Revved Up Soul: A MC Romance (8 page)

I can’t escape.

Luke turned and faced the exquisite white tiles of the shower wall, resting his arms against it and letting his body drift away.

She meant so much to me, that much I can see – her emerald eyes make every inch of me sing with ecstasy. The club was demanding more and more of Luke, and his only escape was in her.

Its better this way, he argued. If Kayla ever found out . . .

Turning again, Luke’s blue and brown eyes peered over at the open door. He knew why he had done that; it was too hard to deny – his body became fire made flesh when he saw her.

Darkness pressed against his heart. I should go out there and take her. If I could just taste her, maybe then I’d be free.

Shutting his eyes, there was a red glimpse of horror – the icy airs of the grave finding him even against the steaming waters.

No, Luke thought sullenly. There’s no freedom from this.

His heart bled and he clenched his fists so tight that his knuckles turned pale as milk; the pain turned to anger and he wanted nothing more than to just hit
something
. Anything.

Shutting off the water, he couldn’t recall what he had done in the bar that night – he remembered the blurry faces of two boys. He pushed that into the deep dark below, where all things not longed for dwelling were sent. Everything in that wicked expanse stirred and his mind scattered into a hundred different directions.

Luke stepped from the shower and toweled off his well-toned body. He wasn’t the most muscular in the MC, but he knew how to throw a punch – and more importantly, how to make good on his threats. Whatever he lacked in strength he made up for in speed. And he knew one thing for sure. Fear commanded more respect than love; that much The Life had taught him

Strapping on his boots, dark jeans and white shirt – Luke examined himself once over in the mirror, rubbing the scruff of his face. It hurt him something deep to see a man looking back with death wish written on the lines of his stone-cold face.

If love and companionship was all but ruined, and brotherhood lost forever – what was there that remained? The club was going to shit, and sooner or later the cops were going to catch up with what they were doing. Nothing in Luke’s life was sacred anymore.

Stepping through the doorway, Luke looked for Jasmine. He had called for a ride earlier, and knew that it would be arriving soon, but he did still want to say goodbye.

Luke moved over to the kitchen, only just then realizing that his lips were upturned from their usual place of stoicism. He put an end to that quickly and called out the hellcat’s name.

“Sorry,” her voice came from behind him, soft as an angel’s grace.

He spun on his heel to face her.

Beautiful. She was dressed in her white coat and wore a dark purple kind of color – some fancy shade – button up shirt beneath it; it had ruffles along the V of her drop dead sexy bust. Fuckin’ Christ, he thought, feeling a surge of energy slam just below the base of his cock. She oozed an aura of power and intelligence that no woman had graced him with before; her emerald eyes practically god damned sparkled in the morning light. Something caught in Luke’s throat and he tried to clear it, “Just wanted to say thanks,” he couldn’t look away from her. She’s not just some conquest, he remembered then, in a fading image.

For a brief time, she was his rose in the desert – his solace in the storm.

Jasmine’s beautiful, downturned emerald eyes, like something of a cat, penetrated through him as she narrowed her gaze. “Yes,” she said, the movement of her pink lips a little slice of heaven in their own right, “you mentioned that earlier.”

He sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the building tightness in his pants. Luke almost didn’t catch the whip in her voice. It took every ounce of his willpower to not kiss here there – it couldn’t be that way, he assured himself. Luke nodded, giving her one last look before turning from her.

“Wait,” she said and his heart obliged.

“What?” He asked, harder than he had intended for it to sound.

“Are we okay?” She asked, a hopeful something lacing her tone. I wish I knew for sure. “I mean,” she hesitated, “are we on speaking terms at least, now?”

“Yeah,” Luke replied, craning his head back to look at her. “We’re okay-ish,” he assured, and the lines of concern in her face eased a bit. “I’ll see you around . . . or something.”

Jasmine bobbed her beautiful head in acknowledgement before Luke left through the front door.

***

Luke had gotten a ride from one of his Steel Knight brothers: Gabriel. Luke liked him most out of everybody; he was never one to ask questions for friends, just did things and kept to himself. A good, if not quiet person. If only there were more people like him in the world, maybe half the dark shit that goes on and on wouldn’t be happening on a daily basis.

The morning sun hung low on the sky and the streets were busy with cars and people, Luke’s bike still parked on the side of the road. Relief washed over him as he jogged to it, kneeling down and giving it a look over. Not a scratch on her, you’re still good as new babe.

His FX-50 was his pride and joy, a black behemoth of steel and chrome. It gleamed with dancing light beneath the morning’s grace. It had a few stickers that Luke’s Pa had left him – some of the bands that he loved most, and a couple of quotes that he tried to live by.

Hopping on his steel horse, Luke gripped the handles tight; slipping onto it was the most natural thing he could do. Well, aside from killing and screwing. Riding was his life, his joy, his escape. He gave the stand a firm kick, craned his neck to look across the street and produced the key from his pocket, turning it, the engine roared to life. You need to forgive her, just let go, he thought. Hate just weighs you down; it just consumes you – why can’t you just forgive?

Maneuvering into traffic, Luke got into his comfort zone taking a couple of turns. I always miss this, he mused, the wind assailing him and flowing through his black hair. He cranked the engine and leaned forward and to the right, skirting dangerously close to the sidewalk. Nearly hitting someone he could make them out cursing him right before he overtook the Celica. Luke’s spine lit up with pinpricks of ecstasy as he swerved hard into his left turn, letting his hand glide just an inch above the pavement.

He knew that he was acting stupid, that he shouldn’t be riding the way that he was.

But he couldn’t stop.

When he got on to an oft unused backroad of a highway, his world seemed to come to a close, anything that wasn’t the road or his bike or in his immediate way was just static. Life didn’t matter anymore, those pathetic issues like grief or love or stress – they were just obstacles, and his steed only knew one thing: speed.

