Page 77 of Whispers of Fire

What can I even say?

That the men I trusted, the men who were examples for me since I was a child, are all criminals? That their hands are dripping with the blood of six innocent girls and god knows what else? That he was right from the beginning, that everything was a lie and that I was to blind to see it?

“We can ride, and then you tell me when we get there, how does that sound, Angel?” he says in a low and tender tone as if he knew I didn’t have it in me to talk right now.

How can this man always know the right words to soothe me?

“C’mon, come here,” he says, taking my hand towards the kitchen where black clothes are folded on the large countertops.

What are those?

“It’s your first ride, thought you’d like proper gear.” A small smug smile appears on his face, proud of himself for giving me my first ride. I notice his hand is trembling a bit.

Is he okay?

Taking his shaking hand in mine, I lock my eyes with his, interrogating him.

“It’s nothin’, Angel.” He shakes his head.

I furrow my brows, not buying it. He sighs, “I'll tell ya after the ride. Right now, let’s just enjoy this moment and not think about anythin’ else."

Well, this I can understand. I still wonder what’s tormenting him so much, but I keep it to myself. Vox hands me a black pair of pants and a black t-shirt with a skull and wings on it below a thick script that reads “Raven Sons”.

His club.

He’s giving me gear from his club for me to wear. My jaw drops as he hands me the last item, a black leather jacket with his name sewn on the back in white capital letters.

He did all of this for… me.

He took the time to collect the right items in the right size and have a jacket made for me. My heart pounds in my chest as the weight of what he's done sinks in. To anyone, it would just be a few black clothes, but to him, it holds a deeper meaning. The club is his life, a part of him that he’s willing to share with me. And even if I know so little about it, I remember the girl I saw at his barbecue the first time I saw him in his garden. She was wearing one of those jackets too. One with the name of her man sewn onto it.

Vox didn’t give me just any jacket.

This is a claim, a declaration of ownership.

Butterflies start to churn inside my belly, as if being claimed by Vox was the safest place I could ever be.

“Wanted to do this properly,” he says, his voice holding a tint of vulnerability that shakes me to my core. He’s anxious about my reaction, if I’ll accept it or not.

This strong, scary, tattooed biker is vulnerable… for me? My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid it’s going to jump out right on the counter.

This isn’t about clothes or the ride, it’s bigger. And I feel like I’m witnessing something monumental as his eyes drift to the leather jacket.

He's asking me to be his in his own unique way.

And even if my world collapsed today, even if I’m bound to marry a murderer, I don’t want to think about it. Not now, not when the man I love stands before me, asking me to be his woman.

Love. There. I said it.

Pure, raw, unconditional love.

Standing on my tiptoes, I hold onto his forearm and kiss his jaw, letting myself stay there for a few more seconds, intoxicated with his manly scent and the sound of his breathing giving me goosebumps all over my body. His hand rests on my lower back, making me want to press my body against his. I catch Vox's eye, seeing the relief and anticipation swirling in those stormy depths.

My man.

Mine.

“You can change upstairs, sweetheart, I'll wait for ya.” His voice is way too cold for the command he just gave me.

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