Chapter 7

Brows drawn in a slight frown, I flicked the ring in my lip with my tongue. After a few seconds, I gave a slight shrug, and turned away from the mirror. Making my way toward the door.

As I stepped outside, the deep-throated rumble of a bike reached my ears as it headed down the street in my direction. As the driver slowed the bike, he pulled it into a small, vacant space before me, coming to a standstill. The fit was tight, as it wasn't really a parking spot at all, rather, space between two parked vehicles.

With a shake of my head, a grin slid across my lips and I allowed my eyes to roam over the helmetless man sitting before me. The fact he was without the head covering didn't surprise me. Dangerous as hell—yes—but not surprising.

James Anderson, AKA, Rook, was one fine looking son of a bitch. His features were rugged, his hair, a deep, rich black, was cropped close to his head. His skin held a natural olive tint,  not unusual for someone with his hair coloring and his eyes were a startling, vibrant sky-blue, flecked with darker blue striations in their depths. The blue orbs were surrounded by dark lashes long enough to make any woman jealous.

As my eyes continued to roam over the sheer beauty of the man before me, Rook gazed back at me, arching an eyebrow. A slow, sexy grin slid across his lips, and he murmured, "Hey, gorgeous."

With a step over to the bike, I slid behind him onto the seat. "Hey, good-lookin'," I returned easily.

After I'd settled, Rook's cigarette-roughened voice floated over his shoulder. "Hope you don't have plans."

"No. What's up?" I questioned, moving my leg a little, as shifting his own, he used the toe of his boot to place the bike back into gear.

"I thought I'd take you to the clubhouse," he replied nonchalantly.

Shock rocketed through me, and I immediately thought, what the fuck? Rook and I had known each other almost four years now, and I'd once asked Rook about his club family, if I'd someday meet them. He'd shrugged, murmuring something about Satan, the MC's Vice-President, saying they had enough bitches hanging around the clubhouse, and didn't need any more. Of course, that hadn't set well, and I'd snarled, "He called me a bitch?"

Rook had only laughed in the face of my outrage, before soothing, "Settle down and don't take it so personally. That's just Satan, okay?"

Shaking myself out of my memory, I realized I should probably be concerned about the request, but I wasn't. No, I was still pissed off months after hearing I'd been called a bitch and I hoped I'd get the chance to come face-to-face with the V.P.—there were a few things I'd like to say to the asshole!

Settling my butt more firmly onto the seat, I wrapped my arms around Rook's trim waist, and questioned, "What are we waiting on?"

~~

A few minutes later, Rook was manuevering the bike through the streets, and I couldn't help but let Mother Nature soothe me. The wind blew silken caresses against my skin, whispering its love song within the fragrances it carried upon its breath. I allowed myself to relax a little for the first time in a long time.

The last four years had been rough, and I'd missed the few members of my old family I'd become close with. And I missed Dillon. I'd had no alternative though, but to realize there was no going back. Marlowe Mills,  was—to all intents and purposes—dead. A circumstance, which still had me reeling. Dillon, had kicked me out of the compound, and told me to never come back.

I'd finally come to some type of acceptance with my current situation. However, any acceptance over the loss of Torin? No—there still wasn't, and I didn't know if there ever would be.

How does one come to terms with the loss of part of their soul? Terms with knowing you would never see that person again. Never hear their voice or feel their caress again? All of it was beyond what I'd thought I could handle, and for a while, I'd feared I wouldn't. I feared I was going to disappear into my own mind and broken heart.

However, eventually I'd begun to heal. No, I wasn't over his loss and I never would be, but I'd learned to cope. I'd learned how to put one foot in front of the other again, to accept each day as it presented itself to me. With time, I'd even begun to appreciate the sun again as it rose each morning and the moon's appearance each night.

The little things had finally begun to matter again. The sound of birdsong, the feel of crisp cotton sheets upon my skin. The laugh of others—there was a time I'd hated the fact anyone could find such joy within their life to laugh. I'd hated the happiness within their hearts, which had allowed them to feel what I couldn't,. My world had been dark, haunted.

However, even the darkest of hours can become full of light again with time. That's what happened to me. No, it didn't come overnight, or even within days. Weeks hadn't even covered it, for that matter. No, it was more like months.

The rowdy crowd of the bar I worked at had helped; added to that, had been the persistence of a good friend. The mending of my shredded heart had come in increments, but it had come—mostly, because of the man sitting in front of me.

Each time I'd bury myself in the hole I'd dug and begin throwing dirt on top of myself, he'd drag me out, kicking and screaming, as wiping the dirt off, he'd shake life back into my tormented existence. Finally, there had come a day, he'd helped me fill in the hole and walk away. At last becoming comfortable with only tossing the occasional glance in its direction, I'd no longer felt the desire to crawl in it.

Over time, I'd begun to trust and care for Rook—who had, a little at a time—worked his way into becoming my best friend. As such, he'd become the only one in this new life, who knew of my past.