Page 11 of Razor's Property

“You cheated, Sean. That’s the part I’m never going to understand.” That’s the part that still pains me.

“I was drunk, Kens, which before you say it, I know damn well isn’t an excuse. But my head was in a bad place. You and me had been fighting about the club, and I wasn’t thinking straight. When the girls moved in, I didn’t take the bait. I didn’t want to. But then the guys started ragging on me about it, teasing me about being a scared kid, and I felt the pressure. Like I had to prove that I was a man. Like I needed to prove I was as tough asthem. It was a fucking cluster of bad fucking decisions. And if I could go back, I never would have made a single one of them.”

That’s exactly why I hated the club. They were a bad influence. But even still, he had a choice. No one forced his hand at anything. He chose to do it. In that moment, and the one that followed, he chose the club. He could’ve held his ground and chosen me, but he chose those men. He wanted the acceptance of them more than he wanted my love.

“You’re right. It was a cluster of bad decisions. And now we all have to live with them.” I live with the pain of those decisions every single day.

“I’m trying to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m telling you I wish I hadn’t fucked things up between us.”

I know he is. I can see it in his eyes. I know that he means every word. But I’m trying to say I don’t want his apology. I don’t want to forgive him, because then… then I won’t be able to hate him. And the hate is what gets me through. The hate is what keeps me breathing.

“I appreciate you saying it, Sean. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive you. Someone could’ve held a gun to my head, and I would have begged them to shoot me before I betrayed you. You had my love and my loyalty, and I always thought I had yours. But that night, you proved I didn’t. Some guys who you’d known for a couple of months started teasing you, and you chose to do the unimaginable. You needed their acceptance more than you needed me. That’s what truly hurts.” Fucking girls he couldn’t care less about is painful, but not as painful as knowing the guys’ opinion mattered more than mine. “And you may be sorry for what happened with those girls, but what you should really be sorry about is joining the MC. They turned you into a bad man.”

“I’m the one who made the stupid decision and I’m owning that shit. I’m not going to apologize for joining the club. Thosemen are my family. They didn’t turn me bad. They gave me confidence and strength and have made me better in every way.”

It’s like a slap across the face. A hefty hit, flat-palmed and excruciating. I thought I was his family. Me and his grandparents. We were the ones who had been there for him. We were the ones who had stood by him and did everything we could to bring him back to life, to care for him. To give him strength. But apparently, none of it mattered. Crime and secrets are what sealed his bloodline. Evil men in black leather are the ones who made him better. Not me.

“Then you should take me home and get back to your family.”

“Like I said…” His voice is tight again. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

I turn to stalk out the door, but he snakes his arm out, hooking me around the waist, keeping me locked in place. His hard frame is too strong to fight against. And the hard length between his legs is making it a struggle to form words.

“Take a seat, Kensy.”

I don’t want to sit. I want to leave. I want to get as far away from him as I possibly can. But as I look toward the door, I know it’s a hopeless endeavor. Without any shoes, I’m not going to be able to run. I won’t be able to get away. There’s only one option: wait until he’s distracted then I can steal his phone and call Kat. Yet… His phone is tucked inside his pants pocket, making that a challenge.

7

Razor

“You want to watch a movie?”

Nothing. She doesn’t even look up from the book she’s thumbing through—one of Grams’ old photo albums. Ornery girl has been giving me the silent treatment all day and it’s starting to piss me the fuck off. I was trying to make amends, trying to apologize for what I did, but she acted like she had no use for it. And now, she hates me even more. She won’t even look at me. Though, she did have her fill earlier.

Whether she’ll admit it or not, she’s still attracted to me. Her little nipples poked right out of her shirt when I caught her staring between my legs this morning, and she had that look in her eyes. The one I remember all too well. It was always easy to read when she was in need of me. Her eyes glossed over with a heaviness and her cheeks turned pink. They still turn pink everytime I move in close. Though, anger could also be raising the blood to those cheeks.

I shut the TV off, my blood pressure off the charts. I haven’t had sex in over two years, and with her in my space, the need is almost unbearable. God, she was always so sweet and eager. As soon as we started fucking, it was all we did. She wanted my dick around the clock. I’d even wake up with her little pussy attached, taking what she needed. It was always so fucking good with her. Never felt that way with anyone else. All the other girls, all the sweetbutts, it was fun, but never electric.

“Dance for me.” My sanity snaps. My demand coming out harsh and tight. My patience is balancing on a tight rope that’s fraying every time I take a breath and smell her sweet essence. The scent that is distinctly Kensington. I need her fucking attention. I need to hear her sweet voice and have her eyes on me.

Her head snaps up, and it looks like she wants to strangle me. It’s not the reaction I want, but it’s something. At this point, I’ll take anything.

“And you better make it worth my money,” I add, watching as her anger burns hotter. This isn’t about the money, but if money is her driving motivation, I’ll use it. What she doesn’t know is that I already wired the bank the balance on her mortgage and started looking into what else she’s got in the way of debt so I can take care of that too. I don’t plan on informing her of the fact ‘cause she’s liable to chop my balls off. Plus, it’s the only leverage I have to keep her here. Her thinking she needs to dance for the cash is the only card I can play right now.

“How about I choose a song?” I ignore the fire she’s throwing in my direction and pick up my phone, scrolling through my playlist. I know exactly which song I want. The one we danced to at our senior prom. The one she told me she wanted for our “first dance” as husband and wife. I’m hoping it will remind herof how things used to be between us. Back when we were madly in love. Back before I fucked things up.

I know it takes more than words to earn her forgiveness, but with the hatred she still harbors towards the club, towards my brothers, I don’t know how to break past her wall. All I want is for her to see that they’re good men. That I’m still a good man. I’m still the guy she fell in love with. Maybe I’m a little tougher and a hell of a lot stronger, but I don’t operate on evil. And neither do my brothers.

As soon as the song starts to play through my speakers, her shoulders tense. She’s practically gritting her teeth. Hating me even more. I should probably change it, but I don’t. I want her to remember. I want her to remember who I was to her, who we were together. Back before I fucked things up. I want her to feel me in the beat of the drums as she sways her hips. I want the memories to pulse through her body as she moves. I need the depth of my love to flow through her, to get her to see me again.

“You’re on the clock,” I grit as my desperation wanes.

“Fine.” She abruptly stands. “You want me to dance, I’ll dance.”

She steps in front of the fireplace and stares into the flames as the song continues to play. Seconds ticking by but she doesn’t move. It’s like she’s lost in thought. I search for words, but I’ve never been good at this shit. And this morning didn’t work in my favor. Telling her how much I regret my actions did nothing. So, I’m not sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say. I’m at a total loss.

The song plays and my tongue remains tied. When the last note hits, she reaches up to grip the mantle, her hips beginning to sway as the next song starts to beat through the speakers. I don’t think she was lost in the past, I think she didn’t like my song choice. The frustration and doubt seep in but are quicklydrowned out by the sexy swivel of her hips. The glide of her curves as the music moves through her.

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