The Psycho (The Soldiers of Anarchy 1)

Chap

Liv

Iopened my eyes, first of all feeling confused about where I was, and then realising that I must’ve fallen asleep watching the film last night. Panic struck me like a knife to the stomach as it dawned on me that he’d been here. He saw me asleep. I shot up into a sitting position, and when I looked over to where he’d been sat, I had to do a double take. He was asleep too, sitting back slightly with his arms folded but his body at ease.

Adam always seemed to have a permanent scowl or look of distain on his face, but now, in sleep, his face didn’t hold any of that anger. There was no tense frown or hardened jaw, only soft lines and peace.

He was beautiful.

Like cover model beautiful.

His jaw was strong and had that dusting of hair that always looked so good, it made me want to reach out and brush my fingers down it. His mouth was full and looked like it was curled into a seductive smile as he slept.

Was he dreaming about me?

I scoffed at my ridiculous thought, then silently, I slipped off the sofa and crawled across the floor, feeling an overwhelming urge to be closer to him.

Kneeling in front of his sleeping form, I could see the scar on his forehead, and I couldn’t stop my hand from lifting up to touch it. The moment my finger connected with his skin, his eyes shot open and he grabbed my wrist, like I was a predator and he’d just been alerted to the fact that he was my prey.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whispered as he released my wrist from his death-like grip and started to sit up, wriggling his shoulders to release the knots that he’d created by sleeping in such an awkward position. “How did you get the scar on your head?” I asked him because, as always, when I was nervous, I couldn’t control what came out of my mouth.

He rubbed his hands over his face, and I moved from my kneeling position to sit next to him.

“I got this a long time ago,” he said, touching his forehead and then shrugging. “It’s no big deal. Just a present from one of the many foster fathers I had growing up. I think, if I remember right, this one was courtesy of an iron fireplace poker and my inability to play quietly while he was watching the cricket on T.V.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” I hung my head, realising there was a lot more to his story than I’d probably ever know.

“It is what it is,” was all he said in response. I could tell that he wore his scars like a badge of honour. I also knew the scars he held inside were probably the worst ones of all.

“Well, in the words of my favourite heroine, Harley Quinn, ‘Don’t feel ashamed of your scars. It just means you’re stronger than the thing that tried to hurt you.’Or something like that.” I laughed at how stupid I sounded, but he didn’t laugh. He didn’t even crack a smile. Just stared at me, and then, as if in slow motion, he reached out to cup my face and leant forward like he was going in for a kiss.

I couldn’t help it. I shot backwards, moving away from him, and then, in my embarrassment, I blurted out, “Don’t come any closer. I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

He hung his head, but this time, he smiled to himself and said, “Like I give a fuck.”

He didn’t seem embarrassed, but I was, so I stood up, brushing my pyjamas down and feeling like I needed to get away to compose myself. The last thing I’d expected was to wake up and find him still here. More than that, he was trying to kiss me, with my morning breath. I couldn’t cope with the way that was making me feel, so I told him I needed to get ready and made a beeline for the door to escape.

“There’s some spare toothbrushes, paste and deodorants and stuff in the guest bathroom. First door on the left as you go up the stairs,” I told him, the words jumbling out like I had verbal diarrhoea. “My mum always keeps them there in case we get surprise overnight guests.” I internally cursed myself. Like he needed to know that.

“Thanks,” he said, but his voice sounded hollow, defeated maybe?

“I don’t mean to sound rude, but you need to leave after that. My brothers could be home any minute and I don’t want you here when they come back.” I couldn’t seem to stop myself this morning. I was on a roll.

“I’ll leave when I’m ready,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion.

“It’s not your choice, Adam.” I turned in the doorway to look at him. He needed to understand that this wasn’t negotiable. “They’re only little.”

“And what the hell do you think I’m going to do to them?” he snapped.

“Nothing. Ugh!” I sighed and threw my head back. “It’s just a conversation I’d prefer not to have with them right now. They have enough going on.”

He nodded but his face remained stoic.

“Fine. I’ll leave. But I’ll have to meet them one day.”

