I didn’t know how to stop wanting this. But I also didn’t know how to live with it if I ever took the jump. If I let myself fall—if I let myself believe I was a part of the Saints—I wasn’t sure I’d find my way back. Every hug, every laugh, every moment was sweet nectar that I knew was poison. And yet, I kept drinking it.
But five little girls were still missing. Maybe even more now, given how long I’d been gone. And here I was, playing house and flirting with men I could never consider an option. I glanced at my noodles, my appetite gone, andfought the urge to throw one of my bags at the TV when the canned laughter fromFull Housefilled the room.
Chapter 8
I spent the next few weeks trying to convince myself that I didn’t care about the Mills brothers, and failing miserably. I even tried avoiding them, but that was incredibly hard to do when we were all working in the same building. I confessed my struggle to Maria and Holly, modifying my story so it seemed like it was the thought of sleeping with my bosses that left a bad taste in my mouth. Holly was no help, suggesting I sleep with them both to get it out of my system. She also said that if that didn’t work, she knew of at least two good places to hide bodies. Maria was better equipped—she gave me a hug, a box of chocolates, and a bottle of wine.
“Mija, sometimes when thecerebroand thecorazónare not on the same page, you need to go somewhere quiet and listen to what they are both saying.”
She had no idea just how out of sync they were, though, and my bottom lip quivered, so she just hugged me harder. My stupid, treacherous heart. I guess part of me thought that maybe if I refused to choose between Mac and Dalton, maybe I could trick myself into not caring for either of them.
I received a letter from Uncle Tommy the day after Mac and Dalton stopped by my apartment. Braxton must have seen them, or been told about their visit. His letter cautioned me to keep my head on straight in “such a big city” and to “stay away” from things that could hurt a “sweet girl” like me. I didn’t need a decryption key to figure out that he was warning me to remember why I was here, and not to get sidetracked, especially by two ridiculously handsome biker brothers.
I don’t know what it was about them that had my heartracing like a middle school girl at her first dance. Dalton, I could kind of understand. The quiet way he would sit in an armchair, reading one of his books, lost in another world. Or maybe it was the way the other guys would come to him for advice, or the way he whistled while he worked on the bikes that came into the shop. I knew he had done bad things. He’d killed people, beaten them. He was suspected of coordinating a robbery that cost a local businessman nearly $1.3 million. But literally nothing I had seen had him looking like the bad guy he had been painted to be.
Mac, on the other hand, was a bigger mystery. I had seen him knock a guy out in one blow for sleeping around on his girl. Which, from the outside, wouldn’t seem to be any of Mac’s business. But he had these rules which made me wonder if he was as big and bad as he seemed. Like, that first morning when he had pinned me to a wall, holding me so hard I had bruised—the tender way he held my wrist afterwards, and the look on his face when he told me he didn’t hurt women. I had watched him run the club his own way when Greyson wasn’t around. He wasn’t an easy person to report to if you were a Saint, but he was always fair. He had their loyalty simply because they knew that, if their backs were against the wall, Mac would be there no matter what. While Greyson ruled with fear, Mac was just… different.
One day, as I was cleaning up dinner, Dalton came up behind me as everyone left. I told myself that, just this once, we could have some fun. A little fun never hurt anyone, right? When he rested his hand on the small of my back, I grabbed a handful of sudsy bubbles before whipping around and dropping them on his blond head. For a second, he looked stunned and ridiculous. I started laughing, and he smiled at me before joining in. Quick as a flash, he grabbed me by the waist and held me firm before scooping a massive pile of bubbles out of the sink and plopping them on my head. He spun me around as Iplayfully fought against his hold.
“What the hell are you two doing?”
Mac came in from the side door and frowned at us like we were naughty children. So, I did the only logical thing I could think of—I jumped out of Dalton’s arms and grabbed the hose attachment on the sink. Mac had about two seconds to comprehend what I was fixing to do. He raised his hands like he could fend off the spray. A pointless maneuver. With a wink, I doused him completely, and he just stood there, dripping wet. His brother and I looked at each other, then back at him—dead silence. Then Dalton started roaring with laughter.
“She got you damn good. About time someone pulled one over you.”
He was still laughing when, in two long strides, Mac was next to me and grabbed the hose.
