Page 8 of Paladin's Hell

Chapter 3

Moira

Of course Hellfire’s going to stay at the club tonight. Oh, if I’m honest, I wouldn’t want him riding in this weather. Already the rain has turned to sleet, and I expect there will be a covering of snow by late evening. The probable condition of the roads is a perfectly rational explanation, and one I would readily accept were it not that it seems he’s staying overnight at the club more and more lately, hardly ever coming home. Or is that just my imagination?

I close the window, the sensation that I was going to explode from overheating having dissipated for now. God, how I hate the changes happening to my body. No wonder Hell doesn’t want to sleep with me, most nights I wake up dripping with sweat and throwing off all the bedcovers. He’ll be in luxury lying by himself in the king-size bed in his room in the compound, no one tossing and turning beside him.

Or will he be alone?

I’m not blind. I know the breasts he used to admire are sagging, my tummy’s no longer flat, and my waist has started disappearing. It’s no wonder he’s not approached me for sex in ages. I couldn’t match up to the sweet butts and hangarounds that throw themselves at my man, all wanting to be the one to bed the president.

It’s unfair. The years haven’t changed him at all. He might have gone grey, but his figure’s the same as it always was, his muscles still firm, his stomach like a washboard. It looks like I’ve let myself go, but I haven’t. It’s just these useless female hormones causing changes I didn’t sign up for.

I’m scared I’m going to lose my man. And that there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I go to the bathroom, take out the hair dye I bought earlier, and start to apply it on the roots. Why does grey on a man make them look distinguished, while on a woman it shows their age? Life’s so unfair. I check the instructions as it’s a new brand, and see I’ve got to wait half an hour.

When was the last time he took me on the back of his bike?Christ, I can’t remember.Will he leave me?

Why the hell did I let myself think that? I’ve been with him for thirty-six years, I’d had his children. Now they’ve grown and left home, is my job done? Have I out served my purpose?

For Christ’s sake, Moira. Stop over-thinking things.Tonight may be the first time I’ve allowed such thoughts to surface, but they’ve been bubbling around for a while.

Nowadays I don’t put in many appearances at the clubhouse where once I used to be a fixture. Hell no longer has an old lady he’d like to show off. He’d much rather be seen with one of the attractive hangarounds on his arm, proof of his virility. Well, it seems he can no longer get it up for me. It’s been so long, I barely remember what his cock feels like.

In an action more violent than it needs to be, I grab a magazine, and go sit on the couch, checking the time. Fifteen more minutes. I turn the pages. Christ. Story after story of cheating men. Seems it’s not just me that’s in this situation. Ah, here’s an article about how to keep your man interested. I give up reading halfway. How can you be sexy and alluring in a body that’s determined to be the opposite? It’s okay to suggest sexy underwear, but when the clothes come off, it’s to reveal stretch marks and sagging skin.

If there was a way to turn back the clock, I’d do it.

I shower, wash the dye out, then dry my hair, not bothering to style it. I pull on my comfy pyjamas and settle in front of the TV. Flicking through the channels, there’s nothing that catches my attention. Maybe I’ll read. Having left my reading glasses in the bathroom when I’d checked instructions about washing out the dye, I get up to go and retrieve them. Reaching the bathroom, I do a quick pee, then return to the sofa, only then realising that I’d forgotten what I’d gone to fetch.

Rolling my eyes, I suspect if I go to fetch my glasses again, I’ll probably only return with something different. I put away my book, and rest my head back on the chair.

What was it Hell had been talking about earlier?Oh, yeah. That poor kid from Tucson. If she ends up coming here, I’ll do everything I can to help her. I know only too well what it’s like to be forced to do something against your will. I, too, had my virginity stolen. Her situation brings it all back. I let my mind drift, dredging up memories.

“Look!”

“What?”

“Oh, my. He’s a real hunk.”

“Who you looking at? Oh.” My eyes alight on a man who’s just come out of a club and is getting on his bike. Wow. If I was going to give him a score he’d easily be a ten, if not an eleven or twelve. He’s got darkish, curly, thick hair that reaches his shoulders, he’s moving so smoothly he seems to glide, strong, long steps. He’s tall, slim but muscular.

“He’s one of those bikers. From that new gang. The one everyone’s talking about,” Jeannie hisses. “Let’s go and say hi.”

“Let’s not,” I toss back. But it’s like Jeannie’s on a mission. To my horror, the biker’s looking straight at us. He’s lighting a cigarette and seems to be waiting.

“Ladies,” he calls out, as we approach. Nerves make me giggle. Up close I can see he might be young, but he’s all man. He’s got a swagger and confidence about him. I slip myself behind Jeannie and let her do the talking. Jeannie’s asking about parties at their clubhouse, it sounds terrifying to me. She can go if she wants. Just leave me out of it. Hey. What’s she doing?

As the biker pulls away, I tug the arm of the person I thought was my friend in horror. “You gave him my number?”

Unrepentant she replies, “I gave him both of ours. That way one of us might be home when he calls.”

“He won’t call,” I tell her optimistically. “And if he does, you’re going to any party they hold alone.” I’ve been her wingman before, but not at a gathering of leather-clad bikers…

Jeannie. As I emerge from my memory, I realise it’s been a while since I’ve spoken to her. I ought to make more of an effort to stay in touch, though, to be honest, she still spends most of her time at the clubhouse, while I hide away at home. Yes, hide. Not wanting to be confronted with the temptation placed in front of my man there. Not wanting to face it head-on. Though lately, secreting myself away, pretending nothing’s changed, isn’t working as well as it used to.

Though years have passed since we first met the handsome biker on his bike, I still put some of the blame on Jeannie. If she hadn’t given my number away, my life would have been very different, and things wouldn’t have happened the way that they did. Of course, it’s impossible to imagine how it would have turned out instead. But she had.

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