Owning Destiny (Forsaken Sinners MC Series Book 4) (2 page)

Ignoring Tom Tom’s comment and words of wisdom, I turn my attention back to Blaze. “What are you all doing here? This doesn’t seem like a tea and cookies type of visit. What’s going on?” I ask, getting right down to business. And I know that this is exactly that; club business. Otherwise, they wouldn’t all be here. Sure, they come to visit, but usually it’s just one or two at a time. And even though my whole club isn’t here, I can still tell this is more than a friendly visit.

Blaze straightens up in the chair he’s sitting in, Louie leans forward with his hands clasped in front of him, and Jax moves away from the door to stand closer to my bed. “We’ve got a meeting set up tonight with the Kings. Gutter set it up, said he wants a truce.” Blaze speaks with an edge in his voice, so I know there’s more to it than that.

“You think it’s a trick?” I ask, everything else I was feeling or thinking taking a backseat. I’m now in president mode, even though Blaze is acting president while I’m out of commission.

“We’ve heard chatter on the bug we left in their clubhouse from when Harlow was taken.” This comes from Toby.

I look at each of my brothers, trying to decipher what it is they heard, but they give nothing away.

“And…” I prompt.

“And we heard enough to know this is a fluke. They have no real intention of calling a truce, but we can’t figure out what it is they
are
trying to gain from this meeting,” Louie answers. His voice would sound calm and collected to an outsider, but I can hear the undertone of his unease and rage.

Louie is still pissed about what happened to Harlow and the part the Kings played in it. I don’t blame him one bit. Even though they weren’t the ones specifically that took Harlow, they were a part of it even if they didn’t know full on what was going on. Titus was a part of their club, doesn’t matter if it was a different chapter. They would have backed him regardless of right or wrong, whether they got something out of it or not.

Letting out a long breath, I ask, “So what’s the plan?” I’m not used to asking instead of telling, but I’m leaving this in the hands of Blaze. I know he won’t steer this club in the wrong direction, and even though I appreciate they came to me with this, he is the president for the time being, so it’s his decision.

A look of pride and determination overtakes Blaze’s face. Me stepping back and allowing him to be in charge lets him know I trust him and realize that he’s capable of leading this club. Fuck, I couldn’t be prouder of him. He’s come a long way since transferring years ago, but getting Dani back in his life and having the twins has changed him. He’s more in control and has a leadership quality about him. He’s a damn good kid and I feel comfort knowing he’s stepping into my position completely—and he’s doing a fine fucking job of it too.

“We’re going, but we’re going in hot and heavy. I want all the brothers in on this. I don’t know if they have something up their sleeve for when we arrive or if they want us distracted, but either way, I want to be ready for anything. They actually wanted to set the meeting up for tomorrow, but I didn’t want to give them even more time to set up a trap, if that’s their intention. So we meet tonight.”

Taking a few minutes to think about what he just said, I rub the scruff on my chin before I nod my head in agreement and add in my two cents. “I agree with you on that one, brother. The sooner, the better. But if you have every brother there with you, who will be with the girls? I wouldn’t trust the prospects with them just yet. If someone comes after them while you and the rest of the brothers are at the meet, they’ll need more than just the prospects there to protect them. We don’t know if they’ll crack under pressure.”

It’s not that I don’t completely trust the prospects, but being that they’re new, we haven’t been able to test their commitment as well as I’d like. And I really don’t want to do that with the safety of the girls and the twins. Plus, I’m still bitter about the fact that one of our prospects turned traitor a few years back and helped Sara’s ex kidnap her and Dani. He blew up our clubhouse in the process, nearly killing Louie and succeeded in killing Lyle. So no, I don’t trust them with my loved ones yet.

A smile breaks free from Blaze’s serious expression. “Well, I’m glad you think that too, because they’ll be here soon to stay with you while we’re at the meet.”

Now I understand the smile. Don’t get me wrong, I love those three girls and consider them my own flesh and blood, but having to babysit them while they know something is going on? Let’s just say that tonight is going to be hell. I may have to have the boys chain them down to the chair before they leave.

