Gunnar A Motorcycle Club Romance - Nina Levine Page 0,60
believe you, I did fucking believe you. And I want to know what the hell’s going on.”
Her eyes drop to the floor and I feel the bullshit before I hear it. “I am sorry for breaking your heart, but whatever else I said to you—”
I snake an arm around her waist and take her with me as I move us to the wall. Caging her in, I say, “Don’t fucking act like you don’t remember what you said. You fucking do. I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice. You’re not a fucking liar, Chelsea. Don’t start that shit with me now. Give me the truth. What did you mean when you said you’ll stay with him for the rest of your life for me?”
Her eyes search mine frantically. “You caught me in a bad moment, that’s all.”
“What bad moment?”
“Joe and I have been fighting,” she starts and then stops herself. She’s looking at me like she’s weighing what to tell me.
“And what’s that got to do with me? What the fuck are you doing for me?”
“I was just referring to the fact I agreed to marry him so Dad would help you after you were arrested.”
“Bull-fucking-shit. Stop fucking lying.”
Her eyes flare with the fight she’s about to unleash. “I’m not fucking lying, Mason.”
I bend my face down closer to hers so I can look directly into her eyes. “You might not be lying, but you’re fucking keeping something from me. I shouldn’t expect any different from you, though. I’m always the last fucking one to know, aren’t I?”
More of that fight flashes in her eyes, right before she presses her hands to my chest and attempts to push me away. I don’t budge, though. I stay right the fuck where I am and keep my eyes firmly on hers. I fucking hate discussing her marriage. Hate thinking of her with that asshole. But this is a long-overdue conversation and we’re fucking having it.
“Let me go,” she says, still pushing against me.
I keep blocking her. “We’re not finished talking.”
“We are. Trust me, we fucking are.”
Fuck I love her fight, even when I hate the reason for it.
“Tell me about it,” I demand.
She frowns. “About what?”
“About your fucking marriage.”
Her breathing slows as she stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You don’t want to know about it,” she says softly.
“You’re fucking right about that, but humour me. Tell me why you married that prick.”
“Mason,” she breathes, gripping my shirt. “No, don’t do this.”
I bring my arms up to rest against the wall either side of her head and lean my face down close to hers again. Every fucking cell in my body is wired. Anger, jealousy, hate. It’s all in there, a fucking mix of straight-up danger. “Fucking. Tell. Me.”
Her eyes widen. Her breathing picks up. Those breaths of hers are coming in a panic now. We’re finally fucking getting somewhere.
Still gripping my shirt, she says, “You know I married him so that Dad would help you.”
“And you fucking know that’s not a conversation we ever had.”
“We did have that conversation. I told you it was the only solution after you were arrested.”
“Yeah, you told me that and I told you I’d find another way. And then next fucking thing, I’m hearing about your engagement on the fucking news. We didn’t fucking have that conversation. I would have fucking liked for you to have told me.”
She swallows hard. “I know, and I’m sorry.”
“So what was the agreement when you married him?”
“For you?”
“For me, for you, for fucking everything.”
“Dad agreed to help keep you out of prison. I agreed to stay married to Joe for as long as Dad is premier.”
“And for as long as Hearst is premier?”
Her eyes plead with me to end this conversation as her hands shift from gripping my shirt to gripping my chest. “Yes.”
I don’t know if it’s the fact her hands are on me now, curving over my muscles, or if it’s the way she just breathed out that one word that tells me just how fucking long she’s bound to Hearst for that does it, but I’m fucking pissed off. She’s telling me this is all arranged; she has her hands on me like she used to; she’s looking at me like she fucking cares about me; and yet every fucking time I see them together, she’s doing the same fucking things with him. Hands on him, eyes on him, looking at him like she fucking loves him.