Dalton’s eyes widened. “Now wait a damn minute…” he said as he backed up, but his brother had already squeezed the nozzle.
This time, I started laughing hysterically at the sight of them. Hair dripping wet, shirts clinging to their bodies in a way any woman would appreciate. It was like an impromptu wet t-shirt contest. Dalton eyed me, and the two brothers shared a look. I realized, too late, that they had silently joined forces and bolted for the nearest door. As I rounded the island, Dalton swooped in and grabbed me again. Much like the night we first met, he lifted me off the ground and carried me back to his brother. Mac stood by the sink, nozzle in hand. Dalton held me tight, and I squealed as Mac absolutely doused me in water. When he finally turned it off, I was wet from head to toe.
When I shivered, it was more from the way Mac looked at me than the temperature. My wet shirt clung to my body like a second skin, highlighting every curve. Dalton held me to his chest, my back pressed against him, and I couldn’t resist leaning into him. I don’t know what had gotten into me. Maybe I was getting a bit too comfortable beingNicky? I was going to settle on blaming the whiskey I’d had with dinner.
But the sheer strength of the man holding me took my breath away; I could feel it in the hard planes of his body. He ran his hands down my sides, following every curve until they landed on my hips and squeezed. I bit my lip and looked back at him over my shoulder, still blaming the whiskey for the fire I could feel in my core.
I knew he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him. I could feel it. When I looked back at his brother, Mac’s eyes had darkened—something I had come to learn meant he was allowing himself to give in, just a bit, to the way he felt for me. He had put the nozzle back in the sink at some point and was leaning against the counter, watching us. It was the whiskey, I told myself, as I rubbed against Dalton, who made a deep, groaning sound in the back of his throat. Mac licked his lips, his eyes never leaving mine as Dalton’s hands gripped my hips in a vise, pulling me as close to him as possible. His head dipped to nip my ear, and I couldn’t hold back my moan.
Just the whiskey…
Suddenly, the door to the motel rooms swung open, and Milo, one of the Saints, came in. I jumped away from Dalton like I had been electrocuted. Whiskey or no whiskey, the spell was broken. Milo looked like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he averted his gaze to look at anything besides the three soaking-wet adults he had just walked in on.
“Hey, boss, I was looking for you, but it’s really not that important now that I think about it.” He finally got up the courage to look up at said boss, and when his eyes met Mac’s, he went deathly pale. Mac was practically staring holes into the poor man’s soul.
“I’m gonna go,.” I said, before bolting out of the door as quickly as my feet could carry me. I was fixing to freeze my ass off on the ride home, but that was hardly the first thing on my list of problems. What the fuck had I been thinking? This wasn’t me. It couldn’t be me.
“Vixen, no. Come on, just wait a minute,” Dalton protested as I headed for my bike, but I didn’t stop.
He followed me into the garage, and I glanced over my shoulder. Milo and Mac had followed as well.Keep going. Stop looking back. As I grabbed my helmet and keys from by the door, I heard Dalton lay into poor Milo.
“You idiot, you sure know how to ruin a good thing, don’t you?”
I spun my tires, gravel flying, as I pulled out of the parking lot.
When I got back into my apartment, I slammed the door behind me and threw myself down on my couch. I screamed into a pillow and cursed my lot in life. I was a cop, a good cop. I was here to do a job. Who’s to say those two would even spare the real me a glance? I was such an idiot. What did I expect—that I could just have a casual fling, leave, and never look back? I wasn’t that kind of girl. What was I going to do? No amount of whiskey could explain away the way I felt tonight. I wanted to talk to someone so badly, bare my soul until it stopped hurting so much. But as I lay there, clinging to a pillow, I felt a tear slide down my cheek, and I realized that it wasn’t my soul that was ripping in two.
It was my heart.
For the next three days, I hid at home—like a coward. I ignored every text and call from Mac and Dalton. I pleaded with Holly and Maria to leave me alone. But, like any good friends, that just wasn’t something they could do. On day four, they showed up at my door around noon with several pints of ice cream, and two bottles of wine. I hadn’t showered, had barely slept, and I vaguely recalled the handful of Cheerios I had snacked on at some point last night.
