Serafina

Two days after my confrontation with Eagle, the big biker standing guard outside of my apartment finally knocks on the door in the late afternoon. I’ve been wondering if the guy ever needs to take a piss or eat. I open the door.

“There’s a car waiting for you.”

“Excuse me?” I didn’t ask for a ride anywhere. In fact, I don’t know anything about anyone, I’ve been locked up for two days.

“Pack an overnight bag and let’s go.”

I look him up and down. He’s twice the size of Eagle and a bit older. Scary. Like some kind of barbarian in a movie. I retreat a step, refusing to cower or get pushed around. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Yes you are.” He steps inside uninvited. “We can do this the hard way or you can come peacefully.”

“Where’s Eagle?”

He doesn’t answer.

“How can you expect me to cooperate if you won’t tell me anything? For all I know, you’re going to slit my throat and feed me to the gators.”

My concerns elicit a laugh. “If Eagle wanted you dead, you’d be gone already.”

True. “Where are we going? Can I get your name at least?”

“Cannon.”

I roll my eyes. Of course it is. “How original.”

“About as original as Angel Orani,” he shoots back.

Then I know. Eagle told his brothers what happened. I’m wanted for questioning and my future hangs in the balance. “I need to go to my bedroom.”

“Hurry up.”

Five minutes later, I’m escorted to a black van with tinted windows waiting in the parking lot. The side door opens and another guy I don’t recognize, wearing Iron Norsemen patches, greets me. “Climb up, Angel. My name is Garrett.”

I pause. Cannon tosses my bag inside and glares at me. “Need me to carry you?”

“No.” I step up and my hands are immediately tied behind my back and then I’m pushed down in a nearby captain’s chair and seat-belted in. “Are the restraints necessary?”

“Just a precaution,” Garrett says as he slides the door shut and taps on the ceiling. The driver starts the engine and the van drives away from my building. “Eagle wouldn’t like it if our precious cargo got away.”

“Eagle doesn’t like anything about me,” I complain. “If I get lost on the way, you’d be doing him a favor.”

Six hours later, we arrive in Holly Beach. I’m not thrilled at the idea of being back here, not under these circumstances. If ever. The ride here was uneventful. We stopped once for burgers and a second time so I could go to the bathroom in the woods. Fortunately, Garrett took pity on my sore wrists and retied my hands in the front. So when he helps me down from the van, which is parked next to the Iron Norsemen’s clubhouse, I’m able to walk with some dignity.

I’m rushed inside. There’s no one there. I’m surprised when Garrett ushers me to the one place I know women aren’t welcome. He knocks on the door to the meeting room and I hear Eagle say, “Come in.”

My heart instantly starts to flutter. Garrett places me at the opposite end of the long table from where Eagle is seated. The overhead lights are off, but there’s two torch lamps on. If Eagle is trying for ambiance to set the tone of what’s about to take place, the only thing he’s accomplished is making me wish we were in his bedroom together. Not here.

I sink into a high-backed leather chair while Garrett walks across the room to where Eagle is waiting. They exchange words and then Garrett leaves us alone.

I gaze around the spacious room. The side wall is a monument to the fallen members of the MC—their patches and photographs perfectly displayed. The Iron Norsemen patch is painted on the other main wall, their motto scrolled across the top—FEAR NONE, RESPECT FEW. The conference table can accommodate dozens of men; I count thirty-eight chairs.

“What do you want me to call you—Serafina or Angel?”

“Which do you prefer?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should come up with a hybrid of both names,” he says sarcastically, pain evident in his eyes.

“Whatever turns you on, Eagle.”

“This isn’t a fucking game,” he says. “All of this . . .” He gestures between us with his hands. “Was a big fucking mistake.”

I stare at him, admiring his chiseled features. Even when he’s angry, Caleb is beautiful. “At the cabin or in my apartment?”

His purses his lips. “You think I’m just talking about the sex?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about exactly, Eagle. I don’t believe you, though. Or do you want me to call you Caleb?”