“You think you’re funny, huh, you little shit? You know damn well that this isn’t going to fly well with them. And to leave a defenseless old crippled man alone with those three women all night? That’s just cruel,” I say, only half joking. I’m not old by any means at forty-four, though sometimes I feel like I’m in my sixties, and it has nothing to do with anything physical since I was in perfect shape and health before getting shot. But sometimes, the stress from being in charge of the club and everything riding on my shoulders makes me feel older than I actually am. Regardless of age or how I felt then or now, I know they will be safe here with me. Paralyzed or not, I wouldn’t let anyone hurt them.

They all laugh at my words, but I’m not mad. It’s the first time I’ve been able to joke around about my condition, and it actually feels good. Maybe I’m not doomed after all, even if I will never walk again.

“Actually, they were really happy when we told them what was going to happen. They didn’t throw a fit like they usually do. It’s like they
wanted
to come here, like it was their idea even,” Louie says after he’s able to stop laughing.

“Yeah, but you won’t hear me complaining. We can figure out what they’re up to after the meeting,” Toby says, and I can see a hint of concern in his eyes. He doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on with his woman.

“Well, somebody better bring me Betty. I’ll need her in case shit goes south while the girls are here.” I don’t know how it will go over with the hospital when they bring me Betty—my favorite Berretta hand gun—but they’ll just have to get over it. No way in hell I’m going to have my daughters here without some way to protect them. Ain’t gonna fuckin’ happen.

“We have a prospect bringing it up as we speak,” Jax says finally. I almost forgot he was here. There’s something going on with him that has him quieter and more guarded than usual. One thing’s for sure…after this shit is taken care of and I’m out of this place, him and I are going to have a talk. It’s time he comes clean about what’s up with him.

A few seconds later, one of our prospects—Dusti—comes walking into the room with Betty concealed under his arm. Handing it over without a word and leaving the room as quietly as he came, I slip it into the drawer beside my bed with a hand towel thrown over top.

Then, pointing over to where my cut hangs on the door of the little closet, I wait for Blaze to bring it to me. I don’t wear it much here even though I feel naked without it…but since anything could happen, I want it on.

Blaze hands it over and I put it on with little trouble. It’s still a little difficult to maneuver and get things on, but it’s easier now.

Turning toward my brothers, I say, “Come by after the meet. I want to know what’s going on. It’s killing me not to be there with my brothers,” I say the last part through gritted teeth. I should be out there with them,
leading
them, not in this fucking hospital bed.

“That’s the plan, brother. Plus, we want to pick the girls up to make sure they’re protected after they leave here just in case the reason for the meet was to get us away from them,” Blaze answers. Even though I don’t like the sound of the girls being in danger one bit, I know that if they are ridin’ with their men, they’ll be safe. Or safer.

I nod in agreement, then shoo them out of the room.

“All right, now that that’s all taken care of, get the fuck outta here so I can do my therapy session.” I can’t help the smile that overtakes my face knowing that Rose will be here soon, with her hands all over my body. Just not in the places I want her to be.

“Yeah, yeah, old man. We know what you’re really wanting, but whatever it takes to get you better,” Louie replies, but his words have me remembering something I wanted to talk to him about.

“Louie, why don’t you hang back for a second? I want to have a word.”

The rest of my brothers nod their goodbyes and promise to come back after the meet to talk about what happened. I tried to get Skinner’s attention before he walked out the door, but he just slowly got up from the couch and walked out of the room with obvious strain. There’s something going on with him but I don’t know what. He seems sick or something. Usually he’s the first to put his two cents in since he’s my VP, but today, he didn’t even say a word about what is about to happen or what he thinks. Guess I’ll have to wait to corner him once I get back home.

As soon as Louie and I are alone, I level him with a serious look.

“How’s Harlow holding up?” I ask, worried about her. I know she’ll be here soon, but I want a heads up before she gets here. I need to make sure she’s doing all right. I hate that I haven’t been there to help her through this after she was taken.

I’ve seen her quite a few times since everything went down because she visits me as often as she can, but I haven’t wanted to bring up old hurts.

After she was released from the hospital and was on the road to recovery, Louie made a promise to her that the man who caused her brother and stepsister harm would pay for his sins. Harlow insisted that she be there. We all fought with her on it at first, but Louie finally decided it was her place to be there anyway. She was the one that suffered. I just hope it hasn’t caused any adverse side effects to her already fragile mind.

