Page 75 of The Heir

She slowly rolled her head, until her chin found her knees and her pretty, blue eyes locked on me.

“Don’t let anyone steal your joy, Marchella. It’s mine to protect and see to. You guard it and tell me if anyone disturbs it, I’ll handle things from there.”

She shoved one corner of her mouth up and winked at me. It felt dismissive rather than charming.

“Fuck that,” I slid my hands along her jaw, taking her face off her knees even as I leaned in to part them and haul her off her chair and onto my lap.

She claimed a sharp, startled breath, and her hands found my shoulders.

“Fuck them.” I firmly rolled the words off my tongue and stared into her eyes while giving her ass a squeeze. “Fuck anyone who doesn’t like the fact that we’re together.”

She slid her hand up my chest and gently cupped the back of my neck and dropped her gaze.

“Wh– what does that look like, Blaze?” she quietly asked.

When I didn’t answer, she clarified, “I– thought we were leasing this place for a year and then– moving on with our lives.”

“Because that's what your grandpappy told us to do?”

Her eyes snapped back to mine, and I saw the fight in them.

“I don’t mean any disrespect to the man, but his wants and desires don’t really calculate into our future. I’m done with that. I danced to my mother’s tune long enough. I dropped anchor right here with you.” I reached down and swiped a thumb over the tattoo on her ankle.

She shifted it away and swallowed hard, “I want a life with you.”

“You have that. I’m right here, babe.” I smiled.

She shifted her head, “You just told my father that you’d belong to him and those assholes before me.”

I teased my nails along the pockets on the back of her jeans and stared at her.

“Marchella, the Disciples are a family. They’re your family.”

“No,” The word raced past her lips and her eyes widened like I’d caused her physical pain by suggesting such a thing. She violently shook her head in a delayed denial. “No. The disciples are the reason I don’t have a mother. She gave her life for a man who was more dedicated to his club than he was to her and us.”

She shoved my chest and slid off my lap, leaving me to feel like some fool in a champagne room when the lights came on. Rather than lash out at her, I brought my hand up and stroked my beard, sighing into my cradled palm.

“Fuck,” I jerked my hand away and slapped the table, just as she came storming back down the hall with her purse in hand.

“What the fuck?” I shot off the chair and put myself in her path. “What the fuck are you doing?”

She froze and her eyes changed. They narrowed, only to widen as she stepped back from my much larger frame.

“March,” I whispered, reaching for her.

She sidestepped me, and mumbled in a flat tone, “Come on, your papers say you’re allowed to look for a job until two. I’ll take you to get your bike out of the impound. You can’t join without one.”

I collapsed against the ledge of the kitchen counter, having forgotten about the fucking bike. One more thing on the to do list.

“Fuck,” I murmured.

When she threw her hair over her shoulder and started toward the door, I reached for her without success.

“March, can we just ta–?” I started, but the screen door was already banging in her wake.

“Fuck!” I barked with twice the conviction, slapping my hand on the counter so hard it made the backside of my knuckle hurt. “Goddamn it!”

I clutched my hand and stomped after her.

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