He pounds his fist on the table. “Unbelievable. Some things never change. You’re still a smartass.”

“You never seemed to mind it before.”

“That was a lifetime ago.”

“If you’ll just give me a chance to explain . . .”

“That’s why you’re here. Only I won’t be a part of it. I’ve recused myself based on our sordid history. Tonsils will oversee the interview. The only reason we’re alone is because I wanted to ask you a specific question.”

“Why? It appears as if you’ve already made up your mind about me.”

“Maybe I have.” He stands up. “This is personal, Angel, and has no impact on the MC.”

I can’t believe he said my name. I close my eyes for a brief second, letting the emotions roll over me. “Ask me anything.” I open my eyes again.

“Why did you sleep with me at the cabin? You were a fucking virgin.”

He’s confused and angry. So am I. For too many reasons to explain. “Do you really need to ask, Eagle? Think about it. You loved me. We adored each other. What other man could I have possibly given myself to?”

He rubs his face, glaring at me. “I’m sure you had plenty of offers.”

“Maybe,” I say noncommittally. “Do you think I changed my identity and moved to Texarkana to party?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

I snort. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He comes at me and stops short of my chair. “So help me . . .”

“What? You want to fuck me again, Eagle? Need to be inside me but can’t admit it because it’ll make you look weak? Give me an advantage?” I use my legs to slide the chair back from the table. “Look at me. What danger can I possibly pose to you tied up? I’m just the girl you loved. The woman you swore to protect no matter what. Well, guess what, asshat. This situation qualifies as a no matter what.” I’m baiting him on purpose, using the only weapon I have at my disposal, my body. If I can get him to open up to me this way, he might listen to me after.

His jaws tighten. “Angel.”

Hearing my real name slip from his mouth is the best kind of aphrodisiac. My body ignites. “Eagle. Please . . .”

He’s on me. He lifts me from the chair and spins me around, leaning me over the table. I thank whatever higher power deserves the credit for granting me the foresight to wear a skirt today. Eagle shoves it above my waist and yanks my panties aside. Warm, thick fingers invade my core and he groans.

“So fucking wet,” he hisses.

“For you,” I whisper, closing my eyes. I deserve to suffer some. And I want him so desperately. I want him to fill and stretch me, to claim me again. To make me his old lady. I want to be patched—permanently marked as property of Eagle and the Iron Norsemen.

He withdraws his fingers and I hear him unbuckling his belt. The anticipation is killing me as I struggle to get comfortable, the edge of the table biting into my stomach.

First entry is the sweetest thing I’ve ever felt. My insides light up, all my nerve endings tingling with pleasure. His movements are methodical. He feeds me every inch of his cock, then pulls out so slowly. Every fifth or sixth stroke he hammers deep, taking the edge off, but then slows down again.

He leans over me, sweeping my hair aside, exposing my neck. He nibbles lightly, then bites. “Why?” he whispers in my ear. “Why did you leave me, Angel?”

“Because I loved you. I wanted to save your life.”

He freezes. I can hear his heavy breathing, his fingers still circling up my back. I’m quickly flipped over and spread out on the table. Eagle pulls my flats off my feet. “Bend your knees, baby.”

I do as he asks, balancing my heels on the edge of the table. I tilt my hips upward as he positions himself between my legs, so ready to feel him inside me again. So ready to come with him.

“Tell me again, Angel.”

“I love you.”

He grips me by the hips, tugging me closer, impaling me on one thrust. This time I can see and feel the love radiating from inside him. Though he still has some doubts about me, he can’t keep those feelings hidden. Not when we’re joined like this, not when our gazes are locked, seeing the best and worst of each other. Not after we survived what we did. Not after we loved so hard. Love like that never fades. It just grows into something more potent and powerful—completely uncontainable.

I stifle the cry when my orgasm hits, knowing he’s doing the same thing. His face contorts with pleasure and pain. “Angel,” he says. “God help me, but I still love you.”