Unbeautifully (Undeniable, #2)(44)

Used to these longwinded bullshit speeches from Blue, Deuce sat down heavily in his desk chair and prayed it would be over soon.

“I get you, always have,” Blue said. “Reaper was a special brand of bastard, we all knew it, and we all watched you growin’ up fightin’ for your next breath. You never knew nothin’ else, always fightin’, even with Eva you were still fightin’. You don’t gotta be fightin’ anymore.”

“I ain’t fightin’ nothin’,” he growled. “You—”

“You got ghosts,” Blue interrupted. “I know it. Hell, we all f*ckin’ know it. You got ’em followin’ you everywhere you f*ckin’ go. You got Reaper breathin’ down your neck and now Frankie’s back there too. You ain’t gonna move forward unless you dig yerself a hole and throw that bullshit six feet under, set it on f*ckin’ fire and bury that shit. Otherwise you ain’t no good to no one, least of all yerself.”

Fuuuuck this shit.

“Shut up, old man,” he bit out. “I’ve had enough motherf*ckers tellin’ me what I should and shouldn’t be doin’ lately.”

“She loves you,” Blue continued, ignoring him. “A f*ckin’ dumbass could see that. You’re pushin’ her away again and she’s leavin’ this time, mark my word, Deuce. She’s leavin’ you this time.”

“She ain’t leavin’,” he said through his teeth. Was she? Did he even care?

His jaw clenched. Yeah, he did and no way was she leaving.

Blue shook his head again.

“You stupid? Ain’t no woman gonna walk away from a man just ’cause he’s crazy or ’cause his job ain’t all sunshine and roses. Fact, you bein’ crazy, this life bein’ what it is, is probably only makin’ her love you more. Women are stupid like that. But you’re f*ckin’ yourself. You don’t start givin’ that girl what she needs and she’s gone, and listen to me when I tell you, you ain’t never gonna find a woman who loves you like that one does.”

Deuce closed his eyes, remembering.

Bending down in front of Eva, he looked into her eyes. “What do you want, babe?”

She turned away from him and hid behind her hair, but not before he saw her turn bright f*cking red.

He filled with primal male satisfaction. She wanted him. Her, a f*cking angel in a mess of demons, wanted him, one of the biggest f*cking demons he knew.

“Say it,” he said harshly.

Fuck. What the f*ck was he doing?

She turned back to him and tucked her hair behind her ears. God, that face. That sweet, perfect face.

“You a virgin, Eva?” He already knew the answer.

“Yes,” she whispered. Christ.

He leaned in closer, close enough to smell the nicotine and beer on her breath. “You ever been kissed, darlin’?”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “No,” she breathed.

Good. So f*cking good.

He turned his head and rubbed his cheek up against hers, inhaling her strawberry-scented hair.

“You wanna be kissed?” he whispered in her ear.

He licked the skin just behind her ear and she shivered. He sucked on her skin, bit down lightly, and rolled it between his teeth.

She was breathing hard, her pulse in her neck fluttering wildly against his mouth. He started sucking with vigor and her legs fell open. He took advantage and shoved himself between them.

He spread kisses across her neck and under her chin, up to her cheek, kissing a line to her mouth. His lips met hers. She trembled.

“One more time, babe,” he said, low and raspy. “You wanna be kissed?”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

Yeah, he’d fallen hard, been forever ruined by a goddamn sixteen-year-old in the stairwell of the Silver Demons MC. Not a day had gone by since that he hadn’t thought of her, and still nothing had changed. Next to the club, Eva was his whole world.

Blue shrugged. “But what the f*ck do I know. My old lady died over thirty years ago. Hardly remember what lookin’ at a woman worth lookin’ at feels like.”

Deuce barely remembered Gladys but he’d seen the old black and whites of her and Blue from back in the day when Reaper still ran the Horsemen and Blue still had teeth. She’d been damn beautiful. Dead ringer for Natalie Wood. Way too good-looking for an * like Blue. Cancer took her in her fifties and Blue hadn’t gotten back on a bike since. In fact, he was surprised Blue had even gotten off the barstool for the meeting.

“Go home, son,” Blue said as he shuffled toward the doors. “Go home and take back your woman.”

Dropping his head in his hands, Deuce closed his eyes. Blue was right. The stupid f*cker was always right. And Preacher, that stupid f*cker, had only been half right. Telling him to go f*ck away his problems had been a catastrophe.

“My name’s Heather,” the whore slurred.

“Clothes,” he barked, unbuckling his belt. “Off. Now.”

Grinning, she swayed drunkenly and tried to salute him. “Aye, aye, Captain. Or should I call you Mr. President?”

“How about,” he growled, shoving down his boxers, “you shut the f*ck up, finish takin’ your clothes off, and then you get down on your f*ckin’ knees.”

Laughing, she pushed down her jeans and kicked them away, leaving her in a purple T-shirt and a matching thong. And that was good enough.