Unbreakable: Unrequited Part Two (Fallen Aces MC Book 2) (39 page)

“You ready?”

“To walk?” I scoff. “Uh, yeah.”

I let out a startled squeal when he launches at me and scoops one arm behind my legs, the other around my waist. The shock of it all has me giggling like a schoolgirl while I grapple around his neck to save myself from falling to the ground.

“I got you, baby.”

The sincerity of those words sinks in, and I fall silent as King carries me the final yards to the foundations for a house. He gently lowers me to the grass and takes my hand in his.

It’s warm and comforting, and I’m ashamed to admit I regret pushing him away for so long. If I hadn’t, if I’d swallowed my pride one more time I could have had another seven years of this. Seven years I’ve forever lost due to my stubborn ego.

King doesn’t notice the tear I swipe from my cheek, too lost in his perusal of the flattened area before us. “That would have been the living area,” he says, one hand raised to point out the longest section of the foundation. “Big bi-fold doors that opened out onto a deck overlooking the pond.” He walks us forward a few steps, pointing out areas as he goes. “The galley, laundry, our bedroom, and over this side . . .”

I tune out, his words lost to the cool night air.
Our bedroom.
The force those two little words have are incredible. One small statement that describes everything I gave up with such clarity. My right foot stumbles as my legs give out under the weight of regret. King breaks from his explanation to turn and check on me.

“You okay?”

“Just lost my footing for a bit then,” I say. “I’m fine.”

Bright, white light illuminates my booted foot; King has his phone out and he’s turned the torch on. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive,” I snap a little too harshly. I collapse to the ground right where I am, somewhere between what was going to be the deck and Dante’s room. “I’m sorry.”

King hits the ground beside me with a
whoompf
, and sets his phone face down in the grass so the torch shines out toward the sky, giving us light to talk by. “Tell me what the matter is, then. Is this”—he gestures to the ruins of the house—“too much?”

“A little.” I rub what’s left of the chill in my arms away. “I guess I’m mostly starting to doubt the validity of what I’ve believed for years.”

“Yeah?” He tries to hide his interest, his hope, but fails miserably.

I sigh and stare out at the pale moonlight reflected in the gentle ripples over the pond. The place is beautiful. So much serenity to be found in the simplicity of nature. “I’ve never made a decision in my life that I thought was wrong at the time.”

“Most people don’t, babe.”

“I know it’s crazy that I ran all those years ago, but you have to see it from my point of view.”

He loops his arms around his knees, and stares out at the pond also. “I wanted to, but I guess when neither of us invested the damn time in the other, it was hard for us to ever really get to that point, you know?”

“I know.” I shuffle a little closer and gently rest my head on his solid arm. “I never told you what exactly happened when I was stuck with Carlos, and at the same time, I never asked you to tell me more about your club so I could understand its importance to you.”

“You know I could never have told you much,” he says.

“I know that, but you could have told me plenty that didn’t break the rules. You could have told me about the people who you care for, and who so obviously care about you. You could have told me a million things if I’d just stopped and listened.” I swallow hard. Putting a voice to my shortcomings is paramount to slow torture. “But I never did, because I was so wrapped up in my own self-importance.”

King’s head rests atop mine. “You had every right to be blindfolded by it, baby. You ain’t Mother Teresa—nobody could have expected you to endure the shit he put you through without you feelin’ at least an ounce of pity toward yourself. You were abused, and I did nothin’ about it.” King pulls away, and runs a stiff hand over his face. “I’m no better than him, really. I knew your situation, and I left you to stew in it for personal gain.”

“You did it so you could get the backing of your club,” I remind him. “So you had support and a better chance at getting me to safety. That’s what you told me.”

“And it was the truth as much as it was a lie.”

I turn toward him. The light from the phone casts shadows over his pained expression. “What do you mean?”

“How did you get away in the end?”

“With Sully’s help, and then yours.”

He shakes his head and chuckles sardonically. “Nope, you did it on your own. You fought back. You haven’t told me how it went down that night exactly, but baby, when I saw you comin’ my way, it was you and only you. You did it alone.”

