Page 8 of War's Witch
Facing the back wall of the bar area, the long mirror thatsits behind all the bottles gives me an ample view of the club living it up tonight. Placing my glass back down onto the bar, my heart jerks in my chest.
A black feather flutters down from above, settling right next to my hand.
Like a flash, I spin around, looking to see who dropped it, or if someone wearing a costume with feathers is in the room.
My thoughts spin when I find no one close to me, and no one wearing black feathers.
Turning back to the item, I pick it up, closing my eyes and bringing it to my nose, my heart hammering in my chest when I scent vanilla and pine.
My wife’s favorite scents.
My lips form a smile thinking about her, and I can’t help but think this is a sign from her. With my thoughts on Cleo, maybe she is giving me permission to have something like we did.
Turning around, I lean back against the bar, my glass in hand, the feather tucked into my pocket for later. Tilting my head to the side, I see Cleo still speaking to Sniper. Whatever the fuck he just said to her makes her eyes go wide, her lips parting before she bursts into laughter.
Fuck, I want to be the one to make her laugh.
This woman is messing with my head and she doesn’t even know it.
She touches his arm and I see the second his body tenses, so I brace, ready to jump in and protect her because Sniper does not like to be touched.
With my heart hammering in my chest, my body is poised, ready to strike.
Chapter
Five
CLEO
Damn, how can a man looking at you set your blood on fire and have your pussy weeping?
War has been watching me all night and from the frown that dipped behind his glasses, he is not a fan of me talking to Sniper.
The man next to me is holding my attention for the most part, but there is something about War that keeps pulling me to look at him.
I am unable to control myself from looking in his direction, or feel the heat from his stare.
I have been with men who look like War before, with their storm-cloud eyes and tightly coiled tempers, hiding all softness behind a wall of scorn and moody silences. They draw you in with a promise of love and tender care, of secrets only you both share, but then leave you hollow, gas-lighted, scraping together what little energy and confidence that you have left to leave.
I know what it means to be devoured by that kind of man, to be nothing more than a passing distraction, a name he forgets to remember.
But War… there’s something in him that makes me realize he would never hurt me. Any and all women are safe with him.
Or am I just chasing another shadow, doomed to be fucked over and left with nothing more than a sliver of myself in its place?
“I heard you belong to another MC?” Sniper’s voice pulls my attention back to him.
He is good-looking like guy, like the rest of the men in the club. He has short up top, shaved at the sides dirty blond hair and piercing blue eyes that hold a dark, sinister feel to them.
The way he tilts his head when he speaks to me, like he is assessing what I am saying to him, as if trying to work out lies from truth. Most would be surprised by this questioning, but I am not because Sniper is the club’s enforcer, so he is the one who steps up to protect the club at all costs.
“I never said I belonged to one; I simply stated that I know how MCs like to party, but I do tattoo some club members,” I explain, not giving away the Rugged Skulls MC.
“You ink?”
“I do; plus, I pierce. Maybe you should come to Phoenix and let me stick you some time.” I wink.
He looks at me, his lips twitching a fraction.
