She looked down at her hands. They were shaking so much she couldn’t control them. “I thought I could do this with you, but she was here tonight.” She whispered it.
Savage frowned. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“The woman. She was here. And she isn’t the only one.” There was pain in her voice. Anguish, even.
He swore under his breath, his gut tightening. He knew exactly who she meant now. Sometimes the women he used fixated on him. It made no sense. He didn’t remember them. He didn’t know their names. He used them and walked away. The particular woman she was referring to had been in a kink club in San Francisco. He’d used her there a few months earlier.
He’d been in rough shape, needing a woman, and no one appealed to him, but then, they never did. It was far worse knowing he wanted only Seychelle now and realizing he couldn’t have her. He’d found an older woman who liked pain and taken her to one of the private rooms. A couple of other women had tried to talk to him, telling him they remembered him from before, but he ignored them. He left after being with the older woman and came back to the clubhouse in Caspar.
Savage hadn’t gone to see Seychelle because he was still edgy, his demons riding him hard. That’s when the woman had walked into the clubhouse and all but begged him to show her his whip skills. He’d been a fool to oblige. He knew better, but all that mattered to him was finding his way to Seychelle. And then Seychelle had called him saying she was in trouble, and he’d run to her. It had been the worst mistake of his life as far as he was concerned. He’d lost Seychelle.
“Babe, we’re past that. We have to be. We’ll go home and talk it out. You knew what you were doing when you came here.” He didn’t want that woman to be any part of them ever again. Seychelle knew about her. She’d come anyway. That had to mean she was over it, right?
He’d warned her. She knew exactly what she was doing when she came to the bar, and she’d come there for him. Choosing him. She was scared, and that was acceptable—even expected. She’d probably forgotten what a bastard he was. But he wasn’t letting her out of the deal.
* * *
Seychelle shook her head as she stared at him. She was in such trouble when it came to Savage. She could barely resist him, and when it came to those dark places inside of him swirling with violence and rage, she thought she had a chance of handling that if he gave her time and explanations.
She had tried to hold out, and she had for weeks, but then she was so miserable that she couldn’t breathe. She found herself waiting for the sound of his motorcycle. For the roses. For the breath she perceived they shared with the wall between them. She lived for those nights he came. She could barely stand getting out of her bed during the day when he wasn’t there, afraid he might not come back that evening. It was a miserable way to live. The longer she was without him, the more the hurt and fear keeping her away had faded.
Seychelle worried about Savage until she was so desperate to see him, she knew she would have to go to the bar even if that meant swallowing her pride. Even if that meant being so terrified of what she was doing she couldn’t comprehend the price she would pay. She had no idea why their connection had grown so strong, but it had, and she had no way to sever it. She had to find a way to get out from under him.
Her head hurt, and so did her heart. She felt battered. He had just dismissed her pain and fears over the women as if they were nothing. To him, they weren’t important. To her, that issue was everything. There was no way for her to get past it if he refused to even acknowledge she had a right to feel the way she did. She rocked herself back and forth, making herself small, trying to think of what to do, but her headache was very painful, making it difficult.
The band members came in just as Savage straightened. “I’m getting her something cold to drink. Don’t discuss her joining yet. No commitments. I’ll be back.”
Maestro sighed as he watched Savage walk away. “Seriously, woman? How did he get to you first?”
“He doesn’t exactly own me,” Seychelle denied, but she wasn’t certain of anything right then. She was more confused about her feelings than ever.
Going to the bar had been the biggest mistake of her life. She really couldn’t live without Savage. She couldn’t eat. Or sleep. Or even breathe properly. But seeing the women and feeling the way they were lusting after him, their eyes following him, bright with almost fanatical carnal greed, she knew she wasn’t strong enough to cope with him going off with other women the way he had. She had convinced herself she could do it. Savage was so casual about it. How did one get past it? Especially if she knew it would happen again and again?