“Her life is complicated. What happened to her has nothing to do with you or this to make her married. She has a past, and so do you. Okay, her past has leaked into the present, but we’ll make it work. She loves you, Killer, not this other guy. Deal with it. I wouldn’t bother, but she’s in love with you and you’re in love with her. Talk to her before you knock up some slut and get saddled with her for the rest of your days.” Tate walked out of the room leaving him alone.
He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Killer took the two pills and swallowed some water. Shit, he’d have to thank Tate at some point for getting rid of the women. He hated the thought of having to thank Tate. Thinking of what he had done with her sickened him. No, he wasn’t going to even try to remember what he did under the influence.
Closing his eyes, Killer wondered if he should just up and leave. The Skulls wasn’t his family. They were a club he stuck around with.
Don’t think like that.
There was no family for him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Kelsey. The Skulls were his family. They had given him a home and a family even though he’d started out his life in, The Lions. No, he couldn’t leave it like it was. He needed to see her, talk to her, get her to explain everything to him.
Getting up, he grabbed a pair of jeans, a white shirt and his leather cut. He ignored the scent of breakfast and Tate’s glaring face, heading out toward his bike. On the body of the bike he saw an envelope stuck. Cursing, he stripped it off and opened the letter up. His keys fell out.
Straddling his machine, he turned the ignition over and waited for his beauty to purr to life. Smiling, even with a throbbing headache, he started out of the compound and rode toward Kelsey’s apartment.
The wind felt good on his face, and flashes of memory invaded his thoughts. He couldn’t think about the other woman. The very thought made him feel sick, exacerbated by all the alcohol he’d consumed.
Parking his bike, he nodded toward a couple of local kids before pressing the button for Kelsey’s place.
“Who is it?” she asked. Her voice was so fucking sweet. His cock thickened at the sound alone. Killer knew he needed to get his act together before he did something stupid. Last night had been a big mistake, one he hoped never to repeat.
“It’s me, Kels. Let me in.”
The silence between them was deafening. Not long ago she’d have let him up without hesitation.
“Okay,” she said, buzzing the door. He walked into the building and went to her place. She lived on the ground floor as she hated heights. Kelsey stood at the door. She wore a large baggy shirt with a pair of string pants. They covered up her curves, and he hated them on sight. Her hair was bound up on her head, the cherry blonde color calling to him to sink his hands in her hair. He noticed her eyes were red and puffy. She blew her nose as he walked toward her.
“Are you sick?” he asked.
“No.” She moved out of the way letting him pass. The door closed leaving them alone in her sitting room. He glanced toward the sofa remembering the feel of her in his arms. They’d never gotten further than some heavy petting over clothes. She always refused to get naked in front of him. Killer liked her reserved nature. He had also liked the fact no other man had seen her naked before. Was that all in his head? What man would marry a woman and have nothing to do with her?
He went to the window looking outside wondering what the hell he should say. The last time he’d been here, Snitch had arrived into town and he’d been on guard protecting The Skull women.
“Do you want some coffee?” she asked, catching his attention once again.
“Yeah, I’ll have coffee.” Removing his jacket he stared at her retreating back. What the fuck should he say? What was the protocol for this?
Dropping the jacket onto the chair, he paced the length of the room. With his bulk it didn’t take him long to get tired of pacing. She came back minutes later with two mugs of coffee. He watched her place them each on a coaster on her coffee table. When she was done, she gripped her hands tight together, looking at him. He saw her nerves but didn’t have the first clue what to say to her to help.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“You’re married?”
She took a deep breath, dropping her gaze. “Yes, I’m married.”
Gritting his teeth, he turned his back on her. Fuck, he needed to learn to get his anger under control.
“How long?”
“Since I was eighteen.”
Lashing out he sent the display of ornaments and pictures crashing to the floor. He spun toward her. The sound of the shattered glass and porcelain filled the air.