rate, she’d be gone soon.
“Em? Earth to Em?”
She peered at Mia and forced a smile.
“You okay?”
Nowhere near okay. After Bryce ripped into her that morning, she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. She lay in bed wide awake, crying silent tears until her alarm clock rang. Then she started her day, made breakfast, got Bree ready for school, and headed for work. After work, she checked Bree’s homework before Allie and Trig picked her up for a sleepover with Della. She had the night off, the first time in more than five years.
A Friday night at the compound, from her memory, could get out of hand, so Fridays, she and Bree stayed in their room. That night, though, Mia went looking for her and insisted she needed a break. More than ever, she did and agreed to join her, Lynn, and Tiffany for drinks downstairs.
Now, she sat on a stool in front of the bar toward the back end of the living room with the old ladies.
“Fine.” She took a sip of beer.
“You don’t look fine to me.” Mia smirked. “You know I’m here for you.”
She knew. The problem, Mia was part of the club, and she wasn’t, not anymore. If push came to shove, Mia’s loyalties lay with the club, with Bryce, not her. She smiled softly. “I know. It’s just…”
“Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. Trouble in paradise.”
She laughed humorlessly. “It hasn’t been paradise for a long time.”
“Want my advice?”
She lifted a brow, teasingly. “If I say ‘no,’ you’ll still give it, won’t you?”
Mia winked. “You know me too well.” She took a sip of her drink, vodka rocks, before she spoke. “Talk it out.”
Her brows creased. “What?”
“You left. I’m sure you had your reasons, reasons he’s been wondering about for years. Hell, everyone has. He’s pissed. You’re hurt. Talk it out. Air it out. Only then can both of you move on. Together or apart, it doesn’t matter, but you need to work together to raise that beautiful girl. Living like you both are, with the ghosts of the past haunting you, you’ll never make it.”
That made so much sense. She needed to forgive Bryce for what he’d done, the reason she left. She needed closure. Talking may help. Her problem, it was more than five years later, and she still couldn’t talk about it. Even if she could, she doubted hearing his excuses would fix anything. Bryce needed to forgive her, too. Believe it or not, that was a harder feat.
“Where’s Jelly Bean?”
She shifted and spotted Strike. The tatted biker wore a pair of jeans and his cut, the tattoos on his chest and arms on full display. Unusual for Strike, he wasn’t one to hang around shirtless. Although he was ripped, he wasn’t one to show off. Even so, it was explainable. She’d seen him with a tap just an hour ago.
“She’s with Allie and Trig having a sleepover with Della.”
He cocked his head. “How’s that going for you?”
She smiled. “First night away from her ever…” She shook her head. “Not easy.”
“She never spent the night away?” He lifted his brows. “Ever?”
She shook her head. “Never trusted anyone that much.”
His eyes widened.
She didn’t blame him. Hell, it surprised even her to a degree. Bree had friends in New Mexico, whose parents she’d known for years. Even so, she never let Bree stay overnight. With her past, Em had always been too terrified to trust anyone, especially with her daughter. The only person she trusted from a young age—Chip. When he brought her into the fold of the club, she learned to trust others. She knew of two clubs, Chained and Hell Ryders. Both were similar, built on trust and loyalty. Whether or not Trig and Bryce were the best of friends, she knew nothing would happen to Bree in Trig or Allie’s hands. Trig was a brother and Allie his old lady/wife. They were family, plain and simple.
“So you’re having a drink to relax?”
She smiled softly. “Yeah.”
A split second afterward, someone grasped her bicep. Startled, she turned. When her gaze met a pair of dead eyes, the smile faded from her face.
He released her. “Upstairs, now.”
She set her beer on the bar top and followed him, not having it in her to fight. Before she knew it, they climbed the steps. There, he increased his pace. She stumbled and tripped, caught herself with her hands and a knee. Stifling a groan, she picked herself up and met his eyes, searing her. Endless moments ticked. With each, those dead eyes simmered with fury. Finally, he turned and continued up the stairs, down the hall, and to his room. Opening the door, he allowed her in first then slammed it shut behind himself.
Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, hating what she knew would come.
“Haven’t you fucked with me enough?”
Em should throw the question back at him, but saying anything of the sort would only make matters worse. Not willing to risk getting him angrier, she did what she had as of late—nothing. It backfired like it usually did. She supposed it didn’t matter what she did. Anything she did further infuriated him.
“I don’t get what you don’t get about what I said.”
