Page 27 of Blade

Not wanting to cause another argument between us, I sigh, “I have coursework and finals. If I don’t pass these finals, I will have to re-do the semester, and I won’t have that because, between this class and work, I’m running out of steam.” I look at the time, “I was about to walk to the library to find a few books before they close.”

He doesn’t say anything momentarily, his eyes looking over my features as if assessing me, and I furrow my brows in confusion.

“You’re acting weird, Taylor,” I say and walk past him into my small living area, and I can’t help the small smile that appears on my face as I take in the space I created.

The dark gray wall behind the light gray couch, a glass coffee table, and a small TV in the corner are all mine.

“So you taking a week off isn’t because of your new boyfriend then?” Axe asks suddenly, and I turn his way, my brows furrowed in confusion.

I have a boyfriend?

“What new boyfriend?” I ask.

He scoffs, “Oh, so you’re denying it? My own sister is lying to my face again.”

I glare at him, not liking his insinuation. He accused me, along with everyone else, years ago, of being a liar, and seven years later, I’m still being abused, and he still thinks I was lying, they all do.

“I’m not lying, Taylor. I don’t have a boyfriend, but do you know what? Even if I did, it would have nothing to do with you or your club. I’m a grown as woman!” I snap, and he shakes his head, repeatedly running a hand through his hair with frustration.

“So, you and Blade, the president of the Dark Angels MC? What is he to you then?” he demands to know, and I snort.

Of course, he found out, meaning everyone else has.

All it takes is for one of their hang-arounds to see me in the Dark Angels’ territory or driving onto their club property to open their mouths to my brother, hoping to get a prospect cut.

Dickheads.

I hope Brock is stewing with this. I hope he pictures Blade thrusting in me over and over, washing away his filth.

“Do you really want me to spell it out to you, Taylor?” I ask, giving him a chance to use his head. As the years have proven, my brother isn’t very smart.

“Yeah, I think you should because it’s very odd that the club that was suddenly starting a war stops, and my sister is seen around with their president!” he snaps, and I raise a brow and ask, “And how have I been seen with their president?”

I don’t really care that he knows. I’m more intrigued by how he knows more than anything or if he’s just combining two things.

“You were seen exiting his garage, Luna, while your car was parked outside more than once!” he growls, and I roll my eyes.

“So you just assumed that I’m sleeping with him?” I ask innocently, messing with him. His face pales a little, and I grin and admit, “Because you were right,” and his eyes darken in anger, and I sigh, “It’s just sex, Taylor. You know the thing you men do with the clubwhores to scratch that itch.”

“He’s an enemy, Luna!” he shouts.

I raise a brow at his tone and confirm, “Didn’t you just say that they’ve stopped trying to start a war?”

He glares at me and snaps, “It isn’t the point! He’s using you to get to the club!”

I chuckle, only making his face redder until I say, “He doesn’t even know you are my brother. He believes I’m just a waitress at the diner.”

His mouth parts in shock, and I shrug and state, “He has never mentioned the club or you and doesn’t even bring up his club. There is literally no talking between us. It is just sex on his workbench a few times a week, and it’s only for this month,” or that is what we agreed yesterday in his garage, the only place we’ve had sex.

For the past two weeks, I have gone to him as we planned after our first time, which was weird, really. It was like discussing a transaction, but anyway, he’s had me up on his work bench everytime and not once has he seen me naked so it’s a win for me. I get orgasms, something I’ve never had before and he doesn’t see the scars marring my body while he screws me out of his system and I must admit, I never thought sex could be like that.

I don’t feel dirty or like I’m filth. I don’t want to wash him off and scrub my body afterward. His body helps me forget everything,hehelps me forget everything, and each time I get home after our activities, I always burst into tears, but not with regret, more with gratitude because I feel good. Each time I come home, my emotions get too much to handle, so I just cry.

“Sex for this month, that is it?” he confirms, and I raise a brow because it isn’t really any of his business, and this is just purely weird speaking about this with him. He puts his hands up and admits, “I’m just looking out for you, that’s all.”

I swallow my scoff. Seven years and not once has he looked out for me. He’s kept that monster by his side even after I told him what he did to me, not believing me, and my only saving grace lately is that I’ve managed to dodge Brock at all costs.

I’m not the last to leave at the diner, and here, I’ve started parking in the underground parking lot, which he can’t get into. It costs me more a month, but the expense is worth it right now, and every time I’ve gone out for a jog, I’ve made sure it’s at the times I know he’s at the club because he’s not one to change his routine.

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