Axle: A Devil’s Nightmare MC Novella by Lena Bourne

Author:Lena Bourne [Bourne, Lena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-24T16:00:00+00:00

17

Axle

I wake up with a start, the room so dark I’m not even sure my eyes are open until a couple more moments pass and my eyes adjust. It’s definitely past three AM since the streetlamp outside is off and not shining into the far left corner of my bedroom. I’m very familiar with that light. I usually get up before it goes out. I haven’t slept this deeply and this long in months.

Mia?

I can still taste her, still feel her, still smell her everywhere around me. But she’s not here.

Of course she’s not.

Why would she stay, she got what she wanted?

And I went and told her that crap about still loving her. That probably propelled her out the door as soon as I closed my eyes and started snoring.

I’m the biggest fucking idiot I know.

But I won’t even think about it. I’ll just pretend it never happened. None of it. I’ve gotten real good at that over the years.

I also have to piss something awful, so I stumble off the bed, waking more of her smell from the sheets, which doesn’t even bother me.

Without even bothering with the light, I cross the room, and tread on something sharp as fuck halfway there.

Her stiletto. And the rest of her clothes are still in a heap next to it where I took them off her. She didn’t leave. Unless she went naked.

Only then do I realize someone’s downstairs in the kitchen and the house smells of eggs and toast.

I’m downstairs in what seems less than three steps and grinning at her from the kitchen doorway in four.

She’s by the stove, wearing one of my white, Three Stars Garage T-shirts, which is so large on her it comes down almost to her knees. That’s a shame. But I like looking at her any which way. It’s just that more is better.

“Good morning,” she says, grinning at me over her shoulder, like she knew I was here all along. “I borrowed one of your shirts, I hope you don’t mind. Though it looks like you need it. Should I take it off?”

“I wish you would,” I say, as I walk over to her, naked.

She takes the pan off the heat and leans towards me, accepting my kiss. She tastes like all the mornings we’ve missed.

“Let’s eat, I’m starving,” she says, breaking away from the kiss much too soon.

“What are we having?” I ask, looking at the mess of scrambled eggs, tomatoes, onions, peppers and I don’t know what else in the pan.

“It’s called Satarash,” she says. “It’s an old Romani dish. I really like it. You will too.”

“What now?” I say. “I have a fridge full of perfectly good sandwich materials and you decide to make fancy scrambled eggs in the middle of the night.”

“Just try some,” she says, scooping a bit onto the spatula and holding it up to my mouth.

I eat it like she wants me to, and miraculously it doesn’t scald my mouth.

“It’s good,” I say, and it’s not even a little bit of a lie.

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