Page 65 of Ravaged and Ruined
“You didn’t call. You didn’t check in. You drank yourself to hell and expected what… to tear through these gates and drag me back?”
He steps forward again. I take one back. This is becoming a familiar dance. His shoulders drop a fraction. “I was trying to keep you safe, Bambola.”
That name punches the breath out of me. It crashes through every wall I’ve tried to rebuild since he sent me away. There’s no heat or hunger in his voice this time, in fact it’s dangerously tender from a man built of violence and grit. And just like that, I’m spiraling.
My lips part, but nothing comes out. Because for a second, just a second, I’m not standing here in my brother’s clubhouse with a wall built between us. I’m back in his bed, his voice in my ear, that word dripping with promise. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
He still knows exactly where to hit. And it still works. Damn him.
My lip wobbles, and I bite down hard, my teeth digging in until it stings. I will not cry. “You don’t keep someone safe by breaking their heart.”
That hits hard. I see it in the way his breath stutters. His hand lifts like he wants to reach for me. I step farther back.
“I love you,” Aero says, loud enough everyone in the room turns to look at us. “I thought pushing you away would protect you from this life.” He pauses, sucking in a deep breath, “Protect you from me.”
“You don’t get to make that choice for me.”
“I know,” he says, and I believe him.
I look at him. Really look. He’s wrecked. This isn’t the man who sent me away. This is the man I fell in love with. Bruised, angry, messed up. But mine.
“I’m not going to grovel forever, Bambola.” He steps forward and this time I don’t back away. “We’re leaving tonight.”
That tightens my spine. “You’re unbelievable.”
“No, I’m a damn disaster,” he growls. “And I know it. But I’m your disaster. You belong with me back home in Atlantic City. With the club. With our family. With the fucking dog who hasn’t stopped whining at the door since you left.”
That breaks something in me. I miss it all. I miss Emery. The shelter work we planned. The stupid post-it notes she leaves on my mirror. The chaos and comfort of the RBMC clubhouse. And I miss that dumb dog too.
This place? It’s safe. Cobra and the rest of the Krymson Destroyer’s have always been great to me, but it’s not home.
“And what if I say no?”
“Then I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out kicking and screaming if I have to.”
My eyes narrow.
“Try it,” I hiss. “I fucking dare you.”
He smirks that infuriating, cocky tilt of his mouth that makes my stomach flip and makes me want to punch him in the throat at the same time. But it’s not the smile that shatters me. It’s his eyes. God, those eyes. A desperate hunger lives there, feral and raw, and they burn through me.
And damn him, my body responds. Even as my heart throws punches, and my chest tightens. My fists clench at my sides, nails carving crescents into my palms.
I want to scream. I want to slap him and kiss him and crawl inside his arms and forget what he did. Instead, I stand my ground. Fury buzzing under my skin. Love and rage are warring in my blood.
The bastard moves. I barely get out a gasp before he’s got his arms around me. One behind my knees, the other locked across my back. And just like that, I’m off my damn feet and slung over his shoulder like I weigh nothing, like I’m his and always have been. My world tilts, my vision full of his leather cut and the ripple of muscle across his back.
“Aero, put me down.” My voice comes out breathless, more heat than threat. My palms smack against him, heat rushing to my face, my breath catching somewhere between outrage and something dangerously close to arousal.
“Not a chance,” he growls, his voice low and gritty, vibrating through his chest and straight into my bones. “You can be pissed all you want, Bambola. You can scream at me all the way to Jersey. But you’re going home. With me.”
And my damn heart fucking soars. The worst part? It wants that. It wants him. I hate him for it. And I love him for it. I don’t know which one’s louder as I go still in his arms, caught between fury and forgiveness, between wanting to run and wanting to stay wrapped in him forever.
Behind me, I feel Cobra shift. His stance changes, heavier, like he’s debating whether to break Aero’s spine in two. But Aero gently sets me down on my feet beside his bike.
Cobra steps forward, his eyes like iron.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he mutters to Aero. “You hurt her again, and I’ll finish what I started.”
