Own the Wind(38)

I moved my eyes to the ceiling and smiled.

He had the same thoughts I had, exactly. He knew we needed to talk and he knew what we needed to talk about. He was going to give me that.

I rolled toward the edge of the bed, reached out a hand, and nabbed my panties, and since Shy’s tee was close, I nabbed that as well. I shimmied my panties on while lying on my back, sat up, pulled his tee over my head, and my smile came back.

His shirt smelled of him.

Another piece of paradise.

Arranging myself cross-legged on the bed, I looked around and surprise hit me, tamping down (but not forcing out, nothing could do that except, perhaps, the end of the world) my happy mojo.

Shy lived in an apartment that was just that little bit older and more worn than mine. The carpet wasn’t great. The walls needed a new coat of paint, and they needed that coat about seven years ago. There were boxes all around and no personal touches at all. It was like he hadn’t actually moved in yet.

I’d never been to his place, and I knew he spent a lot of time at the Compound, but I also knew that he’d had his own place for a long time.

Maybe he’d recently moved, though if this was a step up, I wondered where he used to live.

I was in the living room and, weirdly, so was his bed. It was at the wall to the back of the room, but there were two doors on the side of the living room and I figured at least one must be a bedroom. There was a couch shoved up against the side wall, but it was covered in boxes. There was also an old TV on a stand about two feet from the foot of the bed. There was one nightstand with a lamp on it, a bunch of change, packets of condoms, and that was it. No other furniture. No dressers. No bookshelves.

Nothing.

It was somewhat tidy considering any space filled with boxes wasn’t exactly tidy. It was also surprisingly clean. What it wasn’t was a home. Not even close to it. Not even a bachelor pad.

It looked like it was just a place to crash on occasion and store stuff.

This made me feel uneasy.

What didn’t make me feel uneasy was when Shy walked back into the room with his biker grace, his chest on display.

The instant I saw him, I pushed to my knees and moved to the edge of the bed.

Shy, his eyes on me, his face soft, did exactly what I wanted him to. He moved right to me.

I slid my arms around him and pressed my lips to his chest.

He curved a hand around one side of my neck, the other hand he glided up into my hair to curl around the back of my head.

There it was again, that feeling.

Loved.

Right.

I took my lips from his skin and put my chin there, seeing the “Love dies” tattoo.

I’d seen the two tats he had on the insides of his forearms and I’d suspected, like all the brothers, he had the Chaos emblem on his back. These three tats all the brothers had, the two Shy had inked into his forearms the brothers put wherever they wanted. The emblem on his back, all the guys had on their backs. They got the back tat the minute the Club voted them into full membership.

Having never seen his chest, I’d never seen the only tattoo he seemed to have outside the Chaos ones.

“Love dies?” I asked quietly, my gaze lifting to his.

His hand twisted gently in my hair even as his fingers at my neck dug in slightly, and he broke my heart when he replied quietly back, “Had a mom and dad I loved, they died. Had an uncle I loved who didn’t shield us from that bitch and that love died too. One night, I was seventeen, listenin’ to them fight, her bitchin’ yet a-f*ckin’-gain about how they had two more mouths to feed, two more bodies to clothe so they couldn’t go to Hawaii or whatever the f*ck, and I knew the next day her mood was gonna f*ck up my week because she always took that shit out on him first, then on us. He didn’t take our backs during the fight, and I knew he wouldn’t take our backs the next day. That night, my love died for him. I was holdin’ on but it slipped away. I had a fake ID to buy booze so I snuck out the window and went to an all-night tattoo place.” He lifted a hand to indicate the tattoo. “Had this inked on me.”

My eyes moved to the tattoo but went back to Shy, and I leaned away a bit when he bent slightly.

His face got close and he continued, “I was young, pissed, and stupid, sugar. I don’t believe that shit anymore. But ink is ink, it doesn’t fade away. Unfortunately, it reminds me of a shitty time in my life every time I see it.” He grinned. “It also reminds me not to do anything permanently stupid because I’m pissed.”

I grinned back. “Good lesson to learn.”

His grin faded and he muttered, “Not sure I learned it.”

I knew what he was saying so I whispered, “Shy, don’t. We both f*cked up and, obviously, it wasn’t permanent.”

He touched his forehead to mine and sighed before he ordered, “Shift, Tabby. I’m climbin’ in.”

I shifted. Shy climbed in then he claimed me. Resting with his head on the pillows, he tugged me over his body and turned so he was on his side, his body curled at the waist and knees and my hips were cradled in his lap, thighs over his hip, my back to the bed, head to the pillow. Shy came up on an elbow, head in hand and aimed his eyes at me.

“Rosalie,” he muttered.

Oh crap.

I braced and his gaze moved over my face even as his hand hit my belly and slid across, pulling me in and tucking me closer to his body.