Page 10 of The Bastard's Lily
“You gonna let me kiss you?” I ask, because I have to. Because if I don’t, I’ll never forgive myself.
Her voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t know.”
But she does. I see it in the way she looks at me, like I’m both the danger and the sanctuary.
“Say no,” I murmur. “Say no and I’ll walk away.”
She doesn’t. She nods. So I kiss her. And fuck, it’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s too much and not enough, and the second our lips meet, I know I’m done for. She tastes like bubblegum and sin. Like prayers I’ve never said and the kind of grace I’ll never earn. I don’t touch her. My hands stay clenched in my pockets. If I touch her, I won’t stop.
When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers just to keep breathing. “Fucking hell, Calla,” I mutter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
And I mean it. God help me—I mean every goddamn word.
PRESENT DAY—Berlin, NH. Nightfall.
I need to get her out of my fucking head.
Five goddamn years and the drop of her name, I’m back there like no time passed. Lips pressed to hers behind the church. Heart pounding like a goddamn sinner’s drumbeat.
Grimm’s voice cuts through the haze. “Need you to take care of something.”
Good. I need something to bleed.
I turn to him. “What’s the job?”
“Guy down in Gorham’s been making noise again. Selling knockoff pills with our brand on ‘em. Cheap shit that’s getting kids sick.”
My jaw flexes. “You want me to talk to him?”
Grimm shakes his head. “Nah. Talkin’s over. He got warned once. I want him reminded. Loud. Public enough to send a message, quiet enough it don’t bring heat.”
A slow burn crawls through my bloodstream. “You want broken bones or hospital stay?”
Grimm meets my eyes. “Your call, brother. Just make sure he can’t walk straight for a while.”
I nod once. No hesitation. “Where?”
He hands me a burner. “Address’s loaded. No club colors. Just handle it.”
I tuck the phone into my cut and crack my knuckles. Rage blooms behind my ribs, eager for somewhere to go.
Grimm eyes me from across the garage, arms crossed, jaw tight. “What’s goin’ on with you?”
“Nothing.” I yank my gloves tighter, slide the burner into the inside pocket of my kutte. My boots echo against the concrete as I head toward my bike.
He steps into my path. “If that is Calla, you can’t go chasing her like a fuckin’crazy person.”
“It’s not. So don’t worry about it.” My voice cuts sharp, final.
We lock eyes, silence stretching tight between us.
Grimm doesn’t flinch, but he backs off. “Fine. Just don’t bleed on anything important.”
I swing my leg over the seat, start the engine, and let it growl beneath me like it’s just as restless as I am. My blood is lava, pressure building with nowhere to go. The job’s simple. Smash and scare. No colors, no names, just a message from the Bastards. But I hope they fight back. God, I hope they’re stupid enough to fight back. I need to feel something crack that isn’t inside me.
I take the back roads out of Berlin, no headlights, just the moon, the engine, and the hum of my own bad decisions guiding me. The old trailer sits dead on the edge of a logging road, the kind of place people only go if they’re lookin’ for trouble or tryin’ to bury it.
I park behind a stack of rusted shipping containers, slide the burner from my pocket and check the mag. Loaded. Safety off. This ain’t supposed to be loud. Just a message. Propertydamage. Spook the guy, remind him who owns this side of the county line.
