Page 78 of Kneeling to Candy

Red gasps, appalled. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah, it was ugly,” Punk informs her.

“And five, you’re overlooking why I volunteered for this case.”

With the very minimal public display of affection we’ve shared, I’m not expecting it when Butch crosses the remaining space between us and yanks me into his arms for a crushing hug. My arms hang at my sides as my mind races to catch up with what’s happening. When my head gets in the game, I hug him back as tightly as he does me.

My eyes sting, and my nose runs, but I refuse to cry—not yet. Blubbering will make it difficult to hear Butch’s explanation.

Without letting me go, Butch murmurs, “There’s no excuse for my actions other than I was desperate to get you off the case.”

“But why?” I sniff. “Don’t you think I’m good enough for this job?”

“Of course you’re good enough to be on the team,” he reassures. “There isn’t anyone on the crew who has your insight. You’re perfect for it, and that’s what terrifies me.”

Butch pulls his head back to look at me, his hazel eyes intense and pleading. He clears his throat like he’s gearing up for a long explanation.

“I said what I said to protect you from Duffy and all the other foul fuckers we’ll encounter in this investigation. You plowed into this case like you were ready to take on anyone by yourself. And it angered me. All your life, you’ve been dealing with the shit cards you were dealt without help from others. It seemed like you were looking at this as another shit circumstance you had to deal with when I’m here for you now.”

“Butch…” I pause, hating myself for causing him hurt. I’m at a loss for words.

With bikers, you can guarantee they’ll be overly protective of their women. Some might call it possessive. But outsiders don’t understand the lifestyle. They don’t understand the dangers tied to this culture.

Ebony explained it best—Butch is my old man. And as my old man, he’s responsible for my welfare. It’s Biker Code Of Ethics 101.

“It’s my job to take care of you—you’re my woman,” Butch grates, reiterating my thoughts. “My responsibility. Maybe my ego factored into some of the reason why I flew off the handle, seeing my woman step up to the plate to take on a dangerous person from her past without asking me to handle it. Fuck, Candy. It’s like you don’t need me. And that hurts. Cuts me right up. Why didn’t you ask me? Why not include me in your plan?”

My amazingly stubborn biker’s voice nearly goes mute at the end of his explanation. What I assumed was his voice being strained was actually his emotions surfacing. His eyes grow watery. The muscles in his neck are strained taut as he tries to rein in his tears from falling.

Having explained why he reacted the way he had, it’s only fair I share as well. Butch deserves an explanation for my actions.

“For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve only had to worry about myself. This…” I wave a hand between us, “…this is new to me. For both of us. You’re right. I should have mentioned my plans to you first. And if I’m being honest, a small part of me realized I should have told you my plan prior to going into that meeting. I was afraid you’d react poorly—which you did, more so under the circumstances I created. Still, I should’ve included you in my plans. I should’ve put us first, and I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough to have faith in my ability to help this team.”

“I’m not against you seeking vengeance. I’d burn this world, and all who wronged you. If you need to be the one to burn it down, at least let me stand by your side and give you the matches to light the fucker up.”

Look at the two of us—two emotionally awkward lovers spilling their hearts out in front of others who have no right to be here. Brandon would probably call this growth, expressing our feelings freely around others. Summarizing it as emotional growing pains would be more on point.

The conversation has become too heavy for others to hear. It’s one thing to admit our wrongs freely in front of the other. But expressing our emotions remains between the two of us.

I snap my fingers at the others in the room to get their attention. Pointing at the door, I order, “Everyone out.”

“Aww,” Punk whines, his face crestfallen. “But things were getting interesting.”

Red and Ziggy each grab one of his arms, guiding him from the room.

Ebony winks at us, giving a small wave goodbye. She sighs contentedly, looking at Tank. “Things hit differently when a biker lover’s quarrel works itself out.”

Tank smiles at Ebony, one that’s borderline freaky with how possessive he looks. It’s easy to see where his mind is at.

“Want to start our own biker lover’s quarrel?” Tanks taunts Ebony, his eyebrows bouncing up and down for added effect. “Let me move you into my space, and I’ll let you pound the shit out of me.”

Ebony balks. “What?!”

Tank grins wider. “You’re envisioning it, aren’t you? We’re going to be so happy together.”

My raven-haired friend gapes at him. “Are you insane?”

His smile looks demonic. “Definitely.”

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