The bikers would have even more reasons to push me out and never accept me as Warrick’s old lady.
My stepmother would feel vindicated, convinced I had Daisy killed just to take her fiancé.
And I guess Ripper and Adams would be disappointed.
Not like I care much about Adams’ disappointment… but somehow, I care about Ripper’s.
Something about the way he has my back makes me curious.
His mystery pulls me in.
I sit in the tub for a while, replaying everything that happened between Matt and me.
Even though I hate to admit it… I want to feel that way again.
But not as Daisy’s replacement.
As myself.
Something… better.
Something mutual.
But I doubt I’ll ever get that.
Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes into hours, until I drift off into a deep nap.
Honestly, it feels like the only reasonable thing after being handled like that.
Hours later, I slip out of bed, my stomach growling.
I head downstairs to the kitchen.
It is past eleven, and the house is quiet.
No one is in the living room—not even Nonna.
I quicken my steps toward the kitchen.
I am sure Nonna must have left something for me to eat.
She never forgets, especially when I skip dinner.
I go straight to the freezer and there it is.
A bowl of my favorite fruits, just the way I like them at night.
A small, satisfied smile curves my lips as I reach for it.
But the sudden slam of the door makes me freeze.
My body jerks forward.
Slowly, I turn my head—and my heart drops. Get faster updates on g.com.
Brandon is standing at the kitchen entrance.
A dark smile chases across his lips as he steps closer.
“I’ve been waiting all day,” he says.
“I knew you’d come down once everyone was asleep.”
I spin around, swallowing hard.
“Are you stalking me?”
He hisses softly.
“I should be asking you that, Ashley.
Are you stalking me?”
I scoff.
“We both know I’m not, Bran.”
”Then why are you married to my brother?” His tone hardens, matching the look in his eyes.
He starts closing the distance between us.
My breath starts to hitch.
BRANDON’S POV
As I start to approach her, memories of how she was honored at the funeral flash through my mind — how she was ushered out of the customized G-Wagon onto the funeral grounds and how Ripper handed her the bucket of flowers to say one last goodbye.
She was well respected, while no one gave a fuck where I was.
I watched everyone say their last goodbyes.
I expected a call or at least a text from Ripper, but he seems more interested in making sure Ashley said her own goodbyes than checking on me.
She’s taken my place.
I was once the one Ripper cared most about because I was Warrick’s brother but now……guess he has a new favourite, Soon she’ll become a biker lady while I just hang in the shadows.
She’s the reason I’m not a biker right now, she’s the reason I’m the butt of jokes whenever I enter the club.
But something about Ashley always turns me on, and I hate it.
Back in school I wasn’t supposed to pick on her, but I love to hang around her for reasons I can’t explain.
I narrow my gaze at her face and watch it flush.
Her pulse hammers.
She swallows, her breathing slowing as I get closer, my chest pressing against the peak of her nipple.
It brushes against it and sends electric waves down my veins, making my dick steel.
Nothing in this life can replace the humiliation I endured growing up with one ear in a biker family.
I’m going to make her pay.
I plan to chip away at her little by little until there is nothing left.
She’s always been a virgin back in school and doesn’t let boys touch her.
She holds her body in high esteem.
I remember that clearly.
One of the things that will break her is using her body.
And that’s exactly what I plan: I’ll take her every night until there is nothing left to take.
I will make sure I destroy anything worth living for inside her.
That’s exactly what she did to me.
I doubt she’ll let any other man touch her.
The Ashley I know follows a strict program, so I’ll break it and take her every night, every morning, and anytime I remember how miserable my life is.
I look down at her.
Her breath starts to come out slowly.
“B-Bran…” she shudders.
“Stay away from me.”
”Why?” I stare at her intensely.
“What are you scared of?
Or can’t you afford to look at my face… Does it remind you of something you think you’ve run away from?”
Her lips part, then close again, only a small gasp escapes.
She scoffs.
“It’s been years, Bran.
Move on, just like I have.”
I let out a bitter laugh; my chest tightening with rage, but as my eyes flick to her face it starts to dissipate.
That’s one annoying thing about Ashley.
Every time I’m so pissed off at her and I stare at that perfect face, my anger just melts away.
I hate how my chest does all those weird flips whenever I see her.
Most times I wish I could control it, but I can’t — it’s been that way for years.
“It wasn’t my fault, and you know it,” Ashley says, her voice dropping.
“You attacked me first and I defended myself.”