Page 91 of The Heir

“I love you.” He reached out and tipped my chin with his crooked index finger. “I know I fucked this up– but– It ain’t forever. I don’t have anything in Georgia. My mother doesn’t have anything in Georgia, except a hiding hole, but I promise you, once this court shit is done, and I’ve put in whatever timethe club says I have to, we’ll start a life wherever you want. Me and you.”

I smiled on a grunt and licked my lips, wetting them as I sought the right words, “I love you, but don’t make me promises you can’t keep.”

He’d just picked up his fork, but it kind of went limp in his hand.

“I don’t,” he assured me.

“Did you see the lines on Monty’s face, Blaze? How long do you think he had a getaway plan? How many years did he listen to Daisy bitch and beg? The mother fucker is ancient. He’s probably got five more years of riding if he’s lucky. If he was arrested at his age, he’d die inside. They’ll let you go when you no longer serve a purpose to them, and not before.”

He dropped the fork and tried to prop his face in his hands, but I wouldn’t let him. I grabbed his wrist and extended his hand until it was in my lap. I ran my fingers down the inked flames on his forearm while he silently watched.

“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. You’re a Disciple and I’m your ol’ lady.”

“Stop saying that, please,” he whispered.

“My mother was an ol’ lady.” I shrugged as if there were worse things to be, even if I’d already made plain how I felt about all of it.

He tried to curl his arm, but I used my weight to make him straighten it and he let me win. I planted a kiss to his wrist and stroked his arm to the elbow, “My father was a Disciple.”

He winced and made a low sound in his throat that died off when I got out of my chair and straddled him, balancing my forearmsat his shoulders so I could stare down into those brilliant hazel eyes of his.

“The difference is– you’re not my father, Blaze.” I slid my hand through his hair and his eyes locked on me. “My father is a wounded animal. He lashes out at everything and everyone who gets too close. That isn’t you.”

He gripped my ass and buried his face in my chest, holding me for a moment while his hands shifted up and down my back.

I took his cheeks in my hand and forced his head back, “I know for the safety of the family, the club has to come first. But, if you can promise me that you’ll never lie to me, never keep shit from me, and never be disloyal to me–”

His eyes searched my face, and he flinched like I’d insulted him before lightly nodding.

“You’re mine.” He grabbed my hand and locked our fingers. “And I’m all yours, Marchella.”

“I don’t want any club-pussy drama, I swear to fuck, Blaze– Thats some shit my mother went through that I refuse–”

He laughed and shook his head, “I don’t want any of them skanks.”

He kissed me slowly, while sliding his cellphone out of his pocket.

“It’s like Ozzy said, I just want you– or whatever.

I popped his chest in protest, “’Or whatever,’ huh?”

The song started blasting from his phone and his mouth found mine again.

I clung to him, well amused and laughing lightly against his lips.

“What?” he murmured.

“Your mother was a stripper, and you use Ozzy Osbourne to woo women.” I broke out into a fit of giggles, somehow finding all the amusement in the world in that.

He hefted me up onto the table, causing his plate to tip and cold scrambled eggs to spill everywhere.

“Your breakfast,” I squeaked.

“Pales in comparison,” He wagged his brows and guided my legs in opposite directions.

I didn’t know how I felt about having a Disciple for a husband, but if he wanted to eat me like the last supper on the breakfast table every morning, I supposed I could get used to seeing him in a vest for a little while.

Chapter Thirty-Six

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