She’s been dealing with PTSD after her attack from Titus, and we don’t need to see the man that caused so much damage to her causing any more problems.

Sighing, he takes a seat once more. “I was concerned at first. After the deed was done by her hand, I thought she’d break down or something, but there was nothing. She was quiet and closed off. I worried about pushing her too far after what had happened with Titus, but she surprised me. She never had one episode after we returned, even though she still didn’t seem right.”

Louie shakes his head, but when he looks back up at me, I see relief wash over his face. “We finally talked it through, and I think she’s gonna be all right. Like, really all right, about everything. It’s like this was a part of her healing process or something. It’s allowed her to work everything out of her system—the fear, anger, and sadness—and now there’s just Harlow left. She still seems a little different, she’s harder, but I think that’s good for her. But she doesn’t appear to have any of the PTSD or anger. She’s back to her old self―just stronger.”

I see nothing but happiness in his eyes and I feel better knowing that after allowing her to go with him to kill her adoptive father, there will be no lasting side effects. If anything, it’s made things better for her. I couldn’t be happier about that. Harlow has been through so much in the past few years…Louie as well. They both deserve a break and to be truly happy for once.

“Glad to hear it, son. Damn glad to hear it,” I say, then reach out my hand to the man I took in all those years ago. A man I think of like a son.

Seconds after Louie leaves my room, in walks Rose and I feel a smile tip my lips. “Damn, you’re good. Timed it perfectly,” I say.

“Like I said, I’m good at timing things.” She winks before she gets me set up for my massage.

This woman is going to be the death of me, but fuck if I could even force myself to care. If what I feel when she comes near me and looks at me with that twinkle in her eye is what kills me, then I’ll go willingly. Best way to fucking go, if you ask me.

Chapter Two

Rose

Setting the oils down on the table beside Mack’s bed, I head into the bathroom like I do every day when I come in here to do his massage. I’ve told him it’s to wash my hands before we start—which is true—but it’s also because I have to get myself into check and take a few moments to compose myself.

Every time I’m in his room, my heart rate picks up and my palms become sweaty. I don’t know what it is that he does to me, but I don’t like it. I wish I could say that it’s fear that causes my reaction, or even dislike, but that would be a bold-faced lie. I’m attracted to him but I don’t want to be.

Though I’ve only ever seen him lying in the bed and never standing, I know he’s tall just by the fact that his feet practically hang over the end of the bed. He’s muscular and looks fit, even after being bedridden for almost a month. I’m sure he’s lost some weight, but his build is still huge. His arms are what stand out the most to me and I think those have gotten bigger since the first time I saw him, which would make sense since he’s having to use them all the time to lift his weight.

I like how he doesn’t look like a body builder, though. He’s big, but not
too
big. Like in an unnatural way. I’ve always hated how people look who do competitions and all that stuff. I mean, it’s cool that they’re dedicated and want to do it, but it just looks odd. On both male and female. But to each their own, I guess.

Then there’s his strong jaw line with a little bit of hair that is barely gray. I know by looking at his chart he isn’t really old—only six years older than me—but the gray works for him; makes him even sexier.

And his tattoos. I’ve always had a thing for tattoos, but the ones I’ve been able to see on the top part of his body are mesmerizing. It’s like they tell the story of his life. I wish I had the time to really study them, but every time I try while I’m giving him his massage, I get too worked up and have to look away and think about something else.

But the thing that I keep coming back to is the fact that he’s a part of a motorcycle club. And the president, to boot. I don’t need to get mixed up with that. I’ve already been involved in one club against my wishes, I don’t need to
willingly
associate with one.

No, Mack is my patient, and that’s where it must stay. It doesn’t matter if I’m attracted to him or if he seems different than any of the other bikers I’ve met before. It doesn’t matter if every time I look into his deep green eyes, I feel like I was lost and now I’ve been found. He’s bad news. I need to remember that.

After washing my hands, I take a deep breath before heading back into the room. Mack lies there and watches my every move, and damn it if that doesn’t put me back to frustrated all over again. So much for getting myself together in the bathroom. I might as well not even do it anymore. It never works. The way I feel around him doesn’t change, and, if anything, it just gets stronger with every passing day.

“Are you ready to get started?” I ask in a calm voice that belies my shaky interior.

