Page 70 of Whispers of Fire

I’ll tell her the whole story one day, but right now I want to focus on the good. I wanna hold onto the memories rather than the trauma.

“I was fifteen when it happened. Everythin’ turn to shit after.” Holding her tighter to me, I continue, “Ares, my prez, found me in the streets and put me back on the right track. I owe my life to him. That’s why the club matters so much to me.”

My brothers, the club, they have become my family. Not the one I was born into but the one I chose. I need her to know. Cause this isn’t just about bikes and fighting. It’s my purpose.

She takes my hands, surrounding her hips and lifts them to her mouth. Then, cause she’s so fuckin’ perfect, she kisses them, mending my wounds, showin’ me she’s there.

“You belong here,” I whisper before kissing her hair, the vanilla hitting me like a drug.

“Th-thank… you fo-for tell-telling…me,” she murmurs painfully. Fuckin’ hate seeing her hurtin’, but damn, those sweet words are healin’ me faster then the thirteen years of denial I’ve inflicted on myself.

“Goodnight, Angel,” I say, then take a whiff of her hair before closin’ my eyes, photographing this moment in my mind forever. She squeezes my hand back as in wishing me goodnight too.

Don’t need to talk, I know my girl better now.

As she drifts off to sleep, her breath slows down. I stroke her delicate cheek with my calloused hand one last time before I zone out.

"I'll protect you, always," I whisper to myself.

Chapter 13

Rose

Safe and loved.

That’s what being in the arms of Vox feels like.

In the quiet of the night, with Vox's strong arms wrapped around me, I feel protected from my nightmares. But I know better than to succumb to this dream. My reality is waiting for me outside these walls.

When the first light of dawn begins to filter through the beige curtains, I reluctantly extricate myself from his arms.

I wish I could have stayed there all day, listening to him telling me about his life.

Something changed last night when he opened up to me about his past, about his family. Watching him relive the pain, his jaw clenched and his eyes looking far away as if he was revisiting a ghost, I couldn’t help but hurt with him.

Kissing his jaw with a feather-light touch, I leave the warmth of his bed and tiptoe across the room, my gaze lingering on Vox's sleeping form for a moment longer.

I never tried drugs, but I bet this is what this man feels like.

He looks peaceful, more vulnerable for such a dangerous man. But I know better. He's anything but weak. Actually, from his actions since I met him and the past he told me about last night, he’s the strongest person I know. One who fought to survive even when life had brought him down. Even when hope wasn’t an option anymore. He kept going and he found a purpose and a life again.

I walk downstairs with a pain in my chest.

Why does it feel like I’m leaving my own home?

Sleeping with him is the most natural thing in the world. It’s where I belong, just like he told me last night. Thank god he couldn’t see my face then because a few tears fell from his loving words.

Who knew dangerous bikers were the most romantic ones?

With a heavy sigh, I slip out of the room and make my way to the stairs, back to my own house. It feels strange to come back here after a night away. Sleepovers are not a thing in our community. The rare times I had to sleep outside of my house were when my parents went on intensive pilgrimage weekends at the Institute. Back then I would go to Greta’s house, but we weren’t allowed to sleep in the same room.

So much fun, I know.

Everything is quiet, my parents are still asleep. I take out one of my four brown dresses and lay it on my bed.

Why does it suddenly feel like a costume?

As if I was an actress playing my own role again and again. Whereas last night felt real. After showering and braiding my wet hair, I take the stairs to the kitchen and start making myself some tea and porridge. After a few minutes, my mother appears in the doorframe.

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