Jack (The Kings of Mayhem MC Tennessee 1)

I hiss in a sharp breath and pause, waiting and listening, my pulse pounding like a drum in my neck. The scissors are sitting in a cup along with some tweezers and a nail file. They are old sewing shears, heavy and chunky, with big handles. I draw them out of the cup like it is the sheath of a sword and grip them tightly between both hands, knowing I might have to use them at any minute.

Fear clogs my throat as I approach the door, terrified of what is on the other side. Feeling the last ebb of strength in me, I pull open the door and creep into the hallway. The house is still, the air thick with summer heat. I let out a shivery breath before slowly dragging a fresh breath into my lungs where I hold it, petrified he’ll hear me breathing.

Taking light footsteps, I make my way along the hallway and down the little steps leading into the kitchen, my pulse roaring in my ears, my lungs burning for a new breath.

I want to call out.

To confront whoever is inside the house, but months of torment have me worn down.

A sound sends fear up my spine.

A creak of a floorboard behind me.

A disquieting knock.

I spin around and in that moment of cataclysmic fear, I see the shutter outside the open window bang against the wall, and that’s when I jump, almost dropping the scissors.

It’s only the shutter.

Nothing but a goddamn shutter.

Tears rush to the surface.

I can’t take much more of this.

Rushing to the window, I pull the shutter closed, then sink to the floor in a shivering, tormented mess, and let my tears fall.

JACK

She’s on my porch when I pull into the driveway. Sitting on one of the steps with her arms wrapped around her knees and a crown of flowers in her golden hair, she looks like she’s stepped out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

I walk up the path to greet her. “Well, now… I do believe there is an angel sitting on my porch,” I say. “You’re looking a little happier than when I last saw you.”

She smiles, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m aware of the little tug in my heart before I quickly shove it away.

“Amazing what a shower and a few hours’ sleep can do. I think I slept like the dead.” Her smile suddenly fades, and I see that haunted look creep back into her eyes. But then she wraps her arms tighter around her knees and smiles again. “Thanks for your help this morning. I thought I could fix you dinner or something to say thank you.”

I cock an eyebrow. Bronte isn’t what you’d call a domesticated goddess. Both Rosanna and her grandma had tried teaching her how to cook before she left for college, and both attempts had been disastrous. “You learn how to cook while you were away?”

“No, but how hard can it be?”

“If memory serves, you burn water.”

She smiles, and a small dusting of pink lifts in her cheeks. “You’re right. Let’s get takeout. My treat.”

It’s a hot summer’s night. The sky is clear, the moon full. We sit out on the patio and eat takeout from Craig’s Crawdad Cookout in town.

“So, are you going to bring it up or me?” I ask, taking a swig from my beer bottle.

I watch Bronte’s throat work as she swallows. She’s wondering if she should run from the question or run toward it.

She decides to go with the former and run from it while picking up a beer bottle. “What are you talking about?”

“Gigantor, the white elephant in the room.”

She smiles awkwardly. “Oh, you mean the kiss.”

I hate how my body reacts when she says it.

“Yeah, the kiss.”

“I already apologized.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She shrugs. “We were drunk.”

“Yes, we were. Fall-down drunk if memory serves.”

“And I wanted to feel something other than grief. You were my first crush.” She smiles, embarrassed. “And you were there.”

“I remember.”

Boy, do I remember.

The way she pressed her body against me and kissed me. The way her luscious tongue swept into my mouth, and then the sweetness of her lips as they moved so sensually over mine.

Taken by surprise, I’d hesitated, but then lust and alcohol collided in my brain, and I’d taken that kiss from hot to blazing, pushing my hands through her hair and kissing her hard. I’d groaned into her hungry little mouth, wanting to take it further before I had the good sense to stop myself.

Behind my zipper, my dick stirs in appreciation of the memory.

But nope.

Not fucking going there.

I’m not entertaining that idea for one second longer, just like I haven’t since that night.

“You disappeared before we had a chance to talk,” I remind her.

When I’d broken off the kiss with a determined “no,” and she’d run out of the room.