Page 8 of Wretched Love

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I’d liked that part. I did not like the hungry look in her jade green eyes when we were done, though. The way she’d clung to me. The way she was looking at me right now. Like I was her next fucking meal.

I was the predator here.

“Nah,” I replied to Hansen’s question, looking my president in the eye before the redhead got any ideas. “Sure we don’t have any weapons runs?”

He shook his head.

“Enemies who need to be eliminated?” I tried with false hope.

Another headshake, this time with a wry grin, the fucker. “All is quiet on the Western Front, brother,” he replied, clapping me on the shoulder.

I sighed, downing my drink.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and make the most of my wife being shitfaced and our kids being with a babysitter,” he said with a grin.

I watched him work his way through the crowd, not even glancing at the practically naked women he passed. It was pathetic, really, how fucking in love with his woman he was. It somehow wasn’t a weakness, though. He’d rallied once the club had almost been wiped off the map, rebuilt it from the ground up and sought revenge on those responsible. Sure, he loved his wife and kids, but he was a ruthless motherfucker just like the rest of us.

Though I understood I was a little more fucked-up than the average outlaw. I got off on causing women pain. Of course, they got off on it too. I would never hurt a woman without her permission. That distinction was very important to me.

I also got off on causing people pain who deserved it. Who betrayed us. Loved watching them bleed. Writhe in agony. Fucking reveled in the light leaving their eyes.

So torture and killing was my number one hobby. Well, maybe tied with fucking.

And it had been a while since I made someone bleed. Since I ended someone. Almost a month ago, after the nightmare. Some fucker who was trying to snitch on us. I’d killed him too quickly, the high had long worn off. I was feeling itchy.

Almost desperate enough to go back to the redhead I knew would try to attach herself to me like a barnacle.

Almost.

Then my eye caught on something else.

Someone else.

The second I saw her, I fucking startled.

Like I was pissing on an electric fence.

The effect was that fucking violent. And I was not a fucker known to get dramatic about that shit. I was also a fucker who could be considered immune to women’s beauty.

I’d seen everything and anything the fairer sex had to offer. Sampled it all. Fuck, did I appreciate beauty in all shapes and sizes, but it wasn’t something that drove me. I would not be led around by my dick.

But her...

I knew she didn’t belong in here the second I laid eyes on her. There was an unease. A fear about her that turned me rock solid.

A voice somewhere deep inside told me that she was it.

She was mine.


Tags: Anne Malcom Romance