I frowned but I didn’t have the energy to argue with him. The tension and anxiety I felt thinking about when they’d come bounding through that door had already settled into the pit of my stomach. I knew what light sleepers they were when they weren’t in their own beds, and I didn’t need any more complications this morning.

Going up to my room, I started to undress for my shower, and then the realisation that he was here, in my house, while I was naked and about to climb into my shower, hit me. So I clicked the lock into place on my bedroom door and got busy getting myself ready for the day, trying to fight the nervous energy coursing through me.

When I headed back downstairs moments later, I found him sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee like he belonged here.

“Time to go,” I said, pulling my hair into a ponytail and avoiding his gaze.

“Can’t I finish my coffee first?” he asked, making no effort to move, lifting the cup slowly to his lips.

“No. You can’t. Get a Starbucks on the way home.”

He laughed and put his coffee cup back down on the counter.

“But I wouldn’t get this warm welcome at Starbucks.” He spun around on the stool he was sat on to face me, and I stood still, staring at him, not quite sure what to say.

When he reached his hand forward and brushed his thumb across my bottom lip, I realised I couldn’t say anything. He’d put me under a fucking spell again, and I didn’t like it. Or did I? I wasn’t used to being like this–dumb struck and awkward. It felt like he was holding all the cards, controlling everything, and I needed to get a hold of myself. Show him why I was his equal.

Slowly, I tilted my head back and I repeated my earlier statement. “You have to leave.”

He sighed and his hand dropped back into his lap.

“Always fighting,” he said as he pushed himself off the stool and stood up.

He went to walk towards the hallway, but I stood in his way.

“Not out the front. They might be coming down the driveway. You need to go out the back way,” I said, ushering him towards the patio doors that led to our garden.

Surprisingly, he didn’t put up much of an argument, and when I opened the doors for him, he stepped through and turned to say something, but I didn’t give him chance to speak. I slammed the door shut, closed the blinds and took a deep breath, relieved that finally I could breathe a little easier again.

I walked over to the coffee machine and started to make myself a cappuccino. His coffee cup sat on the counter like a guilty reminder of what had happened, of how I’d invited him into my world, and when I heard a banging on the back door, I almost dropped the cup I was holding in fright.

“What the fuck now?” I whispered under my breath and considered ignoring it, but I knew if I did, he wouldn’t go away.

I flung the door open to find him stood there, eyes boring into me and his chest heaving like he’d run a marathon to get from one door to another.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Before I could say another word, he stepped into my space, grabbed my face in both of his hands and he kissed me. A rough, hard, possessive kiss that told me he’d had enough of holding back.

I held onto his arms as his lips covered mine, and my body responded like the traitor it was. I couldn’t push him away even if I wanted to. His kiss was hungry, and I was here for it. I leant into him, meeting his hunger with my own, and when I gave a low moan, he moved his hands from my face to wrap his arms around my waist and pull me closer. I curled mine around his neck and opened up to him. His tongue laced with mine, tasting me, teasing, making me forget where I was. To hell with little brothers and family commitments, my body wanted to drag his upstairs and find out if his promises of annihilating me were true.

His tongue worked mine perfectly, his lips demanding and skilful. Just feeling him so close, smelling him, losing myself in him, it was all driving me crazy. An overload of senses that turned my brain into mush and made my sex starved body crave everything he had to give me.

His hands slid down to my ass, kneading me and pulling me closer to him. But when his hand moved to the front and popped the buttons on my jeans, I broke the kiss, panting and shaking.

“Not here,” I gasped, pushing his hand away. “I can’t.”

“But I need you,” he demanded, rolling his hips against mine to show me exactly how much he meant it. He pushed his forehead against mine and looked deep into my eyes. “You know this is going to happen.”

I didn’t need to answer, the noise of two little boys shouting and bellowing my name down the hall as they burst through the front door broke the spell, and I put my hand on his chest, forcing him out of the doorway. The look of pure desire on his face as I shut the door on him sent a shiver through my whole body. He was my stalker, and yet, if I had the chance, I’d probably open that door back up and throw caution to the wind.

Yep. It was official.

I was screwed.

ter Twenty-Three