Page 11 of Dangerously Deceptive

So, I geared myself up for an older, larger man, but the one who walks through the door looks to be around my age. He is tall, with large muscular arms, and a hard body to match. It’s obvious the dude works out a lot. His damn t-shirt sleeves are nearly bursting around his biceps. He is wearing a tight black t-shirt, and over the top of it he is wearing his cut. It looks an awful lot like a waistcoat, but it is made of black leather and is covered in patches. On the back of the cut, which I only caught a glimpse of when he turned to shut the door, is a large Grim Reaper, holding a scythe in one hand and a Celtic cross with a rose in the centre in the other hand. The words Celtic Reapers are arched over the top of the image, and then underneath it says ‘1% Motorcycle Club’. Then on the front there are a few patches, one below the other. They read: ‘Whiskey’, ‘Road Captain’, ‘Church Member’, ‘Patched Member’, ‘Legacy’.

I can pretty much work out what all the patches mean, with the exception of ‘Legacy’, I make a mental note to ask Shayla about that another time. Right now, she is too busy staring intently at the man in front of us.

He is imposing, and despite his leather, size, and his shaved head all making it seem as though he is dominating the space, I can actually see a softness in his eyes that I didn’t expect. He keeps his face impassive, looking at Shay like she is almost inconsequential to him, but it’s all an act. Even I can tell that. When he first saw her he looked like he was in pain, his face crumbled like he genuinely felt ill at seeing her in this way. No matter how much he tries to hide it, he likes this girl. And for some reason, that irritates the fuck out of me.

If he likes her, why the fuck did he let this happen?

Pulling up a chair and sitting at the opposite side of the bed, it’s not until he sees Shayla and my hands clasped together does he seem to realise that I’m in the room. His gaze lifts to meet mine, and his face becomes anything but impassive. Anger flares in his eyes, and he puffs his chest out, nostrils flaring as he glares at me. I want to laugh at this pathetic man's attempt to intimidate me. But, Shayla takes her hand away from mine and shuffles over into the centre of the bed, pulling her legs up into a ball, making it very fucking obvious she is sat alone, not having anything to do with me.

The man looks pleased with himself, and I can’t hide the look of disgust that spreads across my face. I can see he obviously likes and cares about Shayla, in his own pathetic little way. But being pleased that you scared someone into isolating themselves is not something he should be proud of. This guy confuses the fuck out of me, but he doesn’t scare me. I have dealt with twatwaffles like him almost all of my life, even if it is over the internet most of the time. I still know how to handle myself, and if I can’t handle it, I know a pretty fucking amazing assassin who wouldn’t hesitate to get his trigger finger bloody for his best friend.

“Hey, Shay, how are you doing?” he asks, more softly than I thought a big guy like him was capable of. I don’t miss the way she flinches slightly at the use of what I am assuming is an old nickname.

“Fine,” Shayla mumbles, her response barely audible. His responding huff winds me right up. I knew not two second before, while Annette was bringing him in, I promised Shayla I wouldn’t say a word. I’m actually impressed I made it a couple of minutes with this asshole.

“Does she look okay to you? She is battered and bruised over most of her body. She has fractured ribs, and a punctured lung. Not to mention a possible skull fracture and small bleed on the brain. Of course she isn’t okay. What a stupid fucking question,” I ramble loudly, much to Shayla’s annoyance. She keeps shifting uncomfortably on the bed, and her wide eyes look between me and this Whiskey guy, as she questions what the hell I am playing at in just one fierce look.

I expect this big biker to look at me with fury in his eyes, and there is no doubt that it’s there. He obviously is not used to having someone like me talk back to him. I’m significantly shorter, and less bulky than he is, after all. If it came down to a rough and ready fist fight, he would kill me very quickly. But if we are thinking about a long-term game plan with strategy, skill, and endurance, then of course I have him. I’m smart and all about making technology work in my favour. If, however, he decides to throw a punch, my ass is a goner.

As well as the anger that is more than evident on his face, he also looks incredibly sad and hurt, like the idea of Shayla being injured really hurts him. But, he must have known how bad a state she was in. He had to have known. She said all the bikers were there, and given the important patches on his cut that say ‘Church Member’ and ‘Road Captain’, they both mean he ranks highly in the MC. He had to have been there.

