BLAMELESS: MC Biker Romance (Black Thorns, #3) (11 page)

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. All these years he’s been thinking I’m dead.”

“Was the only way to get him off your back and pull you outta all the shit you were neck deep in.”

“I know, Ax. Thing is, now I accidentally crossed Torvin, it’s looking like Jase is gonna find out I ain’t buried like he thought. And he ain’t gonna react well.”

“That’s why you been pushing for us to kill Torvin? To stop him talking to Jase?”

“
And
cuz the fucker don’t deserve to live after what he’s done to Sarah.”

“All right. Let me look into his connection to Jase. I’ll come back to you on it.”

“Really? I thought you said—”

“Now you told me the truth, I know
you’re
in danger. And
that’s
a threat to the club.”

He turns to go, but stops before he makes it to the patio doors. “If you really do like this girl, stop listening to the fear and just go with it, yeah? That’s my advice.”

“Ax—”

“No. I mean it, Runner. I had the same kinda thoughts ‘bout Rox when we first hooked up. If I’d let the fear win, I wouldn’t have what I got now. The best fucking wife in the world and a beautiful baby girl. Just think on that, yeah?”

I smile. “Tryin’ to say thanks, brother.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “Well, you’re welcome,” he says with a grin, before walking back into the house.

Shit. I hope to hell that Torvin ain’t already told my psycho brother that I’m still alive.

If he has, Jase won’t leave me alone.

He’ll come for me.

He’ll try to pull me back in.

Back into that life that I’ve fought so many years to stay outta.

Back into the darkness.

And this time, I might not make it out.

Chapter 13

~Sarah~

“Really? Never?” I ask Zeb as I take a look inside the fridge. It isn’t stocked like I’m used to with my fridge at home and the ones at my diner, but there’s enough food in here to make do while we’re at this safe house of Dealer’s.

It’s a little log cabin nestled deep in the woods in the middle of nowhere. It’s so well-hidden by the surrounding forest that a car can’t even make it up here. The dirt roads aren’t wide enough. I had to get on the back of Zeb’s bike and Dealer led the way on his. He took off right after he gave Zeb the keys to the place, along with a burner phone in case he needed to contact him or anyone at the club. I’m also allowed to contact my diner staff on it, to let them know I won’t be in. Black Thorns has even been kind enough to send two of their prospects down there to help my staff out while I’m away. Closing
Sarah’s Place
would really hurt me financially, so I’m very grateful. I’m allowed to check in with my staff once a day.

I smile with amusement as I look over at Zeb. He’s sitting with his feet up on the kitchen table and his hands folded behind his head as he leans back in a chair and waits for me to make him something to eat.

“So, when you’re hungry, what do you do?” I ask.

He’s just told me that he can’t cook to save his life and I’m wondering how that’s possible for a bachelor in his late thirties. I still can’t believe he’s that old, because the way he acts in a lot of situations has him coming off as much younger. The big exception to that was earlier when he found me in my bathroom. He showed his age and maturity then with the way he took care of me and handled the situation so well.

“At the clubhouse we got women who cook for us. The boys’ wives and girlfriends. They bring in food for us to heat up and sometimes cook right there in the kitchen, too. Ones in charge of it are usually Grit’s wife and Mullet’s wife and the prospects’ girls follow their lead. Also, sometimes the club whores will cook something up the morning after. They think it’ll have ‘em graduating from whore status to Old Lady material.”

Wow. That is incredibly sexist. And the whore thing sounds really messed up. “Lovely.”

He chuckles. “Is what it is. Nobody’s forcing ‘em to do nothing. They do it, cuz they want to.”

I roll my eyes. “What about when you’re not at the clubhouse? You were suspended recently, so I assume you were staying somewhere else? Your own place?”

“Yeah, I got my own apartment. Just ordered in.”

I shake my head at his words as I grab some items from the fridge and carry them to the countertops.

“What about Rox? I know she can’t cook.”

“Rox is different. Ain’t an Old Lady like they are. She’s one of the boys. She don’t hang with none of ‘em neither. Even at our club family get togethers, she’s always ‘round us, not the women.”

I turn around and lean against the counter, eyeing him. “So, apart from Rox, you think cooking is purely a woman’s job, yes?”

“Damn straight.”

The little bastard. I crook my finger at him. “Come here, sexist biker.”

He frowns. “
Sexist
? What’s sexist ‘bout what I said? Is the way it is, yeah?”

Wow. “In
your
mind.”

“Way I were raised.”

“That excuse stops being valid for someone of your advanced age, Zeb.”

“Whoa.
Advanced
age?” he questions, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet.

“Compared to me, yes,” I tease.

He starts walking over to me slowly, grinning. “How old are you then?”

“Thirty-two.”

He stops in his tracks. “Fuck, I thought you were younger.”

What the hell does that mean? My eyes narrow at his reaction. “You’re upset that I’m not as young as those girls who were all over you that night at the clubhouse?”

“They were at least eighteen. We check at the door.”

“Ooh…well, as long as they’re legal.”

He holds up his hand. “Didn’t mean nothing bad ‘bout your age. I just ain’t really been with a woman close to my age before, that’s all. Ain’t used to it. But I like it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. For once when I talk ‘bout stuff, I got somebody who’s gonna understand what I’m going on ‘bout, cuz we’re from the same generation and all that. Also, you got any idea how tiring it is tryin’ to keep up with girls twenty years younger than me?”

