Page 35 of Knot My MC
“She’s riding with me,” I say, not sparing Knox and Crow a look for confirmation.
Knowing Knox, he’s half ready to march inside and take out his frustrations on Eduardo’s face. Crow has been avoiding looking at her for a full minute. Chicken shit. I step closer and Kiki stares at me with all the backbone of a pure blooded alpha. There she is.
“Hey, Kiks,” I murmur, bumping her chin with my fist like I used to.
Her nostrils flare and her eyes narrow even further. “Don’t call me that.”
I press my lips together, keeping in the immediateI’ll call you whatever I wantresponse on the tip of my tongue. Kiki’s never liked when someone talks to her like that. I haven’t forgotten. I also haven’t forgotten how soft her lips look. I find myself reaching for her chin. Kiki freezes when my fingers meet her skin. My feet carry me forward of their own accord, and I rub my thumb over her bottom lip, mesmerized by the way it shifts beneath my touch. Knox was the lucky bastard who got to kiss her. I’ve dreamed about what it might be like to press my mouth to hers.
“Are you ready to go home?” My voice is low and gruff, and my scent floods with desire. Her chest expands as she breathes in, those full tits inching toward me. It’s the threat of a junk punch written across her face that keeps me from claiming those pretty lips.
Soon.
I drag my thumb over her lip again, marking her with my scent before stepping back.
The distance helps her regain some of that ferocity, and she huffs. “Your club isn’t my home.”
“Neither is Wrecker,” Knox cuts in. “Not anymore.”
You’d miss it if you weren’t paying as close attention as I am, but a tremor of sorrow races through her. The steel and iron Kiren forced into her at a young age chases away any trace of vulnerability in a matter of a second.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” she says, dropping her hands to her hips and pinning us with a look we’re all too familiar with. The one that says we’re in for a shit storm, and one we’ll all brave no matter how treacherous the waters might get. “I’m not your little sex toy. You may have bought me, but those knots will be cut off faster than they can finish forming. You feel me?”
Yeah. Kiki hasn’t changed. She’s better at hiding the rough edges than she used to be, but I know better than to underestimate her. Kiki’s liable to slice my dick clean off if I’m not careful. I hate what she’s saying, but I’ll never force her to be with me.
We all hope she’ll come around, and then come for us, because if there’s one thing we’ve waited for all these years, it’s to watch the omega we fell in love with at eighteen fall apart while riding our cocks.
My dick presses against my jeans, begging for relief. I’ll deny myself relief until Kiki gives me permission.
CHAPTERTWELVE
KIKI
There’s not an adequate word to describe the emotions that swell inside of me as I watch the guys climb on their bikes. Jag holds out a helmet with a black visor. The sun is mostly set by now but I always loved the extra protection even at night; I’m not a fan of wind in my face or bugs getting in my eyes. He twists the helmet to the side as I stare at it, revealing a sticker of an angel with devil horns, one I put there long ago, jumps out at me and my chest tightens. They kept my helmet.
I shouldn’t read into it, right? Why would they get rid of a perfectly good helmet?
It’s either stand here, or woman up and take the damn thing. I snatch it from Jag’s hand and pull it on while the three of them watch me. They’re acting like I’m something new and intriguing, and I don’t like it. I don’t want to intrigue them. I want to make them hurt the way I did when I realized our friendship didn’t mean shit and they abandoned me.
I want them to feel the bone deep ache of losing what they thought they cared for most.
Until they hurt like that, I won’t be happy.
“Your anger still makes me want hot chocolate,” Crow murmurs.
“It smells like a cozy winter day.”
I remember the pure look of delight on his face when he first scented my irritation the night we almost got caught breaking into the mall. Ignoring him, I nestle myself behind Jag and rest my palms on my thighs, refusing to hold on to him. I hardly notice pain from the wounds, I’m too busy focusing on keeping my cool.
Jag looks at where I’ve placed my hands, but doesn’t say a word. I’ve been on a motorcycle since I was a toddler. I can handle a ride through the city without pressing against him. At least, that’s what I tell myself as they start their Harleys and pull out of the parking lot. Jag shifts gears, going faster. He shifts again and takes a turn so fast my hands automatically clasp around his stomach. His scent is like diving into a lake on a hot summer’s day, shocking, but refreshing at the same time.
Earthy.
Comforting. I want to rub my entire body against him and soak up his scent, making it my own.
The guys keep up as Jag goes faster and faster. Fast enough that I can excuse the way I let my body soften against his. Fast enough I can pretend like the speed is the reason for my heavy breathing and flushed neck. Fast enough that for a moment, I let myself wonder if we can go back in time, sending us all to the moments before they betrayed me. Back to when all I wanted was a second like this with any of them. Back when my heart was whole and hopeful.
Those are the delusional thoughts of an MC groupie. I know my heart still holds some love for my old friends, but my mind is stronger than that weak organ racing inside my chest as Jag takes a turn that has my life flashing before my eyes.