At this, she had to respond because she had no idea what he was talking about. “W-what?”
He took a deep breath. “Already explained this to you, but I’m gonna say this shit once more. I’m protecting you. That means your ass depends on me. That means what I say goes, and I said you’re off limits.”
Her brows drew together, not understanding why he’d tell her this.
“I get you’re missing your cop. I get you’re missing getting laid, but I’m protecting you means you belong to me. You don’t flirt with anyone especially one of my brothers.”
Jesus. Such an asshole. Why would she flirt with his brothers? Why would the thought even cross his mind? “I’ve never—”
His arm shot out pointing downstairs. “I fuckin’ saw you.”
What? Her eyes widened. “I wasn’t flirting with Strike—”
All she got out. The next moment, he closed the distance between them, and the words died in her throat.
“That cop must’ve been giving it to you good. You want it so bad, you know where to find me.”
A crude invitation, and he was way off base. Shawn had never been hers, and she hadn’t had sex for years. Bryce had been her first and last.
She swallowed. Tempting, so tempting to give in. She’d wanted him for so long. She never stopped, but she couldn’t give in. Nothing good would come of it. She loved him, but he never loved her. He cheated, destroyed her. She still loved him, but he hated her.
She cast her gaze downward, so she wouldn’t have to look at his too handsome, rugged face. “Shawn was never my anything.”
“What?” he barked automatically.
Lifting her head, her stare slid to his. “Shawn was just a friend.”
“Don’t believe you. Either way, it doesn’t change shit. You aren’t getting it from any of my brothers. So—”
She shook her head. “I wasn’t—”
He leaned into her. “Can’t hear you. Gotta speak up, babe.”
Her heart tightened in her chest, something she couldn’t have helped after he called her “babe.” He used to call her that often. She hated it because bikers used the term loosely. He knew she didn’t like it, so whenever he teased her, he called her “babe.” He wasn’t teasing her now, though. No, right then, it slipped. The look that flashed across his face for a split second proved it. She thought it looked a lot like anguish, but she knew better. It couldn’t have been. The man standing in front of her had never loved her. A reminder of the past wouldn’t cause him pain. Maybe, she read her grief reflected in his eyes.
With just the thought, tears rushed her.
****
Ripper flinched.
He couldn’t help it. First, his slip, calling her “babe.” It caused the agony he felt in his very soul, and then, tears wet her eyes.
He’d been crude, but he never thought she’d cry. He hated her tears. He hated the pain he read on her face. He hated he caused it even though she deserved it. He so badly wanted to hate her. He just couldn’t, no matter what she did to him, to Bree.
The tears flooding her eyes dripped down her cheeks.
“When did you turn into a woman who just took shit?”
She wiped her face. “That’s what happens when you’ve dealt with so much shit. You just start taking it.”
Infuriating. What had she dealt with? Raising a kid on her own? That was her fault, not his. For some reason, he didn’t point this out. Instead, he brought up another point. “No, it isn’t. That’s what happens when you give up.”
More tears drifted down her cheeks, a stark reminder of how much she’d changed, how she wasn’t faking. He hated that too.
She denied it, shaking her head. “Giving up isn’t living. I’m living.”
His voice was deadpanned when he spoke. “Stop fuckin’ taking it. Be the woman you were.”
“I’ll never be the woman I was. She’s dead, and you’re just one of the men to blame.”
Jaw dropping, he reared back. When he recovered, he leaned into her until an inch from her face. “Me? You’re shitting me! What the fuck did I do? Treat you too good? Love you too much?”
Her eyes widened then watered anew as wet skated down her pale face.
When she didn’t answer, he yelled, “Tell me what I fuckin’ did!”
She held his gaze without saying a word. He knew that look. Some things never changed, so he knew she wouldn’t respond. Still, he waited and waited and waited and nothing. So he took a chance, a big chance.
He gripped the back of her neck, tugged her to him until her chest crashed against his. Her hands went to his shoulders, the heat of them searing. In case she decided to push him away, he snaked his other arm around her waist holding her to him. Her head slanted up to meet his eyes, her lips millimeters from his. He held her that way for seconds too long.
Then his lips hit hers, and immediately, he swept his tongue inside her mouth. The taste of her slammed him in the chest, burning him like a brand, bringing back all those memories.
He kissed her to prove a point, to piss her off, to give him a glimpse of the girl he once knew, and to win the standoff. He did this knowing he’d risk bringing back memories. He risked it to beat her at her own game, but he fucked up, succeeded in torturing himself more.
