DARK PLACES

That should be me right now—rolling my hips into Merik Adler, my greedy tongue shoved down his throat as his tattoo-covered fingers bury themselves in my thighs, right where I’ve always wanted them to be.

Instead, it’s some new girl, and I watch the whole thing as a pissed-off spectator, staring from across the bonfire, my glare hotter than the flames.

My brother’s best friend.

My next-door neighbor.

The son of Marty Adler—President of Skull-FuX Motorcycle Club.

The guy of my fucking dreams, grinning between kisses like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to me.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I gawk at the scene with frustration, a hopeless sound passing my lips as I lean forward and rest my head in my palm, my elbow propped up on my knee. I don’t even try to hide my irritation. I’m sure the whole party knows I’m jealous, with my friends snickering behind their beers as they watch me wilt.

“You’re drooling again,” Edwin murmurs, his shoulder nudging mine.

I huff out a breath, knowing I’m being pathetic but not caring. “Yeah, yeah—” I wave him off, unashamedly staring. I’m aware of nothing else, just Merik and that girl sucking face.

With a wry chuckle and a gleaming grin, Edwin pushes himself up, standing with one handheld outstretched in my direction. I glance up at my best friend’s face, lit with an orange glow, his round, thin-wired glasses reflecting the flicker of the flames.

I grab ahold and let him help me to my feet, but I can’t resist glancing back over at Merik and the girlfriend-of-the-week clinging to him like a parasite. Ugh. My stomach twists itself into jealous knots. Barf.

As we make our escape, the sound of lips separating echoes through the night air, and suddenly Merik’s deep, rich tone floats across the chasm and burrows into my ear, rendering me almost completely paralyzed. “Ren, stop right fuckin’ there.”

My step falters. I’ve always loved his voice, could play a recording of it on full blast day and night, fall asleep to the deep bravado, would die hearing him moan my name as I make him cum. Jesus Christ. Clearing my throat, I shake the dirty thoughts from my wicked mind and hook my arm in Edwin’s elbow, forcing myself to keep moving.

“I thought I was bringing you home, little bird.” Merik’s dark, foreboding gaze locks onto mine immediately, a question in his furrowing brow.

With a shrug and a defiant turn of my head, I wave him off with a flick of my hand. “I’m ready to go home now, and didn’t want to interrupt the slut-fest.” The guilt that follows the words barely settles on me before they’re out.

I watch as Merik grinds his back teeth, his jaw tensing as he helps his date steady herself on the ground before heading straight for me. My mouth drops open and goes dry, gaping at the sight—all masculine energy, all venomous intensity, his eyes glowing amber and dead set on me.

It’s too much. My legs refuse to work, and I stumble backwards, catching myself in Edwin’s arms. And Merik’s glare turns dangerous. Deadly.

Reaching me, Merik grabs my arm. The suddenness of it, the forcefulness, makes me yelp. He pulls me away, his voice hard when he speaks. “I made a deal with your brother that I’d make sure you made it home safely.” His eyes move then to Edwin, pinning him to his spot with a coldness that chills me to the core. “Thanks anyway, Edi—”

My eyes are huge, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment as Merik guides me through the partygoers and toward the field of haphazardly parked vehicles. I can hear the muffled giggles from girls we pass, can sense the stare from guys I’ve known my entire life.

It feels like they’re dissecting every part of the scene. I begin to pull back, yank my arm, but Merik’s grip is iron. He always operates on business, and I know best not to fight when he’s like this.

The farther we get from the bonfire, the more the embarrassment burns. I catch a glimpse of Merik’s lips pressing into a thin line, hear the grunt of his breath when I pull harder against his grip. He thinks I’m being petulant. I can tell by the way his dark eyebrows twitch.

I successfully yank my arm free from his grasp. “You embarrassed me back there, Merik!” I shout, unable to control the fury in my voice. “I’m not some little girl who doesn’t know how to get herself home.”

I stop abruptly, spinning to face him, trying to project confidence even as my heart races. My voice softens to a whisper, barely audible over the pounding in my ears. “I can take care of myself. I’m not a kid, Merik, I’m not a fucking kid!” I insist, my eyes searching his for some recognition, for any sign that he actually gets what I’m saying.

But then he smirks—that devilish, infuriating, knee-weakening smirk that he knows drives me crazy—and grabs his crotch like he’s some hot shit. “Oh, I know that you can take care of yourself. My balls met your knee last week.” He laughs as he says it, and the sound makes my knees all wobbly again, even in my anger. Bastard.

Last week. Oh God, last week. It was something, all right—a disaster and a dream rolled into one.

Memories flood back, vivid and mortifying. He’d snuck up to my room during one of Atlas’ parties, the alcohol buzzing through his veins. I was giddy, on top of the world, knowing that he’d sought me out when he could have had any girl at the party.

And then he fell asleep in my bed, sprawled out like he owned the place. I’d stayed there, like a total creeper, sitting on the edge of the mattress, just watching him. I didn’t even care if I got caught. I watched his chest rise and fall, watched his eyebrows furrow at something in his dreams.

