Page 15 of Kneeling to Candy

I can only hope Candy won’t reject me like others in my life have when I ask for something deeper. It’s my fear of my hope being crushed that halts me.

“What’s holding you back, Butch? Is it your neck? Your voice?” Ziggy presses, ignoring my earlier cue to drop it.

Annoyed he’d pointed out a source of contention for me, I grit my teeth. “No. My scar and voice aren’t an issue with Candy. She doesn’t seem to mind it.”

Our conversation from the closet pops into my mind. She says my voice wasn’t “monstrous.” At least it’s not to her, something I didn’t realize I needed to hear from her until she said it. With her experience with hideous men, I didn’t want my voice to scare her like it does with many others. I didn’t want my voice to be grouped with anyone she feared, and I was relieved to learn it didn’t frighten her.

Ziggy nods approvingly. “Good. Chicks should dig a scarred war vet with a raspy voice. It’s hot.”

Typical Ziggy, always trying to make vodka out of potatoes to make me feel better. Unfortunately for my friend, I’m not in the playful mood.

“Don’t you have a man to bother instead of me?”

Ziggy’s cocky smile stretches from ear to ear. “And not help my bestie? I mean, yeah, I do. But Jared’s busy working over at Prez’s house. Lucky you get to have me all to yourself today.”

“Lucky me? You’re a pain in my ass,” I grumble, attempting to ignore him again.

Ziggy isn’t having it. He rolls his chair next to mine, inserting himself into my space like he always does when it comes to my nonexistent love life. He plops his elbow on my desk, resting his chin on his knuckles, with a dreamy look in his eyes. It’s an odd look on most bikers, but not Ziggy. The man is whimsical—a whimsically muscled biker in well-worn leather and ripped denim.

“Jared is everything. And he’s all mine.”

Cue internal groan.

“Thank God Atlas hired Jo and her team to build headquarters, or I might not have met her general contractor. You should try the relationship route, Butch. It’s better than the occasional hookup.”

And now I’m more agitated.

It’s hard listening to your friend tell you how happy they are with their partner when you’re still yearning to get the one you want to be yours.

Rolling my eyes, I try to concentrate on my computer screens. “Rub it in, why don’t you, dickhead.”

“Sure thing, asshole. I’ll add some salt to your sour mood and make a margarita, too,” he claps back, not missing a beat. “You sure as shit could use a drink to relax.”

If Ziggy wasn’t my best friend, I would yeet him across the room for disrespecting me. Lucky for him, I tolerate his rude ass. That’s what club brothers do.

It’s always been this way between us, squabbling like brothers. Back in the navy, when we were going through SEAL training, we connected right away. Ziggy was outgoing and friendly, where I was quiet and reserved. Perhaps we were bunked together because we balanced each other out. Whatever the reason, I’m grateful we got paired together.

When Ziggy retired from the navy, I was right behind him. Missions weren’t the same without my partner in crime, and dealing with the red tape preventing me from helping all who needed it wore on my psyche. Ziggy joined Atlas—our former Navy SEAL captain—and his mercenary biker crew. He didn’t need to twist my arm to convince me to patch into the Mercy Ravens MC brotherhood.

Working recon, intel, security, and mercenary missions while making bank? Sign me up.

But it’s moments like this, where my best friend chips away at my cool exterior to get to the root of my insecurity issues, that make me question all my life choices.

“Stop torturing yourself, and go get your woman already.”

“I won’t behave like a Neanderthal and manhandle a woman who has a past with abuse, Zig,” I chide, with a huff. “Besides, that’s not my style.”

“And stalking the woman you want through the cameras is?”

“Dude, will you get off my nuts already? I’ve talked to her?—”

“After a year of pining for her silently,” Ziggy mutters cuttingly.

“She wasn’t ready for what I’m offering,” I argue in a steely whisper.

“What? A submissive man?”

It takes all my strength not to slap my hand over Ziggy’s mouth. Out of fear of drawing Chase’s attention away, I keep my hand to myself. “Keep it down, asshole.”

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