“What are you saying then?”

“That we never needed the club’s help if we wanted this”—he gestures between us—“enough. That I had a goal to be the president and make this club what it should have always been, and to achieve that, I left you to rot in hell.”

“Don’t think like that,” I chastise. “You’re a good man. Look at what you do for those people. Look at what you did here . . . for me.” I point out at the splintered wood and overgrown foundation.

King reclines in the grass, his hands over his head as he stares up at the sky. “I know, but I had time to think about that when I holed myself up, and don’t you think that all the good that I do, that all the help I dish out, is just my consciences way of leveling out the pain I also inflict?”

I lay down beside him, propped up on my elbow, and trace a finger over his nose and lips. “Aside from me, who else have you hurt?”

He lists each name off on his fingers. “Mom and Dad; my predecessor, Apex; Dante.”

“Guess what?” I murmur, leaning over to dot a kiss on his nose. “You aren’t Mother Teresa, either.”

He chuckles, the deep, rich resonance tickling me to the core as he wraps both arms about me and pulls me on top of him. “Do you still think a life with me is too dangerous for Dante?”

“Yes,” I answer in earnest. “But I also now know that it doesn’t matter where we are
—
we aren’t safe.”

“So . . .”

“So I’d rather be unsafe
with
you than alone for any longer.”

He hums his assent with his large hands placed either side of my head to guide my lips to his. The kiss is warm, contrasting with the increasingly chilly night air that’s bitten at my ears and neck the whole time we’ve talked. I melt into it, allowing myself the moment, giving myself permission to feel without thought of consequence.

Do I know where our future lies? No. But the difference is now, I realize that not knowing where the road takes you is half the fun of life. What joy is to be found in predictable schedules, safe surroundings, and the same routine day in, day out? If we weren’t supposed to be spontaneous creatures, then why does it feel so thrilling to act on impulse? Why do surprises bring us such excitement?

King’s hands skim the curves of my body and inch under the edge of my jacket to the hot flesh on my back. I shiver under his touch, despite the intense heat radiating from him, and move my lips to kiss his neck and behind his ear. He places both hands on my hips and pulls me hard into his body, the rigidity of his erection painful against my pelvis.

“Here?” I ask, aware we’re out in the open with nothing but overgrown grass to give us some modesty.

“Baby.” He chuckles softly. “I’m not waitin’ a minute longer. Seven years is hell enough. Another seven minutes and I’m liable to kill somebody.”

I laugh and bury my face in his shoulder. “Fair point.”

He rolls us over, holding himself over me with one arm while the other hand traces a gentle line along the side of my face. His thumb brushes my cheek before he leans in again and gives me a slow kiss full of all the things he couldn’t say to me these past years.

The hesitancy doesn’t last long. Years apart could only dampen the fire, but when two volatile elements are so close together, the result is explosive. Frantic hands jerk at clothes. Hot kisses soften the brutality of our haste. Before long we’re both half-stripped, yet fully aware of what we’ve wasted years to come to realize.

Nothing could keep us apart forever.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper between kisses. “I’m sorry for everything.”

King

Only when you’ve hit the lowest point can you be fully accepting of the change that is to come. Admitting to Elena that my decisions in the past were done out of selfish need, no matter how much I tried to dress them up in the pretty disguise of necessity—that was my lowest point.

We’re both capable of change. And for us to make our relationship work, then we’re both going to have to compromise.

I’ve never been more ready.

Her soft moans, the arch of her neck as she seeks my touch . . . they’re all reminders of why I stayed true to this woman, even when she put me through hell by taking the one thing I wanted most in life from me—my family. Because even the simplest of movements, the tiniest of gestures, and I’m fascinated. I could watch her for hours, days even, studying her every nuance and never grow tired.

Yet, I blamed her; I set the reasons for us to pull apart squarely on her shoulders. But with age comes wisdom, and with experience comes the ability to not repeat the same mistakes.
I
pushed her into a corner.
I
penned her in a box and expected her to be happy when I lengthened the chain one measly link. Her whole life she’d been shackled and penned to people, serving others before herself. And after I broke her out of her gilded cage, what did I expect? That she’d want to stay confined in another concrete and steel prison, just to be by my side? She had to fly, to feel the wind before she could decide truly and wholly if this was what she wanted. And thankfully, she came back to where she belongs.

