Page 50 of Gunner

I kick the bike to life and pass Diletta her helmet. She squeals in delight before we’re even out of the compound.

We’re halfway down the street when she shouts in my ear so I can’t mistake it. “I love this! I feel so free, Gunner.”

It’s the height of irony that in all the time I’ve heard men say that very thing about being on their bike, I’ve never felt it myself until right now.

Chapter 15

Diletta

The hours pass, but I don’t feel cold or uncomfortable on the back of the motorcycle. Gunner blocks the wind for me and his leather jacket does the rest, cutting the cool air. My jeans and ankle boots also help. Even so, I would have suffered any amount of cold to give this to the man in front of me. I can feel the tension unspooling out of him with every passing mile.

We left Hart behind and drove an hour, skirting around Seattle. Everyone in this state and probably a good portion of the country knows about the Cascades. I was a little surprised that we headed in the direction of the mountain range, given the touristy vibe. We might be a few months away from summer, but the weekend added to the traffic in the city. It didn’t clear out much after we were past, climbing up the twisting mountain roads.

I kept waiting for the exact moment we’d find some backwoods path. I knew the whole time that a place special to a man who grew up the way Gunner did, had to be lonely, haunting, and remarkably beautiful.

Silence, in a sea of noise.

There’s a great difference in being lonely and being alone, and as soon as we break through the clearing in the woods after ambling down an ancient, hard-packed dirt road that looked like it was probably impassible up until some of the brush wastackled back, I know that the beautiful log cabin is one of those spots that is pure magic.

Gunner stops the bike, planting his feet firmly on the ground. It rumbles on for a minute before he kills the engine.

It’s afternoon now, the sun bright and hot above us. It feels warmer than it is because somewhere along the way, we lost the cool breeze. The trees stand quiet and unwavering, their leaves quiet.

“It was an old trapper’s cabin,” Gunner explains. He can’t keep his emotion from roughening his voice. “Tyrant bought it, and we renovated it ourselves as a club. It’s a favorite spot for the old ladies and their kids. It’s been a hard year and coming up here is an escape. Any one of us can use it for a number of days if we want. This will be the first summer it’s been finished and it’s probably a guarantee it’ll be packed full of kids right through until winter comes.”

I finally unclasp my hands but leave them lingering on his hips. It’s a glorious privilege to be able to touch this man. “I take it that the fact that we’re here means you’re okay with the club?”

He shucks his helmet, and I pass him mine. “I nowhere near deserve it.”

I slide off the bike, which involves a whole lot less grace than I would like and walk around to the front. I slam my hand up in a stop motion. “Don’t get off. I need to show you what you deserve.” I remove one of the gold foil packets from my pocket. He shifts back on the bike and my eyes drop straight to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans. “I borrowed a few of these.” Ella was kind enough to get me five of them from her and Raiden’s room at the clubhouse.

He gags.

“I mean I’ll buy them a box or something. Borrowed was the wrong word.”

I let my eyes travel over his body, drinking him in, worshipping him because that’s what he deserves. To be seen and appreciated. Wanted. Desired. Loved.

Loved.

Holy god, I’m halfway there already.

He deserves to be free. Free from the shit in his head and the danger out there. I know it’s insane, but maybe not so crazy when you really think about it, that I could imagine a future. A day at a time has never been so true, but the yearning for more is already strong.

“I’m going to fuck you on that bike, Gunner.” I’m already working my way out of his leather jacket. “Is that even possible or will it fall on us?”

He frowns. “I would never let it fall. That’s sacrilege to a biker.”

“And you are one? That’s not just a cover story?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I am one. I belong. They’re my family.”

This man who is usually stoic and strong, safeguarding his identity, but also his heart, suddenly bears an expression of wounded awe. He believes what he just said, but at the same time, he still can’t believe it.

I unzip the leather jacket. His hand reaches inside and lands on my arm, grazing along my skin, creating a series of goosebumps and flames. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“Yeah?” I step back, shedding the jacket, my sweater, and my shirt while he watches, his eyes roaming over me, eating up my every movement.

They’re so raw. He’s torn inside. I know what it’s like to have that big, gaping hole there, but I have no idea to the extent that he does. I was loved. I had family. He’s just learning what that means.

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