Claiming His Forever (Battle Born MC #8) - Scarlett Black Page 0,5
the dark. I’ve been down that road with Kilo, gave him everything, only to be burnt in the end. I don’t believe in love, just great friendships. At least for me, it feels safer than trusting a man again.
Exhausted from working the morning shift at the salon, then a late afternoon at the tattoo shop, I’m ready to fall on my face. Both jobs have their advantages and keep me busy. One day, my dream is to have my own tattoo shop. I have a chair in both establishments and work both part-time because it keeps my appointments full with a steady income. Either one could slow down at any time.
Slamming the door of my black Corvette, I turn and walk face first into a chest of muscle. I know this body like the back of my hand. “Jesus, Kilo, why do you have to sneak up on me like this?”
“Where have you been?” His voice is low and irritated.
My mind races and Angie’s words about my hickey echoes loudly as a warning to hide it. I pull out my hair tie from the messy bun I had it in and massage my scalp. The dim streets working in my favor, I pull my hair around to one side. Sliding past him, I walk toward the steps leading to my apartment. “Working. When did we start keeping track of each other?” I throw over my shoulder. Placing the key in the entryway door, his hand grips mine with a tight squeeze, stopping me from turning it.
“Since when do you not answer me to meet up?” The heat from him standing so close behind me radiates into my back. And the second time in my life, my body tells me he’s not the one.
“Can we not do this in the street, where my neighbors can hear you?” I hiss at him. His latest woman must have split and he’s looking for a hard fuck. God knows, these guys like it rough, and most women can’t handle their intensity or lifestyle.
His hand releases mine and he follows me up to my apartment. Inside, I toss my bag and keys onto the kitchen table and open the refrigerator door. Strong, muscular, tattooed arms wrap around my middle. “I’m sorry, Jazz. I was worried about you. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you.”
He’s curious to find out if I have been with someone. It’s not like me to not respond at all and now he’s knocking on my door for answers. As long as we hook up at his will, he doesn’t pay attention to me. Never have I been with anyone else, and the mark on my neck... I’d gone radio silent and couldn’t text him back. I’ve changed, and I needed time to figure out where my head and heart are at.
Kilo is bald and covered head-to-toe with tattoos, a biker girl’s thirst trap. The history between us has kept us connected. He was one of the first who let me put needle to skin. I’ve done all of his tattoos. Even though we have fought, and even through the bad times, Kilo has always been my friend. If I needed something, anything, he would give it to me. Other than devoting himself completely. Life and love is so complicated. Over the years, the familiarity grew into a comfortable routine. The men in this life are dangerous, possessive, and passionate by nature. They fight and love hard. It’s hard to see the cycle when you're caught up in it. Picking one is picking your poison. “Thank you for caring. I’m tired and had a long day. If you pick a fight with me, we’re going to have a blowout. I’d rather not.”
He chuckles and his chest bounces. Tapping his arm, I signal for him to let me go. He plants a quick kiss to the side of my head. “Alright, bella, beautiful girl.”
Pulling out two beers, I hand him one and the doorbell rings. My eyebrows hit my hairline. “You expecting company?”
“Takeout.” He grins like he does when he knows he got away with something, which is often with this man. Kilo gets the food and meets me on the couch, passing me my favorite Chinese dish. We eat together in silence until I’m stuffed and sleepy. Kilo sets his food down and begins to crawl over me. I get that we have a “no attachments” and a sex-on-demand relationship, but this is not working for me anymore.