Gunnar A Motorcycle Club Romance - Nina Levine Page 0,6
look at myself in the mirror, taking in the dark circles under my eyes.
I can’t fucking do this.
I need out.
Oh, my darling, there is no out. You made your bed and now you shall lie in it.
The scream that’s been trapped inside me for the last three months sits in my throat, desperate to be heard by the world.
I suck in another deep breath.
When I made my choice, I decided I would never allow myself to engage in pity parties. I won’t ever be that girl who wallows in feeling sorry for herself. Shit happens, and we pick our path in life, and then we need to stick to it, standing strong every step of the way.
I retrieve my lipstick from my bag and reapply it. Russian Red. My favourite shade of red that always makes me feel able to take on the world.
I then tidy my hair and powder my face.
By the time I exit the bathroom, I’ve gathered myself enough to deal with my husband and his never-ending demands.
I’m surprised to find his office empty, but that doesn’t bother me. I told him I have a busy afternoon, so I have a reason for leaving without waiting for him to return.
I sling my bag over my shoulder, straighten my suit jacket, and exit Joe’s office.
I’m a few steps out of the office when I spot him.
Leather and jeans.
Attitude and ink.
Rolling in like the storm he is.
My breathing instantly slows.
Hell, my lungs stop working for a good three seconds.
Mason.
The man I never stopped loving even though all I want to feel for him now is hate for what he did to me after we broke up.
He’s coming my way, his shoulders tense like stone, his eyes hard, and his expression closed off in the way it has been since the day I made it clear to him we were done. That awful fateful day I wish I could rip from my soul and never remember again.
Somehow I keep putting one foot in front of the other and continue making my way towards the lift even though this is bringing me closer to Mason. Seeing him last night killed me, but what truly slayed me was the way he looked at me and then looked away and kept going, like seeing me didn’t affect him at all. I want to do the same to him today, but the way I’m finding it hard to even breathe, let alone not look at him, tells me I’m going to fail.
His eyes don’t meet mine once.
He keeps them glued to something beyond me.
I know this because mine are on him.
It’s like I’m begging for pain. Like I want the ache that sits deep in my heart to be dragged up and given a beating. If I didn’t, I’d look straight ahead and keep walking. I surely wouldn’t stop as he walks straight past me, turn to him, and demand, “Really?”
His legs falter, and after he takes a couple more steps, he finally stops and faces me. “Really what?”
His words are so cold they stab into my heart like shards of ice. Add to that the way his dark eyes stare at me with burning hatred and my own feelings of hostility rage to the surface. Feelings that make no sense to me after loving Mason for so long.
Mason is the boy I’ve loved since forever. Our families run in the same social circle, and we grew up together. I remember our first day of year one. I was scared and Mason sat with me and made sure I was okay. He looked out for me from that day on, keeping bullies like Samuel Hash away. In grade seven, when Samuel made fun of my chest still being flat, Mason got in a fight with him to shut him up. In grade ten, when Samuel spread lies about me sucking his dick on school camp (because I’d rejected him and he wanted to humiliate me like I’d apparently humiliated him), Mason once again got in a fight with him. And then when I was sixteen and he discovered my father hit me sometimes, he took on the role of my protector in a whole new way.
I’d planned to tell him I loved him when I was seventeen, but that plan went out the window the night Mason and I were at a party that got busted by the cops for drugs. Neither of us were found with drugs, but the publicity wasn’t great for