Merik had woken up, and to my shock, he wasn’t even mad. He caught me in the act, pulled me into his strong arms, and pinned me beneath his body, each movement slow and deliberate. I thought my heart would explode, thought my dreams were finally coming true. His lips were so close to mine, I could taste the whiskey on his breath. Time slipped away. I didn’t hear the floor creak under Atlas’ weight; didn’t hear the bedroom door groan open.

Merik didn’t even flinch, didn’t give a damn that we’d been caught. But I did.

Panicked, I kneed him in the nuts to get him off of me, needing to save face more than I needed him to kiss me. And the look on his face as he writhed in pain was priceless, making Atlas and I both laugh like idiots even as my heart broke.

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I shrug. “See? Big girl.” I point at my chest for good measure, the silliness of it snapping the tension and making him laugh.

And oh, my fuck, his laugh puts a spell on me—rich and smoky, full of grit and static. Like he’s been on a decade-long bender.

“Big girl or not,” he rasps again, stepping into my space as if he belongs here, like he’s claiming a goddamn piece of real estate, “I promised your brother something, and I plan on keeping my word. Come on.”

I stare up at him, my whole body useless except for my eyes, wondering if he can see the helpless longing there as I stall. But he’s already turning, guiding me toward his older brother’s beat up Chevy pickup. I’m not even going to think about why he hadn’t ridden his bike tonight, because I know I’ll hate the reason.

He yanks open the screeching door, the busted hinge squealing like a pig. My body stalls for another second, hoping he’ll slam it shut and drag me back to the fire, but instead he grins at me with that stupid, handsome face. “Hop on up, little bird.”

“Ugh,” I groan, my feet finally obeying as I move past him to hop into the truck and its ratty, bench-style seat. “Stop calling me that.”

“You love it.” He slams the door with enough force to rock the truck on its tired, sagging springs, ending the argument with a finality that has my insides warming like they’ve been microwaved.

Because he’s right—I do love it.

Merik has a nickname for me and nobody else. He calls everyone by their name. And the endless line of girls is always called ‘cutie’s’ because I don’t think he even remembers theirs. So, yeah, it’s special to me. And it means something. Something more than what it’s supposed to mean.

I watch him round the front of the truck, his expression tense, his mouth set, each step a display of his tightly wound energy. His hard eyes never stop scanning, always in a defensive state of mind. He watches and analyzes every little thing, taking it all in as if each detail is a threat. Makes me wonder how the poor guy gets any sleep at night. I guess that’s why he ends up in my bed most of the time, his mind taking a break from working itself into a frenzy, resting only when he’s in the comfort of my space.

Merik rips open the driver’s side door, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt, and pulls his hoodie up over his head. He tosses it in at me, the fabric soft and worn. A powerful wave of his cologne hits me, the scent so intoxicating and familiar that my thighs clench together in an effort to tame the wild throbbing there.

“Don’t think I didn’t see the slight chatter in your back teeth. It’s cold. Put it on,” he instructs, pulling himself up into the lifted pickup with practiced ease.

His concern is gruff but caring, the kind of bossy that makes my stomach flip. He acts like he’s not even aware of how crazy he makes me, like he doesn’t know that a little chill isn’t what’s really making my teeth chatter.

I hold my breath, savoring the sensation, as I throw his hoodie over my head. It’s massive on me, and I love that. It’s like I’m wearing him, feeling the heat from his body still trapped in the fabric.

I can’t help but bunch the collar and bring it to my nose, inhaling. It’s rich and woodsy, like cedarwood and pine and something else musky, something that is all him, deeply embedded in the threads, sending goosebumps along my arms. I lose myself in it for a moment, dizzy and drunk on Merik, on the way he infiltrates all my senses with such little effort.

When I realize he’s not moving, not even a twitch of muscle, I whip my gaze over, startled, surprised, and find him watching me intently. It’s a look of pure lust and longing that’s staring back at me, and my heart slams.

He grips the steering wheel with one white-knuckled hand, while the other grips the back of the bench seat for dear life. He’s restraining himself, struggling against desire, and the sudden knowledge of this makes my skin tingle. My pulse quickens, and I think I might die.

His chest rises and falls like a caged animal, his breaths unsteady and loud, as if he can smell the heat burning between my legs. Licking my dry lips, I swallow and blink several times, my hands wringing nervously in my lap, unable to stop shaking.

“Why the fuck did you do that—?” he grunts, the tone dangerous and menacing, yet full of yearning, full of an aching want that pierces me to my core.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my legs trembling as anxiety consumes me. He wasn’t supposed to see that. Why did I do that?! The regret is sharp and immediate, and I can feel the shame burning my cheeks. He’s watching me, his eyes narrowed, his jaw set, and I can’t bear it, can’t stand the silence.

“You know that we can’t,” he rasps, his voice rough, on the edge of breaking. He sounds tortured, a hint of pleading beneath the hardness of his words. “We made a promise.”