Madeline Sheehan - Undeniable

Fucking shit.  She was running her mouth again and he was getting pissed.

"Woman, if you think I’m gonna let you walk outta here, you’re fuckin’ crazy.  You showed up outta nowhere cuz you fuckin' wanted me, so you fuckin' got me, and I'm gonna tell you straight up that a few fuckin' days of you hasn't been enough.  So you reel that fuckin' attitude in cuz you're fuckin' stayin'!"

Her face wiped clean, no expression whatsoever.  "Get the fuck away from me," She said evenly. “Now.”

He curled his hands into fists.  “Eva,” He growled.  “Stop it.”

She rolled to her side, facing away from him.

Stiffly, he got off the bed and stalked to the door.  He shot one last look at her.  She was staring off to the side at nothing.

☼☼☼

I woke up in darkness as the bed dipped and Deuce slid in beside me.  Instead of curling up next to me he stayed on the opposite side of the bed.  I couldn't let it end like this.  Not with him.  My stomach was sore but nothing like my face and nothing I couldn't handle so I rolled over and crawled on top of him.

"Hey," I whispered.

His arms wrapped around me.  “You still mad, darlin’?”

Instead of answering, I kissed him.  When I pulled away, we were both breathing heavy.

I rubbed my lips across his and whispered, "You want it hard or you want it slow?"

"Babe," He said thickly.  "I want it fuckin' slow."

So I gave it to him slow.

☼☼☼

He woke up alone.

Deuce rolled over and hit air.  He patted around for a moment looking for Eva and came up empty.  He clicked on his bedside lamp.  No Eva.  No IPod on his nightstand.  No chucks by the door.  No backpack on the floor. His stomach clenched.

Pulling on a pair of jeans he headed straight for Cox's room and kicked open the door.  Ripper was snoring loudly, his long body draped over an armchair.  Cox, lying belly down in bed, jerked his head up.

“Prez?”

He scanned the room.  No Kami.

The vice around his chest went painfully tight.

“Where’s your fuckin’ bitch?”

Cox looked right then left.  “Shit,” He muttered.  “I thought I heard something earlier.  Figured she was fuckin’ Ripper again.  Fuckin’ hell.  I was gonna ask her to marry me.”

“You’re already married shithead.  This ain’t fuckin’ Utah.” He slammed the door shut and took off down the hall.

He found Blue sitting alone at the bar in the dark.  Seventy-two years old, two pack a day smoker and a raging alcoholic, yet healthy as a twenty year old.

"Eva?” He asked.

Blue swallowed down a shot of Petron. "Gone."

His chest went so fucking tight he had to slap his palm over his heart and rub before he could breathe again.

"When?”

Blue poured then threw back another shot.  "'Bout two hours ago."

Fuck.

FUCK.

"Sorry Prez, I woulda woken you up, told you what she was doin', but she was cryin' her fuckin' eyes out.  Hysterical.  Beggin' me to open the gate.  Beggin’ me not to wake you up.  Can't deal with hysterical women myself.  Makes me want to drink."

"Right," He said numbly.

"Left you this."  Blue held out his hand.

He took the small folded piece of paper and opened it.

Deuce,

I'm sorry.

I shouldn't have come and imposed on your life.

<3 Eva.

P.S. Take care of yourself.

"Prez?"

"What?"

"She's a good girl," Blue said.  "Sweet too.  Knows her way round a club, took two fuckin’ fists for it.  Fuckin' adores you too, woulda thought you were the King of fuckin' England way she looks at you, and she's good to the boys, not givin' ‘em shit 'bout the girls, bringin' them beers, talkin' and jokin' with ‘em, makin' friends with Jase's piece a ass.  Didn't much like Miranda…"

Blue tossed back another shot and chuckled.

"But I don't much blame her.  I were you I woulda done everything I coulda to keep a girl like that in my bed.”

What else could he have done short of tying her to the bed or drugging her.

"Yeah," He muttered, "Too late now."

His hand fisted around the note, crushing it.

“Pour me one of those,” He muttered, taking a seat beside Blue.

Fuck Eva Fox and her perfect face and her perfect tits.  He had a life to get back to.

So he got back to it.

For three long years he lived his fucking life.

His miserable fucking life.

And then he saw her again.

And miserable got a fuck of a lot worse.

Groaning, Frankie collapsed on top of me.

"Off," I demanded, pushing at him.  "I can't breathe."

He lifted his head, grinning.  "Like you where you are babe.  Fuckin' naked and underneath me."

Frankie was insatiable.  I almost wished he would start whoring around at the club and give me break.

"Frankie!  I can't breathe!  Get off!"

Grunting, he pushed himself up a few inches.  "I'm tryin’ babe but you're not lettin’ me back in."

"Ahhh!" I yelled, shoving him as hard as I could.  Which wasn't very hard but I did manage to shove him off to the side so I was able to roll away.

Frankie rolled too, reaching for me.  I jumped backwards and slapped his hands away.  Glaring at him, I headed into the bathroom to dress.

“Remind me why we had to sleep at the club?”  I asked, stepping into my underwear then slipping my jersey cotton sheath dress over my head.

“Got a meetin’ this mornin’.”

I pulled my hair up and turned on the faucet.  Scooping water in my hands, I started washing my face.  “So, why did I have to stay at the club?”

“Can’t sleep without you babe.”

Grabbing Frankie’s toothbrush, I loaded it with toothpaste and shoved it in my mouth.

“What’s the meeting about?”  I mumbled around the toothbrush.

“Bunch of MCs havin’ trouble with Angelo Buonarroti.  Seems the douchebag put out a coupla bids for the same jobs.  Things got messy, brother's got buried.  Need to get this shit straightened out.  Maybe Buonarroti needs to go to ground.  We’ll see.”

