Undeniable (Undeniable, #1)(41)

I couldn’t comprehend it. Or didn’t want to comprehend it. Or couldn’t. I didn’t know.

I knew Frankie’s feelings for me had surpassed love a long time ago, if love was ever what he’d felt. Frankie had convinced himself at a very young age that he needed me to breathe. It was unhealthy for him, for me, for our relationship, but I thought I’d gotten him relatively under control. I’d been dead wrong.

It hurt like hell.

And now this. From Deuce.

I rolled away from him and hugged my knees to my chest. My tears started out small, leaking out of the corners of my eyes and running slowly down my nose and cheek, but once I let myself go—released the pent-up anger, pain, regret, and guilt—my tears turned into a torrential downpour. I sobbed uncontrollably, hiccupping, gasping for air as I rocked back and forth and cried and cried until my tears ran dry.

? ? ?

When I woke it was light out. I didn’t remember falling asleep, and I certainly didn’t remember falling asleep in Deuce’s arms. I untangled myself from him and headed for the bathroom. I was covered in dirt, my hair was a rat’s nest, and I had blood splattered all over me. Not mine, Deuce’s. Tentatively, I felt the side of my head. I had a good-sized goose egg; it was tender and hurt to touch, but otherwise, I felt fine.

After a long shower, feeling numb, I wrapped myself up in a towel and headed back to the bedroom. Deuce had thrown the sheet off him and rolled on his side. Wearing nothing but his boxers, the Hell’s Horsemen insignia tattooed on his back gleamed black against his tan skin.

He had to be nearing fifty now. His short shadow of a beard was mostly gray; the gray in his hair wasn’t as easily noticeable, but it was there. His body was every bit as impressive as it had always been, lined and cut in all the right places, his muscles still large and toned. He was still beautiful. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen and still the biggest * I’d ever met.

And I loved him still. That had never changed.

I made a quick phone call to the motel office, and then another to Tiny, telling him when and where to pick me up. Then I climbed back into bed beside Deuce. Lying on our sides, face-to-face, I stared at him. God, I missed him. Especially lying awake at night, thinking about all that could have been but would never be. It all revolved around him. If I could go back in time and take back what I had said about being his old lady, I would. I would have become his old lady, stayed away from the club, and done whatever he wanted. Been happy because I would have had him.

But it hadn’t gone down that way. And there was no going back from the decisions I’d made over the years.

Without thinking, just feeling, I pushed him gently until he rolled onto his back. Then I pulled down his boxers, touching him gently at first, holding him, stroking him, once again familiarizing myself with his body.

When it came to Deuce, my body took control—my body and my heart. My brain was always on a permanent vacation in his presence.

I took him in my mouth and he groaned in his sleep, shifted a little, but kept on snoring.

When he was full and ready, I straddled him and slowly took him inside my body. I trembled as he stretched me and let out a shuddering moan.

His hands went to my hips, and his eyes flew open.

“Hey,” I whispered.

“Fuck,” he said hoarsely.

I bit my lip. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Fuck no.”

“I’m so, so sorry about last night,” I whispered.

“Eva?”

“What?”

“We’re good, babe. Don’t need to explain.”

“Deuce?”

“Yeah?”

I clenched my sex around his. “Gonna f*ck you now.”

He inhaled sharply. “Babe. Yeah.”

? ? ?

Deuce stared down at Eva. Lying on her back, naked, sleeping beside him. He ran his hand from her neck to the dark curls between her thighs and back up again.

“Not lettin’ you go this time, darlin’,” he whispered. “Chain you up, f*ckin’ drug you if I have to.”

It was crazy, and he knew it; he just didn’t care anymore. He was sick of thinking about her all the time, wondering what she was doing and if she was thinking about him. He was sick of aching for her. He was sick of this f*cking game they played, running into each other, f*cking or fighting, and then taking off. He wanted more. He needed more.

He pulled his Horsemen chain over his head and, trying not to disturb her, slid it over hers. She should have never had his old man’s tag; she should have had his. She should have had him.

Then he pulled her close, tucked her head under his chin, tossed his leg over hers, and fell asleep.

When he woke up, she was gone. Again.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


For three weeks, I had been home. For three weeks, I had been meeting with the club’s lawyers and lawyers all over the city, none of whom could get anything done as quickly as I needed it done. For three weeks, I had been begging Chase to take a look at Frankie’s case, to use the dirty connections I knew he had, that his family had, that they’d all used to worm their way into the positions of power they were in. For three weeks, Kami had been trying to threaten Chase into looking into Frankie’s case. So for three weeks, I’d been going out of my mind.

My nerves were shot. Frankie was losing it. Every visit to Queensboro to see him left me reeling. His grip on reality had become nonexistent; I had never seen him this bad before, and I couldn’t do a damn thing without legal help. I needed Chase, and I needed him badly.