“She needs to resolve shit with me,” Celt sniped, and Nana sniggered.
“You think I don’t know what my girl was doing at Hellfire? She was playing the player Celt and I believe she won. You need to prove to Chey, Jesse, Jed, myself, and the band you’re not the asshole you once were. I don’t believe you can, but I’ll give anyone a second chance. But you gotta own your actions, Celt. Roofied or not, you punched Chey and caused her to miscarry one of the twins. That remains on your head, conscious decision or not!” Nana pointed out.
Celt agreed with Nana on multiple fronts, but the question remained, what would Chey do? When she turned up in his bunk at Hellfire, he’d been astounded. Even more when Chey demanded to know if he honestly didn’t remember his attack on her. Celt had seen the passion flicker in her stunning eyes and made a choice to fuck and reject her. Just like she had him all those years ago. Chey had chosen the band over him, walked away from him and Hellfire. She had known since starting their relationship that Celt would never quit the MC. They’d a plan to get it clean, and they would. Chey, expecting him to leave, had been a blow he’d been unable to absorb.
When Chey stood in his room looking so beautiful and strong, Celt wanted to break her. Force her to experience the pain he had suffered at discovering he’d a son that Chey had kept from him. Celt had craved to harm Chey so profoundly. He didn’t consider that she’d already been broken like that once before. A thin smile touched his lips as he realised while he’d been planning to hurt Chey, she had been doing precisely the same. Yeah, the player had got played by an expert.
Jesus, the chemistry between them hadn’t faded, and even now, days later, Celt still felt Chey running through his veins. Chey was his poison, the only drug he’d ever needed. Fuck, she tasted and smelt the same. Her body was different, firmer in some places and softer in others. All the working out and dancing she did on stage had kept Chey trim and lean. Her hips had flared from when she was eighteen. Chey’s hair was longer, skin more tanned and rosier. Her boobs remained high and firm, but her belly had a little soft spot left over from pregnancy. It was invisible when she wore clothes, her stomach looking as flat as ever, but Celt knew it was there.
Her legs were long and lush, thighs tight and smooth. Yeah, Chey was forever intoxicating to Celt. Chey’s confession she’d not had a man for fifteen years had twisted something inside him. Celt’s sudden need for revenge died under that brutally honest admission. Celt had fucked countless women and asked Shayla to marry him, although they’d never made it to the altar. Yet Chey had remained single; Celt automatically dismissed her dating anyone in the band. Even when they started out, they fought like cats and dogs. They were siblings totally unrelated by blood.
Celt smirked as he remembered the times he’d entered their studio, at the back of the motel, where they practised and pulled Chey off one. His girl had no qualms beating the fuck out of one of them to get her point across. No way would Chey go from whipping their asses and dissing their girlfriends to dating one of The Wild Wind. And Celt had no doubts they were still living in each other’s pockets. Chey’s reaction with Kye had spoken volumes. Her cries had been genuine grief and full of agony.
“What are you thinking?” Nana demanded of Celt, and he jolted as he realised where he was.
“Remembering the times Chey beat the crap out of the guys,” Celt admitted. Nana offered a small laugh.
“Chey still does. They hate it.”
“Do they tease her about her clothing?” Celt asked. He remembered that caused most of the battles between Chey and the boys. Chey had two distinct styles: jeans, gypsy top or plaid tied up shirt, or a jean skirt and cowboy boots. A bandana for her hair or letting the riotous honey-blond curls fall freely.
The other look was for when Chey was feeling naughty, and Chey often felt bad. Tight leather pants, black knee-length stiletto boots, a black off the shoulder, loose top or tank. Her hair would be slicked back and tied in a bun or plaited down her back and a funky, heavy belt around her hips. She loved teasing her fans with which version of Chey they would get.
“Yes, although the last time Bridge took it too far, Chey walked on stage carrying a whip, and Bridge surrendered live,” Nana laughed. Celt allowed himself a smile as he studied the still form lying in bed. Would Chey recover her memories of who she was and what she was? Or were they forever lost alongside any chance he needed to repair their relationship so he could be in his son’s life?
