Page 18 of Wild Cub

“I’m sorry; this just feels strange,” I say shyly. Jackson slides a finger under my chin and tilts it up to look at him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Darlin’. Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” Hell must have frozen over because that’s a new take.

He caresses my face and I lean into his hand, wanting to stay here at this moment. I know it’s a fantasy, but I’m here. I get lost in the moment, time is frozen. “You want to stay like this, or do you want to go on a walk?” Jackson says to break the moment. I nod my head and unwrap my legs. He picks me up and swings me off the bike before straightening to his full, towering height.

“Lead the way,” Jackson says, gesturing towards the entrance. If I’d known we were hiking, I would have chosen more appropriate footwear. The trees are in the beginning stages of showing their full color. I don’t know where I’m going but the little kid in me doesn’t care. The little kid in me sees adventures.

A few moments go by, lost in my head, afraid I would talk Jackson’s ear off and have my squirrel moments. I’m jarred out of my revelry by his deep voice. “I’m guessing your mind is speaking the words that your mouth is not. Penny for your thoughts?” He strides up closer to me.

I shrug. “Nothing too exciting. I guess I am imagining how the little kid I once was would do. Most likely, wander off into the woods like I’m Robin Hood or something.” I shove my hands in my pocket.

“I imagine you have an active imagination.” He playfully bumps into me.

“Oh, I do. Focusing when I was young was hard.” I try not to say too much.

“What changed?”

I shrug again. “I learned I had a superpower”Way to go woman; think before you speak.

“You could fly.” He laughs teasingly.

I join him. “That would make my life easier, but alas, no.”

He ticks up an eyebrow. “So, what’s your superpower then?”

“Mr. Jackson, why would I give away my secrets so early?” I chuckle again.

“Does that mean I’ll have more chances to find out?” He questions.

The conversation keeps flowing for another twenty minutes; he probably thinks I’m crazy with my rambling by now. I jump from the topic of my work to my family to my not so proud drunk moments.

I decide to change the topic. “Okay, you know way too much about me. I need details about you. Unless you want to tell me you are secretly a viking prince waiting for the ship to take you back to the fjord?”

Jackson grabs my hand, twining our fingers together, as we walk over a small wooden bridge. “My story is simple. I grew up in North Carolina, towards Gastonia. Didn’t stay there too long; mom passed away when I was three from breast cancer. Pops went back to the Raleigh area where Uncle Thomas took us in. Pops patched into the club a year later. Uncle was president of our club then. When I was ten, Dad was shot by a rival club and Uncle was my last living family member.” I could see a little sorrow in his eyes.

“Was?” I ask, even though I already knew the answer.

He looks a bit grim, “Club members aren’t known to have a long life span. By the time I was 21 and patched in, he lost his life protecting the clubhouse. Everyone wanted me as president, to keep it in the family, but I couldn’t take on that role. Rawlings, the man you met at the bar, stepped up and told me that he’d take the role as long as I was vice president.” All his family is gone; my heart aches for him. I itch to comfort him, but I’m sure he doesn’t need my help. All I do is rub my thumb across the top of his hand.

“I’m sorry you went through all that. Losing family is never easy.”

He brushes it off. “I didn’t mean to put out the sob story. Look, I’ve devoted most of my life to the club, but every now and then it is good to escape it. I enjoy cooking when I can. Fixing cars and bikes, getting my hands dirty.” The thought of his hands sends shivers down my spine.Fuck.

He continues. “I like walking trails with an intriguing woman. We’re not villains, but we are not overly good people, either.”

We must have walked half the trail by now because it looks like the halfway mark is looming closer.

“Jackson, are you saying you’re not good for me?” I grin, taking it as a joke, but I don’t think he does.

He stops in his tracks and pulls me closer, so I can feel bulge in his pants. “Teresa, I’m not a good person, I have taken lives of others, some of them haunt me. I have to make decisions that might result in blood. I have hurt people. But you came in that bar, like a bright ball of sunshine and I don’t know it’s hard to explain.” He stops.

I look at him, searching in his eyes for something to grab onto, “You can try. I’m not going anywhere.”

He huffs out a deep sigh, finding the words to say, “Maybe I’m trying to see if the villain in everyone’s story can get the angelic woman painted in the stories. I want to be in your dreams every night. I want every touch to haunt your skin. I want.” He lets go of my hand and walks to stand behind me, sweeping my hair back to plant a kiss in my favorite spot.

“I would want you to make memories with me, to bring a smile to you. Because when you smile, it knocks out all the damage and horror in my mind.” He says

I pull back a little bit. “I’m not anyone’s savior or redemption.”

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