It Ain't Me, Babe (Hades Hangmen 1)

A great f**kin’ sinking feeling materialized in my stomach. I didn’t know shit about her, did I? I wasn’t sure I could deal with Mae being that close to Rider and sleeping in my bed. I was possessive and not into sharing. But I’d f**kin’ pushed them together. I wanted to shoot my own ass for being so goddamn stupid. Of course the brother would fall for Mae. She was f**kin’ perfect. The brother had clearly fallen hard, and shit, he was a better choice for her than me, that was for sure. Didn’t mean I was giving her up, though.

No. Fuckin’. Way.

Mae cleared her throat and her big blue eyes lifted up to meet mine. “I have only ever liked one boy in my life. I have only wanted one man to have as my own. I have only ever had one dream since I was eight. Styx, the dream is you. You stole my heart fifteen years ago and you still haven’t given it back.”

“B-babe,” I murmured, my heart f**kin’ slamming. Flattening my palms to her stomach, I ran them up and down her torso, smiling at her hitch in breath as my nose ran along her neck, my teeth scraping against the exposed skin.

Pressing my lips to her ear, I whispered, “I w-want you too. F-fuck, I want you in m-my bed, by my side, on m-my bike. I w-want you as m-my old lady. Taking c-care of me, n-needing me… letting me inside you.”

Her breath paused, but the release of a long, relieved sigh said it all.

Mae wanted that too.

As she laid her head in the crook between my shoulder and neck, she reached up around my head with her hand and played with the back of my hair. Damn. I actually felt happy. Despite all the shit threatening the club—the Russian deal, the shooting, Lois taking lead to her skull, and the Nazis gunning after me—I was happy. For the first time since my old man had gone to the boatman last year, I felt f**kin’ good.

Mae was mine. Fifteen long years of wanting her to be mine, and here she sat, curled up in my arms—a f**kin’ angel in hell.

“Styx?” Mae asked as I pulled her even closer.

“Mmm?” I murmured, licking around the shell of her ear, loving her tensing her stomach in need as I did so.

“I loved what you were playing. When you play the guitar and sing, it… well, I think it is my most favorite thing in the world. We were prohibited from listening to music at commune. When we were younger, my sister and I found an old radio in the forest. We managed to listen to it for thirty minutes before a guard found us. He took it away. I have never forgotten it, though, hearing the melodies, adoring the poetry of the lyrics. Prophet David issued an order shortly after that. Music was banned from then on.

“He preached that the devil could speak to us through the lyrics.” She let out a disbelieving laugh. “I believed it with all my heart. After all, Prophet David was God’s vessel on Earth. For years I worried that being entranced by the music had made me a bad person and that the devil had tried to make me fall. Now, I think it was all a falsehood. In fact, I am beginning to think all I have believed my whole life is a falsehood. I find myself questioning if there is even a God. Or is religion used to control people, for a small group of people to get what they want?”

She lifted my hand to stare at my fingers. “But hearing you play, it is so pure, so sincere… it frees you. This is when I believe there is more to life than what I have seen so far. I cannot imagine anything so beautiful being so evil. You make me find my faith once more.”

“I-it’s the only t-time I can sp-speak right. When I sing, I d-don’t feel no pressure. It’s my p-peace.” As she smiled, I brushed my lips past hers and said, “That and y-you. Something in my brain freezes when I t-try to speak to folks. B-but with you, my throat just o-opens up and l-lets that shit flow.”

Squeezing my hand, she said, “You have a beautiful voice. I wish I could play and sing like you.”

Reaching to my left, I lifted my treasured Fender and laid it across Mae’s lap. “Done.”

Turning her face slowly to meet mine, she frowned and said, “What?”

“You. G-guitar. I-I’ll teach you.”

“You will?” she asked as her whole damn face lit up in excitement.

“Mm-hmm.” Placing the guitar neck to the left, I placed her fingers in the first position on the strings. “This h-here’s a ch-chord.” Taking her right hand, I placed it below mine and guided it to strum. G-chord sounded out.

Her eyes met mine and she smiled, urging, “Okay, keep going.”

Moving the fingers on the neck to the next position, we strummed again. “D-ch-chord.”

Her shoulders danced in excitement and my f**kin’ heart swelled.

“Teach me a song.”

“Wh-which one?”

Her smile faded. “I… I do not know any songs to suggest.” Her lips suddenly hooked up again in an addictive grin. “The one you were playing in the bar when I first arrived. I want to learn that one.”

I tried to think back and, a second later, I smirked. “Y-you l-like Tom Waits?”

Her excited expression told me she did.

Pressing a kiss to her shoulder, I said, “Bitch a-after my own h-heart.”

“You play it first. Show me how.” I set my fingers on the right chords about to begin, when she cut in. “And make sure to sing. I want to hear your voice.”

Giving her a nod, I fixed my eyes on hers and strummed the intro, singing the opening line close to her ear. “And I hope that I don’t fall in love with you, ’cause falling in love just makes me blue…”