These bikers were cocky with a capital C, and they sure as heck weren’t backward in coming forward. And though I pretended to be clueless, Manic and I had most definitely been dancing around each other for months. Okay, I’d done the dancing—dancing away—and Manic had followed like a hungry wolf stalking his prey. And there was no sign of him giving up.
But despite my nightly fantasies of finally getting caught by the guy, I’d resisted. Mainly because he scared the ever-living hell out of me. Alarm bells went off when he was around, not because I thought he’d hurt me or anything, but because I wanted him. I wanted him so bad I ached. And if I had him, I’d keep on wanting him, I knew that without doubt.
“Love to watch, but you know what would make it even better?” His gaze had not faltered; those eyes were on me, and they wereintense.
Manic called me wild, and maybe it was kind of true, at least on the surface. I liked to dance, and I could be loud and talkative. To anyone looking, I appeared confident, in control. It was easier to be that girl. I’d learned quickly that people didn’t generally expect more from loud, confident girls. Most didn’t bother to look deeper. And I was self-aware enough to know I used it to protect myself, to keep people at a distance.
Not that I was in any danger from Manic in that regard. He wasn’t looking for serious or deep. He didn’t do exclusive. I’d seen the way the women that hung around the club followed him like lost sheep, and if he was in the mood, which seemed to be a lot, he’d pluck one of the flock and take them to his wolf’s den to devour.
That was MC life, though. I sure as hell was not one to judge. I enjoyed their parties, but sharing wasn’t my thing. I didn’t do casual. I also didn’t do love or relationships.
So much so that I hadn’t had sex in five years. After my high school boyfriend took my virginity, there’d been a few others, but nothing serious. Then I’d avoided sex altogether. It was easier that way.
Which meant I should be walking away from him right about now, like I usually did, but my feet weren’t moving. Tonight, the pain in my heart was more than I could contain. My aunt Macy had only been gone two weeks, and the sadness was still as raw as the day I held her hand and she’d slowly slipped away from me.
I’d started having panic attacks again, something that I’d been managing well on my own since I moved to Rocktown a few years ago. I didn’t know what to do about it, and I’d been running from it, the pain, afraid to stop, to slow down, scared what would happen if I did.
I slammed the brakes on those thoughts. Hard.
“What would make it better?” I asked, the words just kind of slipping out instead of ignoring what he’d said and bidding him good night. God, my voice was so husky, I didn’t even sound like me.
Manic obviously heard this as well, and being the man he was, he took full advantage.
He pushed away from the wall and stood in front of me, blocking my view of the rest of the room. All I could see was him. His handsome face and gorgeous brown eyes holding me captive. One of his hands lifted to the wall beside my head, the other holding his beer in a casual grip, but there was nothing casual about him. He’d seen the opening I’d given him in a moment of weakness, and being the wolf he was, he’d pounced.
Move. Walk away.
This was crazy. “I should…” I tried to step away.
“Don’t,” he bit out. “Don’t you fucking move, Addison.”
I froze at the demand, the order, the look in his eyes. A shiver raced down my spine, and I stayed right where I was because, obviously, I’d lost my damn mind. Or maybe I knew Manic was the only person who could give me the escape I was desperate for.
Temporary insanity, maybe? I mean, I’d literally just mentally recited all the reasons I couldn’t do this with him. But dammit, I wanted him, just once. Levi “Manic” Smith was the kind of guy you needed to experience once in your life. That, I was absolutely sure of. And tonight, I couldn’t bring myself to dance away. I didn’t want to pretend I didn’t want him when I did so freaking badly.
Life was short. I’d learned that lesson repeatedly.
One moment you were here, the next you were taken in a horrific house fire and the people left behind were rocked to their foundations, or you fell sick and died a slow, painful death.
When I lost Macy, I realized I’d been walking around in a cloud of grief for so damn long, feeling out of control, scared, alone. Today was the anniversary of the worst day of my life. A house fire that not only took my parents but my two younger brothers from me as well. I’d been only twelve years old, and even with Macy to take me in, I’d felt so incredibly alone.
I remember sitting on the porch with Macy, after I’d moved in with her, and she’d said, “Grab hold of the things that make you feel good, the things that bring you joy. Regrets are the biggest tragedy a person can have in life, Addie.”
And I’d most definitely regret not spending the night with Manic. I knew that much.
But I was kind of spiraling, my mind all over the place, and I didn’t have the words. I didn’t know how to ask for what I needed, not from Manic, not without making myself feel way too vulnerable, so I stared up at him and silently begged him to just know, to know what I needed.
His gaze dipped to my mouth, then lifted, and when I still didn’t walk away from him, that hot stare darkened, and his nostrils flared. “Your place or mine, cupcake?”
I liked that about Manic, he didn’t play games. “Yours.”
He shoved his beer at one of his club brothers, took my hand, and led me from the room. He carried on out to his bike, threw a leg over the seat, started it, then held out his hand, asking without words if this was what I really wanted.
I refused to overthink it, took his hand, and climbed on behind him, my skirt hitching high enough to flash my undies if I didn’t have my legs around Manic’s hips. I wrapped my arms around his waist and, resting my cheek against the cool leather of his jacket, hung on as he walked the bike back.
Then he roared out onto the street, and there was no holding in my laughter. Yes, I needed this. An escape. To be the wild girl Manic saw me as—to let him take away the pain for a little while.
He lived in the apartment above Rocktown Ink when he was in town. He’d been spending his time between Rocktown and Black Stone lately, working in both tattoo shops, and my nerves increased when we finally arrived and he led me inside.