Page 14 of Scarred Sacrifice
MORRIGAN
I walkinto the main bar area of the sanctuary and see Isabella sitting in the corner talking to Bernie. I don’t bother going over. Instead, I walk over to grab my helmet. “Do you need any assistance tonight?” a deep voice asks softly from behind me.
I turn around and see Nathaniel standing there, his gaze sweeping over my body. I’m dressed head to toe in leather, wearing my skintight black leather pants with my black cropped leather biker jacket. My outfit hugs every curve.
“Lap dogs don’t assist,” I counter.
His jaw tenses. “I’m more than that,” he grits out.
“We’ve had this discussion. If it’s more you want, then you’re looking in the wrong direction,” I remind him.
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help out with stuff around here,” he states.
I fold my arms across my chest. “If we require more help, we will ask for it, but I don’t know if you have noticed that we aren’t really big on men meddling in our stuff,” I point out.
He sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Fuck. You know, not every guy is out to fucking control you or take over your precious club and life.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I suggest you pack up your shit and leave,” I seethe.
He smirks. “There you go, pushing me away.” He leans in, his breath dancing across my lips as his eyes flicker back and forth between my eyes and mouth. “You don’t want anything serious; you just want to fuck, then that’s fine by me. Just because I want to help doesn’t mean I want more from you. It means I want to help more fucking people,” he breathes.
Alarm bells ring in my head, warning me it’s more for him, that this could get very messy, but having him this close, riling me up and getting under my skin is messing with any rational thought I may have been having. I grab his shirt and yank him towards me, crashing our mouths together. He lets out a groan as I slide my tongue against his. He presses his body against mine until he has me pinned against a wall as he deepens the kiss, his tongue duelling with mine.
“Ah-hem!” Eden fake coughs, breaking the kiss. Our mouths break apart, both of us breathing heavily with a smile playing upon his lips.
My senses quickly return, and my mental iron shutters that I work so hard at keeping in place slam back down. His hand cups my jaw affectionately. I take hold of his wrist firmly in mine and pull it away, looking at him dead in the eye.
“We fuck and nothing more. Keep emotions out of it,” I state as much to myself as to him. His jaw tightens, but he gives me a brief nod in acceptance. I step aside and walk around him to Eden and Betsy, who are both wearing similar outfits to me. I grin. “Ready to ride?”
“Clearly you were close to riding something else,” Eden quips.
I snort as I grab my helmet off the side and walk towards the door. “Maybe later.” I shrug.
“Let’s just go and get this over with,” Betsy whines, swinging her backpack onto her back, which is full of night vision cameras and lord knows what other gadgets she’s packed.
We all mount our bikes, and I pause long enough to place my helmet on. “You know, maybe you should give Nathaniel a chance?” I hear Eden say through the speaker on my helmet.
I give her a look through my visor. “Can we drop it, please?” I reply.
“I agree with Morrigan. Let’s drop it,” Betsy interjects.
When we first got the three-way speakers and mics in our helmets, we were excited that we could talk to each other, and now… Well, now we seem to tell each other to shut up the majority of the time.
“Let’s just ride and get this shit over with,” I sigh.
“Roger that, over and out,” Eden mocks.
We ride for forty minutes until we are close to the docks, and as we pull in behind a large shipping container, we kill our engines and lights and remove our helmets. “How long do we have?” I ask.
“Fifteen minutes.”
I frown. “He’s leaving it late to load the ship if it’s due to depart in fifteen minutes.”
“That’s how he sneaks his shipments in. All the staff are paid off, and all crates that are registered are already on the ship. For any last-minute packages,” she says, doing quotation marks with her fingers as she says ‘packages’. “Leaves no paper trail,” Betsy explains.
“Okay, let’s move,” I state. They both nod, and we jog in between all the containers to get closer to the ship that Henry Sparks is supposed to be arriving at. Once we’re close enough, we crouch down behind some wooden crates. Betsy places her bag on the ground and begins to pull out the technical shit. “What the hell is all that?” I ask.
“Three sets of night vision goggles, a special night vision camera, because I figured if we see something really incriminating, I can get a clear shot, and we can send it off to the press. They would eat this shit up,” she says excitedly. I can’t help but smile along with her. Her joy is infectious. “And this little mini satellite thing is so we can hear what is being said,” she says, her grin deepening.