“Who the fuck are you?” he growls at me.

Before I even get the chance to answer, Shayla cuts in. “This is Odin. Remember the guy I was telling you about. He is the one who is going to help me complete the task.”

He looks me over, his face crumpled like all he can see is the shit on his shoe. “The tech geek. I remember. What I don’t understand is what he is doing here?”

“When I was brought in, the nurses found his number on me. They called him, and he came. That is all,” Shayla explains, looking at me with a silent plea in her eyes to agree with what she is saying. But, he is not buying it.

“So…why, when I called to check on you, explaining that I was your fiancé, did they inform me your boyfriend was already with you? Is this prick your boyfriend, Shay?” he asks. But, as he is asking Shay about if I am her boyfriend, the question is drowned out by my very un-masculine screech of the wordfiancé.

Shayla looks between us both, clearly not sure which one to address first. So I give her a small smile, she needs to know that I will always be the good guy in this situation, even if I do sometimes have asshole tendencies.

“We told the nurse that he was my boyfriend because it was the only way they would allow him in to visit me,” she explains to Whiskey, before turning to face me. “And Jamieson is not my fiancé. Though, if we fail at the task, and I have to remain part of the Reapers, then I will have to become Whiskey’s Old Lady.”

Jamieson scoffs. “You make it sound like I’m fucking forcing you. I remember a time not too long ago when it was what we talked about.” He may look hard and imposing, but there’s no hiding the longing in his voice. This guy really likes Shayla. Just a shame he doesn’t know how to act like a real man and prove he deserves her.

“Jay, we talked about moving away and starting a life together when we were teenagers. But you ruined all of that when you patched in, became Whiskey, and made it very fucking clear that the Reapers are your priority, not getting away to be with me—”

“Wait, so you two dated?” I exclaim, interrupting whatever Shay was about to say.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Their words, although contradictory, rings out at the same time. I look at Shay, who denied the relationship, and with a huff that seems to cause her whole body to sag, she explains, “We grew up together on the compound. We were best friends. I wasn’t allowed to date, that was made pretty fucking clear, and although we never really talked about it, we both knew that no matter how close we were, friends is all we could be. But that didn’t stop us from talking about the life we could have had if we left the MC. The future we could have had, together. That dream went away when Jay patched in and the guy I knew disappeared.”

Her words seemed sombre, almost like she is saddened by this idea. The look on Jamieson’s face matches, but upon seeing his expression, Shayla’s face hardens and she adds the sentence that seems to break him, “Now, this guy, I don’t even know him.”

“Shay…” Jamieson starts, but she cuts him off instantly.

“No! You have been there for every humiliation, every beating, every time I was sent to Purgatory. You may not have participated every time, but standing in the corner and allowing it to happen is just as fucking bad. I hate you. I hate the man you have become. Being your Old Lady is quite literally my idea of a nightmare, because you are a coward. My father says jump and you ask how high. You think marrying me will protect me, but it won't. The minute someone asks you if they can hurt me in some way, your scared ass will give permission. You are too afraid to challenge them. You didn’t even have the fucking balls to fight for your freedom. The Jay I knew would have stood by my side and fought with me. I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Shay shouts.

At first it has the desired effect, Jamieson looks dejected and hurt. Then she brought his balls into play, questioning his masculinity, and called him a coward. So, it doesn't surprise me all that much when he pushes up from his chair angrily, sliding it across the floor behind him. He rushes towards her in a rage, and before I even have a chance to question what he’s doing, he has one knee on the bed for support, and one of his large hands clasps around her neck. He is leaning in close to her, spittle flying as he shouts at her.

“How fucking dare you? Take that back now, bitch.”

Quickly, without really thinking, I get all my weight behind me and push my hands against his shoulder. Because he only has one leg on the ground, he loses his centre of gravity, causing him to stumble. I instantly move my hand so that it is hovering over the emergency call bell on the wall. I know if I press this button, at least five people, if not more, will come running into the room to deal with what they think will be a medical emergency. Enough people to make sure Jamieson gets into trouble.

---