“That sounds like her,” Celt whispered, praying Chey would wake. He rose to his feet and stretched. The skin on his arms hurt, and he longed to scratch the shit out of it. “I’m going for a drink. Do either of you want anything?” Nana and Jed both shook their heads; Celt suspected it was because they didn’t wish to accept anything from him.
Celt spied Jesse as he walked towards the vending machine. Jesse sat in a private room that had been hired for members of the band to wait and sleep in if required. The nurses had argued against having three stay in Chey’s room at first, but Celt called in the big guns. A generous donation from Phoe had secured what Celt desired. Nana and Jed had resisted him staying, but the fact Celt, Chance and Levi had been hurt saving Cheyenne left them in an awkward place.
Chance’s hand and arm he’d thrust through the back window had been badly cut, and he had needed thirty stitches. Chance was more pissed that the tattoo of his pin-up girl had been shredded. Levi had checked it over and confirmed it could be re-touched. Celt thought Chance was even angrier because it was a new piece, and it looked remarkably like Clio. Levi had taken a blow to the head and, in throwing up his arm for protection from a lump of flying metal, had struck him hard and broken his wrist.
And finally, Celt. They’d just got Chey out of the blazing vehicle when it blew. Celt covered Chey with his body as Bone, Wraith, and Diesel were blown clear. His heart had stopped when he saw Chey’s hair on fire and, without thinking, Celt patted it out, not noticing his arms were burning themselves. Bear had tackled Celt to the ground and banged out the flames. It was shit. His left arm had first-degree burns, and the right held second-degree. Doc Paul had explained the right arm would have minimal scarring. Levi was unsure if ink could cover the scars. It was too soon to tell. The bandages had been removed from the first-degree burns, but the second was deep, and Paul kept shoving antibiotics down Celt’s throat.
Luckily for Hellfire, Doc Paul had received permission to tend them in Spearfish and, again, Phoe had greased the wheels. The club never needed a doctor once Hellfire got clean, unlike Rage, who found trouble at the drop of a hat. Those fuckers were still getting shot up and laughing while they did it. Celt gazed at his son and finally decided; he entered the room where Jesse sat next to Saint. Saint and Celt swapped glances, and Saint’s gaze dropped to the burned arm before rising to his feet.
“Kid, going to get a drink. You gonna be okay?” Saint murmured as Jesse looked up and speared Celt with a stare.
“Yeah, this asshole won’t start shit,” Jesse muttered. As much as Celt wanted to wash Jesse’s mouth out, he was too far reminded of his younger self. Celt pointed an unbandaged finger at Jesse as Saint left the room.
“Watch your trap, brat; I know for a fact your mother would have instilled manners,” Celt shot at him. Mild amusement rose as Jesse sent him a dirty look.
“And Mom taught me to call a spade a spade, which means asshole, you’re an asshole!” Jeez, how did Chey manage this kid? Jesse was Celt as a teen, and Celt hadn’t been an angel.
“Still your father. Watch your cheek.” That got the kid’s goat just as Celt guessed it would. Jesse drew back his shoulders and hissed at Celt.
“Ain’t no parent of mine. You’re nothing but a sperm donor.”
“Still your fuckin’ donor, Jesse, so mind your damn mouth.” Jesse bristled, and Celt sensed the conflict inside the teenager. Jesse wanted to tear him to shreds, but Jesse’s gaze kept going to Celt’s wounds. Celt wondered which would win out.
“Why did you save Mom?” Jesse asked. Ah, curiosity over rage.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you killed my twin and tried to kill me!” Jesse shot back, anger rising.
“That’s your version of shit based on evidence Cheyenne had at the time. Stuff has come to light, which explains a few things and offers possibilities,” Celt demurred.
“Oh, the video was photoshopped?” Jesse sneered. Celt wanted to whack respect into his kid but refrained because he understood where Jesse was coming from. The boy was terrified. Jesse’s mother had yet to wake up for more than twenty minutes, and her memory was fucked. Yeah, Celt would be scared in Jesse’s position, too.