Where he went wrong? She didn’t get pissed, didn’t fight him. Instead, she melted. She fucking melted against him. Her body softening, her weight resting completely on him, her hands grasping his shoulders later snaked around his neck. She then did the unimaginable. Nails biting into his skin, she tugged him closer. All the while, she kissed him back, just as hard, just as rough.
Just like she used to.
Just like before.
Except it wasn’t before, it was now. After she left him. With his kid.
He knew this, so he knew he should stop, but then, she did the damnest of things. With her lips still pressed against his, her tongue in his mouth as she held on to him, she moaned a sweet, soft moan that came from the back of her throat.
The kiss, her reaction, all of it overwhelmed him. Because it did, he lost the battle. He delved deeper, rougher, choking back a groan. His hand drifted down her front grasping her breast. He trailed his mouth down her jaw then met her lips again. His other hand around her waist tightened as he lifted her off her feet, carried her, and pressed her back against the wall.
The next instant, she slid her hands under his shirt, her touch heating his skin. He trailed his palms down her chest and stomach, reached the top of her jeans, and unbuckled them. Setting her on her feet, he quickly and desperately yanked her jeans along with her panties down her legs. Then he unbuckled his jeans. She helped him, tugging them and his boxers down his thighs. All the while, he never lost her mouth. In one swift movement, he lifted her. Her legs went around his waist, and then, he sunk himself inside her heat.
Buried deep.
In her.
Finally.
After so many years.
Better than he remembered, and he hated that too.
She broke away again only briefly to moan, loud. He heard it vaguely, under the sound of his own groan. Claiming her lips, he pulled out then drove into her again. She screamed so loud it echoed in his ears. Because he loved hearing it, because it had been so long, and it felt so good, because he lost complete control, he drew out then slammed into her again and again, repeatedly.
Slick with sweat, her nails biting into his skin, her cries of pleasure rumbling inside him, she came. Her whole body shook and shivered in his arms.
Just like she used to.
Just like before.
He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Against her pants, he claimed her lips, thrusting into her repeatedly. When her moans became more insistent, he slipped his hand between them and pressed his thumb against her clit, like he knew she loved. She came undone, crying out his name.
Just like she used to.
Just like before.
Only then he let go. His orgasm flooded him and went on and on. So powerful, he swore it radiated out of him and left him dazed. With her pressed against his bedroom wall, his face buried in her thick, blonde hair, he held her for a long moment as he fought to catch his breath.
He’d taken her hard and fast and rough. He’d never taken her like that before. Because she was so young, because she’d been a virgin, and because he thought she deserved more than a quick fuck, he always took his time, always went slow.
Things had changed though. She left him, took his daughter, and from what he knew, she’d been with at least one other man. But it’s not why he’d fucked her. God knew if he’d planned it, he would’ve taken his time, if only to savor her, so the next time she left, he’d remember how he had savored her that one time.
Rip fucked her because he hadn’t had her for so long, and the last time, he hadn’t known it’d be the last. He dreamt of taking her, thought of it unwillingly and constantly. With just one kiss, one moan, he lost it.
It didn’t change the fact that it’d been a mistake, giving him a taste of what he missed all those years, of what he couldn’t have. She was his addiction, had always been. He’d gone years without and never stopped fiending her. Knowing this, he knew one time wouldn’t be enough. With that one taste, he’d crave her more than before. Worse, because now, he couldn’t escape her.
Sex with her had always been great, the best he ever had, but this time was the best of the best. He didn’t know if it was because he missed her so much or because he now knew just how much he loved her.
She lifted her face buried in his neck, pressed her lips to his jaw, and kissed him there.
Just like she used to.
Just like before.
The moment she did it, he tensed. His chest tightened, and the ache he carried around for more than five years overwhelmed him. Clenching his jaw, he squeezed her and fought the pain, reminding himself what he had to.
It wasn’t like before. It’d never be the same again. More than five years down the road, five years after she left him and took his kid. He’d just been an itch she needed scratched. She didn’t want him. She wanted her cop.
He gripped her waist and drew away. She stiffened and unwrapped her legs. Then she stood on her feet, unhooked her arms from his neck, and let him go.
Without meeting her gaze, he lifted his boxers and jeans and zipped them. Then he spared a glance at her. “You were always a good lay. Good to know you still got it.”
With his heart in his throat, he walked away.