Saving Dancer (Savage Brothers MC #2)(17)

“Bull!” Carrie yells, but my brother grabs my collar and then throws a punch. I feel the impact of his solid fist cover the top of my hand that I throw up in defense, twisting it away and then coming down to my jaw at an angle. The force is strong and my head jerks with the impact.

I immediately step back, and deliver a return hit to his gut. I feel him connect again, this time I drop down so he just hits my shoulder. I deliver another blow and he steps back to refocus. We trade a few more hits back and forth. I finally get a good one connecting under his chin. It sends his body backwards, making him fall against the sofa. I’m not even sure how we made it from the table area to the living room. I’m kind of shocked. I back up thinking that it is over. My brother may be mad at me, but I don’t really want to fight with him.

I don’t have time to say anything, because Bull recovers quickly and charges with his head down, aiming straight for my solar plexus. I’m pushed back a good five feet or better. We fall from the force of the hit. I slam against the kitchen table. It tilts under my weight and I hear a crash and feel a jarring, as the table tips over. Chairs fall in every direction around us as we land. I grab him in a head-lock while he’s trying to deliver a kidney punch.

We stop when a loud scream draws both our attention.

“STOP IT!”

We look up at the same time. Her auburn hair is gorgeous in waves around her face and those wide green eyes are filled with tears. I have the strangest urge to reach out and stop them before they have a chance to fall.

“Just stop it,” she cries. Bull shoots me another death glare and pulls away.

“Sit down, Red,” He orders softly and helps her to the chair in the living room. I lay against the upturned table watching them and I feel physically ill.

He cares about her. You can see it in everything he does and in the way he wants to take my head off. I can do nothing but watch as he sits her down. His large dark hand caresses her. It stands out against her milk white skin. It’s odd watching his large thumb wipe away the tears falling from her eyes. It makes the breath lodge in my throat. How could this happen? How can my brother fall for Carrie? She’s mine.

“Damn it Red, tell me what happened,” Bull demands, his hand moving along her calf muscle. There’s a bruise and obviously a good size cut that is no longer bleeding, but looks hateful and swollen. It’s ugly against her perfection. More guilt pummels me.

“It was an accident,” she whispers her hands twist together on her lap, her face down.

“Dance…”

“I fell Bull, Jacob didn’t do anything,” she whispers, looking at me. I expect to see hate or disgust. Heck, even mocking would have been preferable, yet all she does is spare a quick glance at me.

“I’m going to go back to bed,” she mumbles and Bull stands instantly. He bends down to lift Carrie up in his arms.

“Bull!” Carrie gasps.

“Red, hush. I’m going to doctor your leg and then you can rest.”

“But…”

“Stop arguing. I’m doing it.”

She looks over Bull’s shoulder, her eyes connect with mine. There’s so much sadness in her eyes. It shames me. This time, I’m the one who has to look away.

“Dragon wants you at the club. I suggest you don’t keep him waiting,” Bull calls out.

Well f*ck a duck.





Chapter 8




Dancer


I know I should have gone back to the club and answered Dragon’s page. That would have been the smart thing to do. These days it seems, I don’t do smart. Hell, if you looked back on my life, maybe I never have.

The truth is, I’m reeling. Reeling from the fact that a man I truly like and respect has feelings for Carrie. Fuck, I’m not an expert, but I think it could easily be said that he is in love with her. I don’t know how to react to that. I’ve always labeled Carrie off limits because she was fifteen years younger than me. Damn, Bull is older than I am, not by much, but still.

It is enough to f*ck me up even more. I am already dealing with the taste of Carrie, the feeling of her in my arms, the eager way she ground against me, silently begging for more. I have wanted Carrie for years, dreamed of her, and wished I could have just one taste of her. The reality of it was more than I imagined.

It has only been an hour, but I already want to charge back and claim her, just from that one taste. I can’t. The minute she touched me, those damn memories came back. Her sweet voice demanding I take her wasn’t what I heard. It had been replaced by a darker voice.

My hand shakes as I bring the bottle up to my mouth. Fuck. I can’t stand to be touched. I can’t. I don’t allow the whores I’ve been f*cking to touch me. I make sure their hands are busy with a friend or I take them from behind. I don’t want their hands anywhere on me. I got nervous when Carrie touched my head, but I managed to drown out the memories with her taste, but f*ck, she grabbed me. She said words that were burned into my brain. I lost it. I never meant to hurt her and I know she thinks I did. I didn’t. Hell, as much as I want her I’m not sure I can ever allow myself to actually have her. I’m so tired of living like this.

If I hear one more time about how what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, I may scream. People who say that shit have never been so deep into a hole that they can’t find a way out. They’ve never sat by the window and prayed that the sun would hurry and go down because the night seemed safer. People didn’t move around so much in the nighttime, things weren’t done. The world was at rest. At night the fear that clenched around my heart and held on, eased up—never a lot, but enough so I could pretend to be normal on the outside.