“You’re okay?” I ask, watching Lila carefully.
Lila is tough as shit. Her father Lester is the Sgt. of Arms in the club, but when he went away for manslaughter, Lila and her brother were raised by her crackhead mom who was active in the MC and didn’t give two shits about them. Since he’s been back, things have been sufficiently better for both her and Tristen, but you know… damage is damage. I once read a quote that said raising a good child is easier than trying to fix a broken adult, and I never thought much about that until Lila. Lucky for her and Tristen, their damage equals dance, which also equals four million followers.
“I’m fine.”
She piles her hair on top of her head. A bundle of blonde curls against her soft skin. She has smooth skin and green eyes. Lila came to me at a young age, but I always knew she had a darkness around her that needed to be trained. Darkness can only be trained by a higher darkness, and I’m yet to find one who can train me.
I drop my phone onto the floor and push myself up. “Well, so am I, so let’s dance.”
The firm grip around my throat is like a padlock that has no key.
He breathes into the crook of my neck as he runs his nose down the curve of my jaw. “So sweet and beautiful.”
“Luca.” I smile, bringing my hand up to the back of his neck and squeezing tight. “We’re going to be late.”
“You’re right. And we mustn’t keep the prince waiting…” He pushes back from my body, swiping up the keys on the kitchen counter while tugging his tie out from his shirt.
I turn, following as he makes his way to the front door. “Ah, you can change. We’re going to the clubhouse.”
“I’m not changing, Meraki.” He holds my stare.
There have been times in my life he’s made me feel this way. Like he’s forcing his fist down my throat and I can’t breathe. I do my best to not enable it.
“Oh, I know…” I shuffle my trench coat over my shoulders.
He gestures down my body. From my Dr. Martens boots to my black stockings that cut off around my upper thighs. I can see him looking at my short black skirt with a slit traveling up the side and the loose silk blouse that’s tucked messily into the waistband.
“You seem… very dressed up too, so we match.”
I button up my jacket, raking my long hair to the side of my head. “Maybe.”
I pass him on my way out the door, but he catches my hand as we make our way down to the parking of our condo. Luca remains passive on his phone, his fingers flying over the keyboard every now and then, a slight kink in the corner of his mouth any time it vibrates in his hand. Leaning on the wall of the elevator, I study his features. My feelings are void where it comes to Luca and me. He sees other people. As do I. It has always been this way, easygoing and effortless. It’s worked for so many reasons.
It could explode over one.
The doors open and he leads us toward his Tesla, finally shoving his phone into his pocket when I’m sliding into the passenger seat.
“How’s work?”
The mundane question can be a good filler for Luca, because as soon as he’s asked, he can’t be stopped. He flies off on a tirade about how everything at the church is going smooth. I raise an eyebrow and find myself watching the streets disappear as we round the corner to the compound. I don’t want to hear about it. Their family has fallen apart since Luca’s mother died fifteen or so years ago, and I tend to shift out of focus whenever he’s talking about his father.
“—so what do you think?”
I was so lost in the passing shops that I didn’t hear him.
I can’t risk him knowing that I wasn’t listening. Luca doesn’t like to be ignored.
“I think yes.”
His hand comes to rest on mine, and the heat from his touch does nothing but melt the already gaping holes that live inside of me.
“Good girl. I knew you would want to.” He brings my hand up to his lips and presses a gentle kiss. “I love you, Meraki.”
I bat my lashes up at him. “You too, Luca.”
Pulling up to the compound, I wind my window down as the same young prospect from yesterday comes to my side. “Meraki. No more death threats?”
I smile up at the young boy. “Not today.”
He unlatches the gate and starts pushing it across as I wind my window up. As soon as it’s just Luca and I in the car, his hand is on my knee.
“What was that about?” His tone is gentle, but the slight squeeze on my knee is tighter than usual as he pulls us into the parking lot.