I spit, rinsed the toothbrush and put it back in its holder.  Then I grabbed my makeup bag and set to work making myself look presentable.

“Gonna go have breakfast with Kami while you’re working.”

“At her place?”

I leaned forward, dotting some cover up underneath my eyes.  “Probably.”

“Don’t like that fucker she married,” Frankie muttered.

I grinned.  “Who does?”

Chase Henderson was a high paid lawyer for a predominant law firm who had made partner by the age of twenty five.   We’d all gone to prep school together but he’d gone off to Harvard whereas Kami and I had stayed in Manhattan to attend NYU.  Their parents had arranged their marriage a long time ago.  It was ridiculously old school but it wasn’t unheard of in their circle.  There were many wealthy, political families that still practiced arranged marriages.

Chase was extraordinarily good looking in an All-American Calvin Klein underwear model kind of way.  Never once had I seen him not clean-shaven and without one of many designer outfits on.  He never had a single gelled hair out of place and always wore a pissed off, haughty expression. There was nothing simple or comfortable about him.  He reminded me of a house that was too expensive, too new, too clean, too perfect, to feel comfortable in.

Kami despised him.

She had been cheating on him with her personal trainer since they had gotten home from their honeymoon.  He cheated on her with a variety of women, none of whom lasted longer than a few weeks, if that.

It was ridiculous.

“Don’t like the way he looks at you babe.”

I snorted.  “Frankie, you don’t like anyone looking at me.  Period.  You didn't like my college professor's looking at me when I raised my hand.  Remember Professor Reynolds?  Daddy had to pay him off big time for the beating you gave him.  Besides, Chase thinks I’m biker trash.”

“Bitch, get a fuckin’ clue!” Frankie yelled.  “Asshole looks at you like he’s fuckin’ starvin’ and you’re a goddamn steak!”

Letting my hair down, I rolled my eyes.  Men.  Always hungry.

“Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”

“Waitin’ for your sweet ass so I can walk you out.”

I shook my head and smiled at him.

Frankie was a great looking man.  Long brown hair, a scruffy beard, a body made for sex, covered in tattoos and sexy scars.  He was good in bed, too.  A good combination of attentive and demanding and he didn’t stray.  This I knew because wherever I was, at home, at the clubhouse, in the supermarket, in the shower, Frankie was there too.  Or somewhere nearby.  Or on his way there.  Or skyping me.  Or tracking me through my cell phone with his cellphone.

Three years ago I had come home from Montana and was met with insanity the likes of which I'd never seen before.  The club was in an uproar, first because I'd gone missing, second because Frankie had completely flipped his shit and was beating on anyone who got near him, beating himself with the butt of his gun, bashing his head and fists into walls until they bled, screaming, swearing and cursing me to hell.

Ignoring my father's temper tantrum and responsibility speech I went straight to Frankie’s room and found him curled up in a corner covered in blood.

"Shit," I muttered, getting to my knees beside him.

"Frankie," I whispered.  "Baby, look at me."

He moved fast.  His hands shot out and gripped both my forearms.  Dragging me down to the floor, he rolled over top of me. Blood encrusted eyelids blinked down at me.

"Eva," He croaked.  "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I just needed some breathing room baby, I'm sorry I left you."

He cupped my cheeks, ran his fingers through my hair, then down to my shoulders and up and down my arms.  Before I knew it, his hands were all over me, pulling the top of my sundress down, baring my breasts.  He took one in his hand and the other in his mouth.

“Fuck,” I breathed.  “Frankie, no…”

“Not waitin’ anymore, babe,” He muttered around my breast.  Lifting his hips, he pulled the hem of my dress up.

I tried to push him off me.  “I’m not going to leave you again!” I promised.  “We don’t need to do this!”

Frankie dug his fingers in between my knees and wrenched my legs open.  His hips surged forward forcing them to stay open and he yanked on his belt.  I started to panic.

"Please!" I cried.  "Please don't do this!"

"No baby," He growled, "I’m not gonna fuckin’ let you say no to me anymore.  You get me?  You’re not fuckin’ runnin’ from me anymore.  Told you a long time ago you were mine and its ‘bout time you got that shit through your thick fuckin’ skull.”

This was all said while he was opening his belt and unzipping his jeans.  Now he was yanking my underwear to one side and I could feel him trying to enter me.

"Wait!" I cried, shoving at his chest.  "Don't!"

"Fuck," He muttered.  He spit in his palm then rubbed his hand over me, wetting me, then he was back, pushing inside.

“Frankie!” I screamed, trying to wiggle backwards to prevent him from fully seating himself.

“STOP!”

His hand slapped down over my mouth; I kept screaming but the sound was muffled and hoarse and no one heard but Frankie and me.

“Been waitin’ too fuckin’ long for this,” He groaned, pushing harder, his heavy chest crumpling my attempts at moving him.  “You’re not fuckin’ stoppin’ me anymore.  You're never fuckin' stoppin' me again.”

He thrust.  Hard.  And found purchase.  I stilled, tears in my eyes, staring up at him.  Frankie had just forced himself on me, inside of me.  My Frankie.  It was surreal, confusing, like a dream or a movie you remember from a long time ago.

“Lock your ankles around my back,” He rasped.  Dazed, I did as he asked.  He released my mouth to grip my backside and pump harder.  Numb, I listened to his skin slapping against mine, his heavy breathing, my head knocking against the wall.

"How the fuck could you leave me?" He rasped.  "I can't fuckin' sleep without you, haven't fuckin' slept in days.  You fuckin' did that to me, bitch.  You fuckin' let that happen."

I had.  I'd known he was going to freak and I'd left him anyway.  I should have realized this was going to happen, that he would completely lose it and need to bind me to him in a way he thought was permanent.  God, this was all my fault.