“Whenever you are,” he replies, then he grabs the remote for his bed and starts to lower it so he’s lying flat.

I notice as he starts to roll over that he’s already removed his shirt while I was in the bathroom. His stomach is completely visible to me now and I can see every ripple and ridge of his abdominal muscles and even a hint of the most defined oblique muscle line I’ve ever seen. His abs flex and grow hard as steel as he maneuvers himself on the bed.

My eyes then move toward his biceps that bulge from the movement to get himself turned over and situated. The tattoos on his huge arms move so it’s like I’m watching a movie. My mouth waters and my panties are soaked by just watching him. It’s as if I’m watching live porn, but without the sex.

It takes him a little longer to get completely turned over so he’s lying on his stomach, but I never once moved to try and help him. Not because I literally couldn’t force myself to move or get my eyes off of his body to make a coherent thought, but because this is something he needs—to do things on his own. There are so many tasks he can no longer do without help, so having this one thing he can accomplish by himself…it’s a victory for him. And even though I hate to watch him struggle and want to help him—when I’m not drooling over him—I don’t.

As soon as he’s situated, he turns his head to look at me. He’s sweating a little and out of breath with the exertion, but he has a look of pride in his eyes that I will never get tired of. It’s there every time he does something, but my love of seeing it doesn’t fade. And I hope it never does.

I make my way over to the table to grab some oil to start his massage. I always start with oil to loosen up his muscles and it makes it easier for my hands to slide over his body.
God, I wish my hands were sliding over a different part of his body right now.

Shaking my head to try and dislodge the visual of his hard cock in my hand or filling my pussy, I think of everything but the man lying beneath my hands; my other patients, or the bills that I need to pay tonight when I get home. But it’s the last one that really has the fantasies coming to a screeching halt—
my brother
. Yeah, thinking of him always does the trick.

I breathe out a sigh, irritated with myself for not being able to keep my thoughts and fantasies in check.
What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Everything all right?” Mack asks.

Great, now I have to try and come up with an excuse. No way in hell I’m going to tell him I was just imagining my hand on his cock. Or anything about my brother.

“Yeah. Just had a long day is all,” I reply, and it’s not even a lie. Today has felt like it’s dragged on forever.

Usually my days at the hospital go by fast; I come in around six in the morning, catch up on some paperwork, do my rounds, then come in here to do Mack’s massage. Then I log any progress I see from our session before doing another quick round to see my patients before heading home. And today was no different, but everything just seemed to drag at a snail’s pace. I’m ready to go home, take a long hot bath, and catch up on a few episodes of
The Vampire Diaries
.

A sad smile takes over his face before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

I can’t help the laugh that comes out of my mouth. It sounds harsh even to me, so when Mack seems to physically recoil from me, I want to slap myself.

“It may come as a shock to you, being a low-life biker and all, but I’m actually pretty fucking good at holding my own in a conversation.” He’s on the defensive now and I don’t blame him one bit. I can be a real bitch sometimes, even when I don’t try to be.

Look at what happened a few weeks ago when I came in to find the remnants of Mack’s rage. And even though I knew he must be upset about what’s happened and the fact that he still can’t walk, I went right into bitch mode. I yelled at him and basically called him a brat. I’ve never been shy when it comes to voicing my opinion or being the stronger voice when it comes to my patients, or anyone else around me, but I’ve never been as bold and blunt as I was with Mack that day. It’s just that it seems like he’s the type that is so used to being in control that he’d need a heavier hand. And it worked, although we both were probably a littler harsher than we normally would be. Mack brings out the worst in me, it seems.

I still think back to that day and can’t believe I wasn’t scared. When he called me by my full name, I was shocked, but more pissed than anything. It’s no secret I prefer to be called by Rose. Shit, most people don’t even know my real first name, only my middle name. But he knew. He must have looked into me and done his research. It makes me angry and a little flattered he would do that, though I’m sure he does it for everyone he comes into contact with, not just me. I just hope when he looked into me he didn’t find anything I don’t want him to find. But that should be impossible after all the trouble I went through to erase everything that tied me to my brother.

Mack moving around on the bed has me snapping back to the present. He looks even more aggravated than I feel, though I can’t tell if it’s the course our conversation has taken or with the state of his condition. Either way, I feel bad and want to fix it. I don’t want to leave when he’s upset, no matter if it’s at me or about something different.

