He had known he wanted her for himself. He just hadn’t known it would be this—the feeling of wanting her for so many reasons. Knowing that his past didn’t matter and that she was still there. Zyah was more than worth fighting for. More than worth putting himself on the line for. Anat Gamal was a very wise woman, and he vowed he was going to listen to her, no matter what.
Once he accepted the way Zyah made him feel, she became part of the experience of the night. Of being on his motorcycle. Of the ocean rising up toward the bluffs and stars overhead. It was clear and cold, the way it often could be on the coast. The wind was biting and capricious, whipping through the leaves of the trees and the long grasses, turning them a strange silvery color as they rushed past, just adding more magic to the jeweled blue of the sea.
Player didn’t want the ride to end. There wasn’t much distance between Sea Haven and the farm where Czar resided with his wife, Blythe, and their children. The farm was enormous, and Czar co-owned it with five other families. Each family had five acres to themselves, and the rest was planted with crops or groves of trees or rows of greenhouses. Two other members of Torpedo Ink owned the farm along with Czar, Blythe and the others.
He hesitated before he made the turn to the road leading to the farm. He really wanted to spend more time on the bike alone with Zyah, just having that experience, savoring it. He hadn’t had too many great happenings in his life, and he wanted this one to last, but it was extremely late and it wasn’t fair to Czar and Blythe to have to wait up long hours because he wanted to run the highway with his woman. Mostly, he was reluctant to betray Zyah to Czar. He was going to have to do that in order to protect the other members of his club, and he would have to make her fully understand the stakes before they went in.
The double gates loomed up in front of them. They were closed but not locked. Czar had made certain of that. He could control them electronically from his home, and when Player had texted him that he was coming with Zyah and it was important, Czar hadn’t hesitated to tell him he’d be waiting up with his wife. He hadn’t asked questions, he just said he’d be waiting. That was Czar. Always available to them. Always a constant.
The gates were a work of art. Lissa Prakenskii’s work. She had gained fame as a glassblower, her chandeliers in demand throughout the United States and abroad, but she also did metalwork. Anything to do with fire and art. She was married to Casimir, one of the Torpedo Ink brothers. He was an actual blood brother to Czar, but not one of the original eighteen members. Player supposed he was going to have to get used to thinking in terms of nineteen, to include Destroyer. Destroyer had survived their school as well.
Player slowed the Harley and then brought it to a halt, indicating for Zyah to climb off. “We’ve got to talk.” Another conversation he didn’t want to have with her. One he didn’t want to have with Czar, but there was no question. He had no choice. It was imperative that Zyah understand what could happen when he exposed his secret.
Zyah put her hand on his shoulder and slid off the bike, her movements graceful. Flowing. Just like always. She wasn’t in the least affected by the experience of being on the back of the machine, and for a moment jealousy welled up. He’d wanted to be the first man to give her the experience of riding with the wind.
He studied her face as she turned back to him, watching him come to her right there at the ornate gate. Her hand gripped the beautifully twisted metal, and he realized she wasn’t nearly as unaffected as she wanted to appear. Her fingers trembled just a little. He walked right up to her and removed her helmet, needing to see her expression clearly.
“What is it, Player?”
Did her voice tremble as well? Zyah didn’t show weakness, but she was aware if they took this step, if they talked to Czar, there was no going back. She had seen too many things in his head to pretend.
He took a deep breath and then framed her face with his hands. That beautiful face. Those dark eyes. “I know you’ve seen inside my head. You know what kind of man I am. Look beyond the fucked-up one. See what kind of traits I have, Zyah. It’s important you know.”
Her long lashes fluttered. He let go of her reluctantly. She had to work it out on her own. There was too much between them, and she had to decide—now, before they went through those gates—if she could fully trust him. She didn’t have to believe in him as her man. He’d rejected her so often over the last five weeks—he knew he might have a long road ahead of him to get her to look at him as anything but the man who had tossed her aside—but she had to know he would stand for her if he gave her his word.