Free Rake's Redemption (Wind Dragons Motorcycle Club) by Chantal Fernando Page B

replies, looking away from me. “Every time I see you, all I see is what was, so how can you ask me to do that?”
    “There is nothing there for us in the past!” I yell, turning away from him. “Nothing.”
    “There’s nothing for us in the future too,” he adds simply.
    I need to leave, to get away from him right now.
    Because I am going to lose it.
    My nose is tingling, a sure indication that I am going to cry. And I can’t let him see me break.
    He makes me weak, and I hate it.
    “Why don’t you just leave me alone? Flaunt whoever you want in front of me—I don’t give a shit. All I want is to try to have a good night without all the shit you bring to my life.”
    “You probably should have thought about that before you broke my fuckin’ heart,” he snarls. “Fuckin’ hell, Bailey. It still hurts to see you. I can’t fuckin’ see you, don’t you get it? Yet at the same time, I can’t stay away. Knowing you’re here, it brings me here. It’s like I’m a sadist or something, asking for the pain of our fucked-up memories. I can’t help it.”
    It hurts me too, and I know it’s my fault for not being honest with him about it. If I’m being honest with myself, half of me wants to protect him from what happened.
    Okay, maybe more than half.
    The rest of me doesn’t think he deserves to know the truth. Why should I bare my soul to him? He didn’t bother to talk to me, to even hear what I had to say after that night. He just cutme out and moved on. How am I supposed to tell him what happened? How is he going to look at me after? If I say it out loud, it becomes real.
    I don’t want it to be real.
    I pull my arm out of his hold and walk to the bathroom, needing to gather myself. When the girls come after me, I put a smile on my face and pretend everything will be all right.
    It has to be.
    *   *   *
    When midnight hits, like Cinderella, I figure it’s time to go home, since I have to be up at eight. After Adam disappeared into the VIP room, this time with two women, I didn’t see him again. He made a big show of it, making sure I saw, which made my blood boil. I wanted to go home then and there, but I stuck it out, not wanting him to win, and I tried to enjoy my night with the girls, to forget he was even here, even though all I could do was replay his words over and over in my head and picture what exactly he was doing to the two women in there with him. He’s definitely right about one thing—he’s changed, and I need to realize that so I can let everything in our past go. He’s not Adam, the sweet boy who stole my heart. He’s Rake, the man-whore asshole. As I’m about to call a taxi, Tracker tells me that one of the MC members can take me home.
    “I can just take a taxi,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about it, Tracker.”
    He shakes his head. “We always have someone here sober just in case. You’re not going home alone in a taxi, Bailey.”
    Apparently his word is law, because he turns his back tome and yells out for one of his men. I hear a rumble of motorcycles and turn my head toward the parking lot, where ten bikes pull in. Just how many men did they have in their MC? When Tracker and Arrow stand in front of Anna and Lana, as if protecting them, I have to wonder what the hell is going on. The tension in the air spikes as the men get off their bikes and approach us.
    Irish grabs me and puts me behind him.
    “Don’t say anything, and do as you’re told,” he commands me quietly. I nod, fear rendering me speechless. It’s clear that this is no macho posturing—something’s going down, something serious. I make myself as invisible as I can, sinking behind Irish and holding my arms around myself. Did stuff like this happen a lot? What am I supposed to do in these situations?
    The other men advance until they’re mere feet in front of Irish and the rest, who are now standing shoulder to shoulder in front of me and the other girls.
    “Any reason you’re at our club?”