“Hey, look, I didn’t mean it in the way you took it. I’m sure you are a great listener and—” I start but am cut off before I can explain further or make this better.

“Forget it,” he growls, then grunts with effort to get himself turned over. “Why don’t you just leave? I’m done with this shit.”

His voice is angry and hard as steel, but I can’t pay attention to that right now.

“Mack, did you—”

“I said get out!” he yells, interrupting me again.

Screw this. I’m done with his shit. I don’t care if he’s pissed at me or at himself, but he’s going to fucking listen to me.

“Mack,” I yell, getting his attention finally, though he doesn’t seem happy about it. Tough shit. “Did you move your leg?” I ask in a calmer voice, hopefully relaying my excitement about what I think I just saw, but it doesn’t work. The fog of his anger isn’t allowing my words to get through to him the way they should. Either that, or he’s just that much of a prick.

“What the fuck did you just ask me? Did I move my leg? For fuck’s sake, listen to yourself! I’ve been trying to move my damn legs since I got here. For a nurse, you’re sure dumb in the head.”

I take a calming breath because I know he doesn’t mean that. It’s the anger and the disappointment talking, so I let it slide. This time.

“Try to move your right leg,” I order him, moving my eyes from his face to his leg. Crossing my arms, I wait for him to obey, praying that my eyes weren’t deceiving me moments ago.

Huffing and mumbling under his breath things that I should probably be glad I can’t hear, Mack does as he’s told.

At first, I don’t see anything—not even a shake of movement. But it’s when he’s given up and beginning to tell me off again I’m sure I see it. It’s the smallest of movements, but it’s there.

“Did you see that?” I question, excitement in my voice. This is great news for him!

He doesn’t answer me, but when I chance a look up at him, I see confusion and even a little bit of wonder on his face. Then determination takes over, and I look back down to his legs, and this time, the movement is bigger.

“Oh my God, Michael! You did it. You’re moving your leg,” I say, then rush over to take his hand. I don’t know what came over me, but I’m so ecstatic with this new development that I need to be near him, I need to touch him. I need to break him out of the shock he’s in from the realization that he’s moving his leg on his own. The massage sessions have been working, along with the medicine and physical therapy. He’s getting better.

Moving his head toward me, his stunned silence now broken, he smiles at me. I thought it was because of his progress, but his words confuse me. “Say that again.”

I don’t understand. He just saw it with his own eyes. But if that’s what it takes for him to fully get it, then I’ll say it a hundred times. “You did it. You moved your leg. This is great news. It shows tha—”

“No, not that. The other part,” Mack says, interrupting me, leaving me even more confused.

But then it hits me. It’s not what I told him, it’s what I
called
him. I used his real name and not his nickname. That has to be what he’s talking about. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Mack. I didn’t even realize I said that,” I say, upset with myself for letting his given name slip past my lips. There is a reason he doesn’t go by that name anymore and I need to respect that. After all, I’d want the same respect, since I don’t like my given name either.

“Say it again,” he repeats, but there’s something about his tone and the way he’s smiling at me. He doesn’t seem mad like I thought he’d be.

Sighing, I give in to his wishes. “Michael,” I breathe out quietly, still a little unsure about calling him that even though he pretty much demanded it.

His smile gets even bigger and I can’t help it when my heartbeat picks up and my own mood soars. When this man smiles, it lights up a whole room to the point you can’t help but smile back.

“I haven’t been called that in so long I almost forgot that’s my real name. I always hated that name, but hearing you say it…I kind of like it,” he says, squeezing the hand I forgot was still holding his.

I’m speechless. What do you say to something like that? Um, thanks? You’re welcome?

Thinking it better to just not say anything at all, I return his smile a little shyly. I still can’t believe I slipped and called him that. At least he’s not mad about it. And now that I think of it, I do like calling him by his real name. It’s different than what everyone else calls him. I like that no one else calls him Michael. Only me. I just hope it stays that way and he doesn’t decide to start having everyone call him that now, even though I have no right to hope for that. He’s not mine and never will be. And I don’t want him to be mine, either. Not now, not ever. He’s a biker. I need to remember that.