Protective (Diamondback MC Second Generation 4)

GEORGIANA

I should have knownthat the feeling of someone watching me wasn’t my freaking imagination. How many times have the men in my life always told me to go with my gut? That and the fact that all of us girls—Sedona, Collins, and myself—have Tasers, if not small handguns we carry in our purse or on ourselves if we’re in town. Especially when Silas’ release date was nearing, it seemed that it was hammered into our heads. The only other option was to have a prospect on us when we left club property. The girls and I went one step further, taking self-defense classes in town even though Shadow grumbled that he could have taught it to us for free. We giggled when he offered to show us a few moves. That’s because I knew nothing would get done, me being the person to make it all fun and games. Pissing off Shadow was not a great idea; he’s done entirely too much for me.

“I’ll take this to my room,” are the first words I speak to Silas the second he’s inside the house. I’m attempting to stand up, grab everything all at once, and not let anything drop.

“Sit down.” I look at Silas, really look at him. It’s been years since I’ve seen him. Five, in fact. The last time my eyes were on his, he was a completely different person. Silas standing there, his long dark brown hair curling over his forehead, not curly but with a wave to it, giving him an edge. It doesn’t stop there, though—he’s got soft brown eyes with flecks of gold throughout, much like his mother’s, a chiseled jawline, and lips that look soft to the touch, yet I have no idea if they truly are. Though by the way Silas is narrowing his eyes on me, I’m pretty sure I’ll never feel them pressed against mine. The suit he was wearing all those years ago is long gone; even though that suit didn’t own him, Silas owned it. Tonight, he’s in what I’d call the standard uniform around here when it comes to the brothers—leather cut, a gray cotton shirt stretched across his chest. One of the first noticeable changes I saw in him was how much he’d bulked up during his time away. The amber brown bottle of beer that’s hanging loosely at his side shows the jeans he's wearing. They’re well worn, molded to his muscular thighs down to the broken-in motorcycle boots. He’s a Diamondback through and through, looking more like his father than his mother, save for his eyes. I guess it’s a good thing Sedona takes after Shila in that respect.

“Okay,” I finally respond. My voice comes out like a mouse’s, though, low and with a squeak. Silas doesn’t move. My appetite is now gone because I’m unsure of what to think about this conversation, or lack thereof. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken today off after all. It’s dark out, but I could work the overnight shift, hang out with the dogs that are being boarded for either emergency reasons or they’re dropped off as owners go out of town. At least the animals don’t look at me like they’re ready to take my head off. The look on Silas’ face has my eyes moving back to the plate in front of me, moving the food around with the fork in my hand, the pulled pork, potato salad, and coleslaw. It’s a total wash now. A few bites in, knowing Silas was inside, the once separated food is now all mushed together, and there’s no way I’m going to even attempt to salvage my dinner now.

I stand up again, even though he clearly told me to sit down. This is entirely too awkward, that’s for sure.

“I told you to sit down.” Clearly, I don’t recall him ever being this rude, but then again, it’s not like I knew him before that night, so maybe this is how Silas always acts. I’m not going to allow him to bully me, though. If I’ve learned anything, it’s to use my voice, and if that fails me, kick the man in the balls because that will surely shut him up.

“I’m done eating.” I throw my plate away, go to the kitchen sink, and wash my hands, attempting to block everything that is Silas out of this stratosphere. Maybe if things don’t settle down, become less awkward, I’ll ask Collins to possibly stay with her for a few days.

“You barely touched your food.” Not once has he acknowledged me by name, said hello, or anything. Though I haven’t, really either. You see, I’m out of touch with reality at this point when it comes to Silas at least.

“Not hungry.” I turn the water off, grab a paper towel to dry my hands, then toss it into the trash can that’s located beneath the sink. It’s then that I go back to where I was sitting, grab my bottle of water, and attempt to leave the kitchen. My only problem is that mammoth of a man that’s blocking the only entrance and exit. “Excuse me,” I say, but Silas doesn’t respond. In fact, he doesn’t move either.

Finally, he steps back. I plaster myself to the other side, not wanting to so much as let a wisp of fabric graze against him. After all, it was him who asked me to stay away, so the fact Silas felt the need to follow me here is enough to have my heart beating out of my chest, all while keeping me completely confused.