Shafted(Devil's Blaze MC 4)(15)

“Jeff? Please don’t tell me that you think he’d be the better choice for what we just did here. And you are not old! When you’re a hundred, I’ll be knocking on eighty. I don’t see a big problem at all.” I shrug.

“Let’s fight about this later. I’d rather not be caught arguing with you beside the road with your shirt ripped open. Skull or Torch could come driving by at any time and…What in the fuck happened to your pants?” he yells, so loud my head jerks up.

I look down at my knee. There’s a little blood where I scraped it against the pavement earlier. The tear in my pants is wide enough it shows the damage.

“I fell getting out of the window at the diner.”

“Christ.” He throws his hand up and brings it down pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Just take me to Beth’s. I’ll clean up there,” I tell him, suddenly feeling tired.

“I take you to Beth and Skull’s like this, and I’m a dead man. I’ll take you to my apartment, clean you up, and find you something to wear.”

“I thought you lived at the club?” I ask confused. His place is the last place I expect him to take me.

“I do mostly. I rent a crap apartment for when I want to be alone,” he explains.

He finishes putting my seatbelt on and then slams the door walking around to his side.

I could have told him that no one was home at Beth’s, or even reminded him of my forgotten jacket laying between us on the seat, but I don’t. I want to go to his place. I want more time with him. So, I say absolutely nothing.

But inside, I’m dancing.





Chapter Thirteen





Jax





I’ve lost my damn mind. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have…but, fuck I want to do it again. Hell, I want to do more. Bringing her back to my shit apartment is the last thing I should be doing. Maybe she’ll take one look at it and realize that a forty-year-old man who has nothing isn’t someone she should ever give herself to? I don’t fucking get how two days and one episode of dry humping can have me in knots over a woman, but it’s true. She’s got me all tore up inside.

I open the door, the smell of musty carpets and dust assaults my senses at once. I reach over and flip the light. I haven’t been here in weeks. Dishes are still piled in the sink and empty pizza boxes decorate the room which doubles as a kitchen and living area combined. There’s a small hall on the left, that always serves to make me feel claustrophobic that leads to a bedroom, which is just big enough for my bed, a small chest, and a bathroom. My place is definitely nothing to write home about. Being here depresses me. Fuck, I’m a loser. This wasn’t how I saw my life playing out by the time I hit forty.

“Sit on the couch. I’ll go get some things to clean you up with,” I order, letting go of her hand now that we’re inside. I shouldn’t have been holding her hand in the first fucking place. I lock the door and walk out of the room, all without sparing her a glance. I’m not sure if it’s because if I look at her right now I’ll take her up against the wall, or if I don’t want to see the look on her face—just in case she feels sorry for me now that she sees the place I call home.

It’s not a home. I haven’t really had one of those. Ever. Hell, the Devil’s Blaze is the first time I ever felt like I had a place where I belonged, but even with that, I don’t feel like the rest of the brothers. Maybe I’m always destined to be alone.

I come back in the room and Bree is on the sofa, looking around. I don’t know what she’s thinking, it’s not showing on her face. When I get close to her she jumps slightly, before giving me a smile. There’s no pity, no judgment. Just Bree. Christ Almighty, I’m in trouble. I clear my throat trying to choke down need, wants, dreams, and the hopelessness of wishing I was twenty years younger.

“Let’s check those knees out,” I tell her, sending up a small prayer of thanks I didn’t say tits, cause they’re straining against her bra—her red silk bra, and all I want to do is face-plant right here.

“Okay,” she whispers, with a gentle smile. Why does it feel like everything about Bree is gentle, unless I push her? And I bet I could push her. How much would it take before I have her clawing into me, screaming my name? My balls are blue and my damn dick is killing me.

I lean down in front of her, getting on my knees. I move my thumb around the outside of the deepest scratches. There’s blood and dirt there that will need cleaning.

“You should be more careful, sweetness. Something like this could scar,” I warn her. Scarring her body would be a fucking sin. She’s perfection. Bree leans in closer to look at her knee. It’s probably not on purpose, but fuck her tits are so close, I could reach out and run my tongue along the valley of them.