Right here.

Right now.

With me.

We spend far too long on the damp grass of our dream section, exploring each other’s bodies and reconnecting on a level that I’ve only ever wanted from her. I take her hard and fast at first, afraid that if I hesitate, that if I take my time she’ll have even the most fleeting of moments to reconsider. But when she gives me that rare, genuine smile as we lie together in sweaty, sated bliss, I know I’m wrong.

She’s loved me, reconsidered, and changed her mind before . . . and yet here she is.

“What are you thinkin’?” I ask, lost by the depth of her eyes as she stares out at the stars.

“I’m dreaming,” she answers. “Dreaming of how life might have been if I’d stayed here and had Dante nearby. How our life might look now if you’d finished this house and we’d weathered the storm together.”

“And how
does
it look.”

She turns her head to look me in the eye. “Good.”

“Tell me more about it.” I reach out and snag her jacket where it lies to my right and lay it over her.

She wriggles closer, resting her head on my shoulder, her nose turned in to my neck.
Just how I like it.
“You’ve set yourself up an office at home,” she starts, pointing to the far side of the non-existent house. “And you do all the things that don’t require you to physically be at the club in there.” I look out into the black, the rooms taking shape in my mind as she talks. “Dante is happy in school. We’ve got a basketball hoop above the garage, and you two have dirt bikes that you ride around on in the weekend. I’ve started my own business, and I work from home when Dante’s at school.”

“Doin’ what?”

“Hadn’t decided.” Her fingers drum on my chest as she thinks it over. “Or maybe it’s charity work? I’m not sure—something that benefits people in situations like I was in
—
abused, used, and without much of a support network to help them out.”

I run my fingers through her hair. Deep down, we’re the same really. Both looking for a way to help out those who need it, but also stubbornly fighting to get a fair deal for ourselves. Perhaps that’s the attraction? Who would know. Does love have to be defined? Is it not enough to feel it in every inch of my body and just
know
?

“What else?” I prompt. “Any more kids?”

She giggles. “Steady on.”

“A man’s curious about these kinda things, woman.”

She props herself up on one elbow. “Do you want more?”

I flash her a sweet smile and answer, “With your features and my gorgeous blond locks, we’d create a pretty amazing little girl, don’t you think?”

She laughs, laying her head down again for me to continue my fussing. “What if it was another boy?”

“Then I’d have a fightin’ chance of at least one of them wantin’ to take over from his old man.” I freeze, realizing what I’ve said, and watch for her reaction.

She regards me for a moment with a narrowed gaze, and I expect her to rip me a new one about how there’s no way in hell she’ll let our children be a part of the thing she hates the most: the club.

Instead, her expression softens and a cheeky smile creeps across her lips. “Think you’ll be president that long?”

I sigh, and my hand stills in her hair. “Depends what my woman has to say about it.” If she laid down an ultimatum again, I’m not sure how hard I’d fight. Having her back, finally getting what we deserve, is too good. I’d never fully quit the Aces, but I sure wouldn’t lose Elena over something as trivial as a position or title.

“Your woman,” she replies with a smile, “says that you should follow your heart. Do what’s best for us, but don’t lose who you are through that.” She chuckles and shakes her head softly. “I tried changing you, I tried molding you into something you’re not, and where did that leave us both?”

I shrug. “Fighting?”

“Miserable.” She lifts a hand to gently run a finger along my jawline. “What do
you
want to do? Can you see yourself leading that bunch as long as they’ll have you doing it?” Her gaze flicks away briefly as a small frown pulls her brow in. “It almost wrecked you once. I don’t want to know what it would do to you if that happened again.”

A valid concern. Being the president is stressful, and there are still days when I wish I could simply vanish and recharge. But the people are what make it worth it. They always have been. “I really don’t know what I want to do at the moment. I wanted to quit about the same time I found you.”