Page 26 of War's Witch
I have zero desire to get out of bed right now, but I have a meeting with the president of the Rugged Skulls MC later. Tote told me that Racer is a fair man and will allow me into his territory to deal with my woman.
Cleo’s words scramble around in my head, her fear and confusion showing on her face and in her tone.
She is scared to be with me— something in her past has set her on a path where she does not trust other men. If I want her to believe in me—if I want Cleo to feel safe enough to love me—I need to show her that I am that man, not justtell her.
No grand gestures like most women like, just consistent truth. I’ll prove to her that the man I am now is one who would burn the world for her. A man who will leave his past in the past and make her my future.
In the last eight months, I have done some soul searching, along with talking with my parents, my brothers, and the Ol’ Ladies. They have made me see things differently, or it could be that Cleo is making me see things from a different light.
Cleo is stubborn and strong-willed, so I know that she will be a tough nut to crack. But there’s a fierce sort of satisfaction in the challenge. I’ll get to her.
She will be mine, and the whole world can try and stand in my way, but it won’t matter.
I smirk to myself, as I ride to my meeting, thinking of ways to get this woman under me, or hell, fucking riding me.
Let Cleo throw her walls up as high as she wants. I’ll scale every last one. No matter how many times she tries to push me away, I’ll keep coming back.
I want what is mine.
Because we do not know what the fuck could happen in the future, so ride it hard and fast and enjoy every second of it.
Lilian taught me that; I had just buried the idea of having another woman in my heart.
Arriving at the diner where I set the meeting, I smile seeing three bikes already parked up. This club does not worry me; Intel gave me some information on them and yeah, they are badass, but they will not cut me down for no reason.
Dismounting my bike, I hang my helmet and make my way inside. The bell chimes above the door, as some calls out that they will be right with me.
I spot the men in leather and denim, and to an outsider, they would look intimidating, the kind of people you’d stay thefuck away from, but I came here to say my piece and claim my woman.
The man in the middle is around my age, dark hair with facial hair to match. The other two flank him— one with dark hair with highlights, looking like a mean SOB, the other is blond and looks like a surfer that fell into fucking leather.
They look up as I stop next to the table.
“War, I presume.” The blond speaks first.
I nod. “Racer, thanks for meeting with me.” He nods to the chair, as the mean-looking one kicks it out.
“Tote reached out, saying that you would be in my territory but not on club business, but he didn’t say fuck all else. Want to fill me in on why you are here?”
I settle into the chair, lounging back and resting my arm across the seat next to me.
“Eight months ago, I was at a Halloween party at the Three Kings’ clubhouse. As you can see, I wear my nomad patch, but I was summoned by Harley to get my ass there to see family who I had not seen in a while, and you do not say no to an Ol’ Lady like Harley.”
Racer’s face does not change with my little humor; fucker has a solid poker face.
“Why did you go nomad?” the blond asks.
“You have me at an advantage.” I cock a brow at him.
He nods, with a grin in place. “I am Rogue; this is Savage.”
I give them both a chin lift.
“To answer your question, my wife passed. One minute she was there, the next gone. Didn’t even know she was ill.”
“Fuck. Sorry, brother,” Rogue replies to me.
“That is shitty, but death gets us all. All we can do is make the most of the time we have left. Sorry for your loss.” This comes from Savage.