I laugh at that, as I can only imagine. But I can’t resist the opening he’s just given me and I end up saying, “You didn’t seem to be having any trouble that night.”

“Look, I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

Interesting. I didn’t see that coming. “I thought you weren’t going to apologize for being
you
.” That’s what he’d yelled at me that night.

“Maybe that ain’t me no more,” he says, stopping right in front of me.

“Really?”

“Maybe it ain’t the man I wanna be no more,” he says, eyeing me intensely.

I swallow hard and struggle to utter, “And why is that?”

“Cuz…” he says, reaching out and tracing his fingers over my lips. “
Maybe
there’s something more.”

He leans in to kiss me, but I jerk my head away. “I know what you’re doing,” I tell him, pressing my hand to his chest and easing him back.

Well,
I’m
not really easing him back. He’s all strength and muscle, so my slight touch isn’t enough to make him do anything. No, he’s
stepping
back, allowing me to put some distance between us.

I squeeze out of the tiny space he’s afforded me and turn my back to him as I face the counter and study the ingredients laid out on the counter.

“What you think I’m doing, huh?” he asks.

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Distract you from what?”

I look over my shoulder at him. “From teaching you how to cook something.”

He cocks his head to the side and grins with amusement. “You think you’re gonna have me cooking, darlin’?”

I set about opening the cabinets and pulling out the items we’re going to need. A frying pan, cooking oil, a grater, a small plate, cutting boards and a bowl, along with several utensils.

“Yep.”

He scoffs. “Ain’t happening.”

I turn to him and fold my arms across my chest. “You don’t think you’re up to the task? Is that it?”

“What?”

“Well, is it?”

“No…I mean…that’s not….”

I smile inwardly. I’ve managed to undercut that thick layer of bravado and arrogance of his. “Then stop arguing and come here.”

He walks over to the counter and stands beside me, glancing at everything I’ve laid out, like he’s seeing it all for the first time. “Jesus, you can be real bossy when you wanna be. Didn’t see this coming from you.”

“Looks like you bring it out in me.”

“Yeah? That right?”

I shrug casually. “It seems like it.”

Before he can say another word, I point to the cheese, the little plate and the grater all gathered together beside one another. “Grate the cheese.”

He hesitates for a second before reaching for the block of cheese and bringing it to the grater. I watch him study it, trying to suss it out.

I walk over and snatch it out of his grip. “Like this,” I tell him, placing the grater onto the plate and starting to grate the cheese. I stop after a few seconds and hand it back to him. “Your turn.”

He nods and I watch him mimic my actions.

“Very nice,” I say, grinning.

He eyes me and grunts, “Shut it.”

I laugh and get to my own task. I place the frying pan on the stove, pour the cooking oil on it and switch on the heat.

Then I start cracking the eggs.

As I crack the second one, I notice Zeb watching me while he grates.

He puts down the grater and walks over to me. “I wanna do that.”

I step back. “Be my guest.”

He looks at me like I’m playing a trick on him.

He grabs another egg from the open carton on the countertop. He smashes it against the side of the bowl to break it.

When I say
smashes
, I mean aggressively smashes it. Holy crap. The egg explodes under the force of it, yolk and shell splattering all over the counter, the backsplash
and
over his face.

He curses.

And I burst out laughing.

He turns to me, looking really irritated. Oh my God. His expression is hilarious.

“I guess
you
aren’t used to being the one who gets sprayed in the face with a gooey mess, huh?”

His eyes widen in shock. “Christ, woman. That were real fucking dirty.” He smirks slyly. “Especially for a sweet little thing like you.”

He’s looking at me with those fiery, predatory eyes again, just like he was moments ago when he’d moved in to kiss me. I look away quickly, before it burns right through me. Before the heat of his smoldering gaze spreads to places that it shouldn’t. Places that, once set alight, will make it virtually impossible for me to continue keeping him at a distance.

He already has me so incredibly conflicted as it is.

I’ve already let him do something sexual to me. And it had been amazing. He’s also seen me naked. He’s seen all my scars. So, why am I still so hesitant with him? Logic says I should be more than comfortable with him now that we’ve already crossed those lines.

But I’m not.

Don’t get me wrong. I feel safe with him. I know in my bones that he wouldn’t hurt me.

Physically.

But, emotionally? I’m not so sure.

I nudge him out of the way and fix the mess he’s made of the eggs.

“Sarah?” he says, sounding concerned by my lack of response.

Without looking at him, I point to the ham. “That’s next. Slice it into tiny pieces. We need to sauté it.”

“Sauté?”

I crack a small smile at his cluelessness. It’s cute. “Fry.”

He nods. “Right.”

I watch him reach for the knife block and hesitate on which one to use.

“The largest one. French knife.”

“Jesus, this cooking shit’s complicated.”

He sets about chopping the ham up exactly as I’ve instructed him to. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

“I guess,” he grumbles.

“It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?”

He shrugs noncommittally. “Wouldn’t go that far.”

“Fine. Then it’s not as bad as you thought?”

He winks at me. “Maybe.”

I gather the ham he’s chopped onto another plate and then add it to the frying pan. “I can work with a
maybe
.”

I feel his warm breath on my neck suddenly.

Oh my God. He’s right behind me. I’d been so focused on my task that I hadn’t even noticed him walking up to me.

He presses a soft kiss to the right side of my neck and whispers in my ear, “Like seeing you this way, Sarah.”