Adler (The Henchmen MC 14)

"With one condition," I told him, not wanting to be too sappy about it even if it was an oddly life-changing moment for me.

"What's that?" he asked, eyes warm, hopeful.

"You don't cut your hair short," I told him, reaching up to free it, watching as it fell around his face, sifting some of it behind his ear.

"Think I can promise ya that, duchess. So long as ya cook for me at least once a week."

"I can do that," I agreed, smiling.

And for maybe the first time in my life, I felt it.

The smile.

I felt it inside.

Deep.

Down to my soul.

And I felt something blooming in my chest, a thing I hadn't felt since I was little, since my world was turned upside down.

A warm, light sensation I barely even recognized as happiness.

Adler made me happy.

Out of all the crazy in my life, that might have been the craziest thing of them all.

This man, this biker, this former contract killer, this neighbor who I didn't even want to learn the name of, he made me happy.

I realized as he smiled down at me, as he watched me with those deep, but bright, eyes, that I could get used to it.

That I wanted to get used to it.

"Now I gotta bring ya to the club," he decided.

"So you can officially 'claim' me," I teased, rolling my eyes.

"Damn straight," he agreed, serious. "Ya are mine. I want everyone to know ya are mine."

"I dunno if I'm, ready for some big get together," I admitted, never being great in social situations. I was bound to piss someone off. Even with Lenny and Rey and Peyton there to take my side.

"I can have Repo and Laz cook for ya."

"Getting more tempting."

"And there is an untouched bottle of Wild Turkey on the backbar shelf for years. Got dust on it and shite."

"That is unacceptable," I told him, shaking my head.

"So ya will come."

"I will come," I agreed, smiling even as his lips pressed down on mine, sealing the deal.ELEVENAdlerIt took me another five days to get her to make good on the promise.

I wasn't sure what the hesitation was for her - the fact that she wasn't the most social of people, to begin with, or that this was another move forward with us, another reinforcement of what we had agreed to in her bed that night.

Knowing her, a combination of the two.

As for the first, I assured her that if the club and the women could put up with Renny's sometimes prickly ass, Reeve's standoffishness, Lenny's mouth, then they could put up with her snark and rough edges. These were hardened men and women, they wouldn't get cut up from brushing against one of her sharp edges.

As for the second, I said nothing.

Because, I was learning, Lou needed space to be allowed to think, to process, to not be pestered about it while she tried to figure it out.

And me, well, no one would ever likely call me a patient man.

But I could give her patience.

I could give her what she needed from me.

Because now I got it.

I got her.

To a root-level, the parts buried deep underground, but the oldest, sturdiest parts of her.

I'd known a lot of dark stories.

I had many of my own.

Life had numbed me to most of it.

But her story managed to make me feel.

A mix of things too.

Anger.

Disgust.

Sympathy.

And a deep, deep understanding.

Because her entire personality was based around two things.

Her belief in her guilt for what happened that night.

And her deep understanding that because of her feelings around the entire event, she was unable to have - or even hope for - normal things like relationships, friendships, love, connection. Because if someone got close, if someone got to know the story, they would look at her the same way she looked at herself.

That was a flawed mindset, completely.

But understandable.

She'd hardly been more than a child at the time.

She'd seen her sister be gang-raped by four men... and their own fuckin' brother.

Then she'd seen her sister rise up, climb onto an edge, and jump over.

That was enough.

But then as she tried to come to terms with it, her father died, her mother died, leaving her alone in the world.

Sure, she had the distant relatives who tried as best they could. But they'd been out of their depths with such a broken girl who coped by stuffing all her cracks with what was easiest to access, most comfortable to carry around. Anger. And while it was easy to love sadness, heartbreak, thinking you could ease it for them, it was not easy to love someone overflowing with rage, lashing out at everyone around them when their body couldn't hold any more of it. She'd moved out at nineteen, both for her own sanity, and for theirs.

She had moved around a few states, working whatever jobs she could until she inevitably got fired for breaking the hand of a customer who manhandled her or screaming back a the boss when he raised his voice to her.