He flew by signs. He flew by cars and even cops wouldn’t bother if they had caught him in that moment, his line going in the red – he gripped the handles of his bike so hard that his knuckles went white; the bones in his body aching and a heat flaring up within the crown of his head.

Every pulse of his body made his blood feel thicker and hotter.

Luke closed his eyes and his grip tightened harder still. You’re drifting, a voice reminded.

Lids still shut, his heart raced in his chest. Engine screaming, a part of him was ready – a part of him didn’t want to stop; the roar of his bike spoke what he couldn’t. His soul wanted to scream.

When his tires hit the rumble strip of the pavement and it boomed in his ears, his eyes shot open. Luke eased off of the gas as the bike precariously, violently shook. He had to fight back the urge to immediately swerve, and instead slowly brought himself off of the strip.

Luke’s heart tapped frighteningly fast against his chest, a dark adrenaline coursing through him as he made his way to the MC.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jasmine

Four Months Ago

He was wrong and she was right, that’s all that there was to it. Doctor Benjamin Royce had been conversing in the hall with some of the nurses, wanting to hear what some of the men had to think about his diagnosis. Jasmine straightened her spine indignantly. “I’m telling you treating him for that will get him killed.” Probably, at least. It would definitely crash his whole immune system.

Doctor Royce’s jaw clenched. “You’re not a diagnostician,” he snapped, “I’m surprised you know even a damn thing.” The man’s face darkened in anger. He had dark blonde hair that was very straight and fell to his ears in a kind of bowl shape.

“If you don’t want my advice that’s your mistake,” Jasmine replied. “Don’t come crying to me for a second opinion.”

The doctor’s voice only became louder as Augustus Lark approached from the other end of the hall.

Augustus Lark was the head of Neurology; a tall and older man standing at an impressive 6’1. Wickedly handsome for his age, Jasmine had felt overwhelmed in his presence when she briefly met him four days prior. His shoulders were distinctively broad and masculine; the motion to his walk was something of a confident swagger. He had a head of silver and red curly hair, lush and inviting as wine.

It was then that Royce aggressively postured towards Jasmine, the other nurses keeping a safe distance between them and the two doctors. “I don’t give a shit,” he spat, “I was asking what
they
thought, not you.”

“You just wanted to hear yourself talk jackass,” Jasmine barked in reply, inching herself closer to the man – not letting him have even the slightest of ground.

“I bet you really get around with a mouth like that, what happened before you got here? Get caught sleeping around? Bet you did,” Royce declared. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged, “go on.”

Jasmine’s delicate hands formed into tight balls, the ends of her knuckles turning white. “You
really
don’t like being called on your shit, you’re a compensating, egotistical prick.”

The two nurses were smirking, trying to contain their laughter.

Just as Royce scoffed, Augustus made his way between Jasmine and the man.

Augustus snapped his fingers and then lifted his hands, wiggling his fingers in a gesture. “Okay-okay now you two,” his voice was gruff but playful, it had an air of command to it. “Let’s just say that
you
were wrong,” he motioned with his hand at Royce, “anddd that
you
were right,” he did the same to Jasmine. He lifted his head to the sky, “big G if you’re up there puh-lease grant me the strength to make them listen.” Augustus brought his head down and balled one of his hands, as if he had just caught something.

His voice lowered into his usual default snark. “You’re both idiots, get over yourselves and start focusing on saving lives. You know, the thing that actually matters – not how far either of you can piss what you
think
is success. I’m just here to tell you: it’s all piss.” His eyes shifted towards Jasmine, the corner of his mouth curling into a mocking smile.

Butterflies whimsically danced in Jasmine’s chest. He’s still the idiot, not me, Jasmine countered in her head, opting for a passive-aggressive huff.

Before she could get a word in edge wise, Royce said, “Whatever,” he retreated a couple of steps from Augustus then. “You’ll see her for what she is.”

Augustus’ fox-like green eyes widened and he folded his arms one over the other, his brows furrowing. “Oh by allll means big daddy warbucks tell me
just
,” he made a singular bobbing motion with his head for emphasis, “how well you know our lovely new ray of sunshine in paradise city.”

Ray of sunshine she was not. Jasmine struggled then to contain the laughter simmering just below her person – hoping that Augustus wouldn’t notice. She wished that they worked together.

Unfolding his hands, Augustus cocked his head and started counting out with his fingers. “Gee you work quick let’s see . . . one two three . . . wow, I mean. Wow! Three days, Ryan?”

Doctor Royce’s nose flared at that. “That’s not my name.”

“Seriously though,” Augustus shook his head in a rapid-fire motion as he spoke. “I mean I’ve seen you around here trying to get in women’s pants for what, two years now?” He smiled brightly and his voice lowered again. “So go on then, tell me
everything
that you know about me – if you work so fast.” Silence hung in the hall for a moment as Royce smoldered, standing close to the wall – when he said nothing Augustus put his hand to his ear and motioned with his brows.

A giggle left Jasmine’s lips. “Sorry,” she said, putting her hand to her mouth. Not sorry.

Augustus moved over to Jasmine and put an arm around her shoulder, pinioning her against his big and surprisingly strong body. “Nothing? Nada? Good. Now make like my ex and get, get-get-get
get
! Go on; don’t make me find a newspaper now.”

Royce rolled his eyes, storming off and back into his office. Chauvinist.

Augustus made a kicking motion, looking over to the two nurses that were still floating around – he wanted something from them.

Jasmine’s face was practically squished against the doctor’s side, a pain starting to bloom where he was holding her. “You can let go now,” she harped, noting how he smelled strangely beautiful of lemongrass.