Kami despised him.

She had been cheating on him with her personal trainer since they had gotten home from their honeymoon.  He cheated on her with a variety of women, none of whom lasted longer than a few weeks, if that.

It was ridiculous.

“Don’t like the way he looks at you babe.”

I snorted.  “Frankie, you don’t like anyone looking at me.  Period.  You didn't like my college professor's looking at me when I raised my hand.  Remember Professor Reynolds?  Daddy had to pay him off big time for the beating you gave him.  Besides, Chase thinks I’m biker trash.”

“Bitch, get a fuckin’ clue!” Frankie yelled.  “Asshole looks at you like he’s fuckin’ starvin’ and you’re a goddamn steak!”

Letting my hair down, I rolled my eyes.  Men.  Always hungry.

“Don’t you have a meeting to get to?”

“Waitin’ for your sweet ass so I can walk you out.”

I shook my head and smiled at him.

Frankie was a great looking man.  Long brown hair, a scruffy beard, a body made for sex, covered in tattoos and sexy scars.  He was good in bed, too.  A good combination of attentive and demanding and he didn’t stray.  This I knew because wherever I was, at home, at the clubhouse, in the supermarket, in the shower, Frankie was there too.  Or somewhere nearby.  Or on his way there.  Or skyping me.  Or tracking me through my cell phone with his cellphone.

Three years ago I had come home from Montana and was met with insanity the likes of which I'd never seen before.  The club was in an uproar, first because I'd gone missing, second because Frankie had completely flipped his shit and was beating on anyone who got near him, beating himself with the butt of his gun, bashing his head and fists into walls until they bled, screaming, swearing and cursing me to hell.

Ignoring my father's temper tantrum and responsibility speech I went straight to Frankie’s room and found him curled up in a corner covered in blood.

"Shit," I muttered, getting to my knees beside him.

"Frankie," I whispered.  "Baby, look at me."

He moved fast.  His hands shot out and gripped both my forearms.  Dragging me down to the floor, he rolled over top of me. Blood encrusted eyelids blinked down at me.

"Eva," He croaked.  "Where the fuck have you been?"

"I just needed some breathing room baby, I'm sorry I left you."

He cupped my cheeks, ran his fingers through my hair, then down to my shoulders and up and down my arms.  Before I knew it, his hands were all over me, pulling the top of my sundress down, baring my breasts.  He took one in his hand and the other in his mouth.

“Fuck,” I breathed.  “Frankie, no…”

“Not waitin’ anymore, babe,” He muttered around my breast.  Lifting his hips, he pulled the hem of my dress up.

I tried to push him off me.  “I’m not going to leave you again!” I promised.  “We don’t need to do this!”

Frankie dug his fingers in between my knees and wrenched my legs open.  His hips surged forward forcing them to stay open and he yanked on his belt.  I started to panic.

"Please!" I cried.  "Please don't do this!"

"No baby," He growled, "I’m not gonna fuckin’ let you say no to me anymore.  You get me?  You’re not fuckin’ runnin’ from me anymore.  Told you a long time ago you were mine and its ‘bout time you got that shit through your thick fuckin’ skull.”

This was all said while he was opening his belt and unzipping his jeans.  Now he was yanking my underwear to one side and I could feel him trying to enter me.

"Wait!" I cried, shoving at his chest.  "Don't!"

"Fuck," He muttered.  He spit in his palm then rubbed his hand over me, wetting me, then he was back, pushing inside.

“Frankie!” I screamed, trying to wiggle backwards to prevent him from fully seating himself.

“STOP!”

His hand slapped down over my mouth; I kept screaming but the sound was muffled and hoarse and no one heard but Frankie and me.

“Been waitin’ too fuckin’ long for this,” He groaned, pushing harder, his heavy chest crumpling my attempts at moving him.  “You’re not fuckin’ stoppin’ me anymore.  You're never fuckin' stoppin' me again.”

He thrust.  Hard.  And found purchase.  I stilled, tears in my eyes, staring up at him.  Frankie had just forced himself on me, inside of me.  My Frankie.  It was surreal, confusing, like a dream or a movie you remember from a long time ago.

“Lock your ankles around my back,” He rasped.  Dazed, I did as he asked.  He released my mouth to grip my backside and pump harder.  Numb, I listened to his skin slapping against mine, his heavy breathing, my head knocking against the wall.

"How the fuck could you leave me?" He rasped.  "I can't fuckin' sleep without you, haven't fuckin' slept in days.  You fuckin' did that to me, bitch.  You fuckin' let that happen."

I had.  I'd known he was going to freak and I'd left him anyway.  I should have realized this was going to happen, that he would completely lose it and need to bind me to him in a way he thought was permanent.  God, this was all my fault.

"I'm sorry," I whispered brokenly.  "God Frankie, I'm so sorry.  It won't happen again, I promise."

"No shit," He hissed.  “You won’t fuckin’ like what happens if you do…Eva… Fuck baby…I’m gonna come…Fuck…"

His hips pistoned into me, slamming my head harder into the wall.  "I’m coming baby, I’m fuckin’ coming…”

I stared up at the ceiling.  I wasn't on birth control.  I would need to get the morning after pill.  I blinked.  Did all of our bedroom ceilings look like that?  I wasn't sure.  I made a mental note to check.

"Fuckin' love you, Eva," Frankie breathed.

I wiped my tears away and wrapped my arms around his neck.  “I love you too, baby,” I whispered, holding him tight, rubbing his back, murmuring apologies.

It wasn’t a lie.  I did love Frankie.  With all my heart.  But it was the wrong kind of love.  I loved him like a best friend or a big brother, and not at all like a lover.  But he'd forced his way into the lover category and there was nothing I could do; he needed me, he wasn’t going to let me go, so I gave him what he needed and tried to make the best of it.

That was three years ago.

Three years of being on the back of Frankie's bike and in Frankie's bed - which was actually mine.  My room at the clubhouse was bigger and better.

"Who do you love, babe?”

I finished brushing my hair and walked out of the bathroom.  "You," I said.

"Fuck yeah you do."

Frankie finished dressing and sat down on the bed to pull his boots on. He looked me over and frowned.  “Lot of leg you’re showin’ babe.”

I snorted.  "Hardly."

Suddenly Frankie was on his feet unbuckling his belt and reaching for me.

“Jesus!” I screamed, scrambling away from him.  “Focus you horny bastard!  You have a meeting!  I have a breakfast date!”

He had my belly pressed up against the wall in two seconds flat.  His tongue shot across my neck.

“Don’t care babe.  You can’t fuckin’ walk around half naked and expect me to keep my hands off.”

“You don’t play fair,” I whispered.

“When it comes to you Eva, I don’t fuckin’ play at all.”

It was nearly an hour before Frankie decided it was time to go to his meeting and even then, he did this reluctantly.

☼☼☼

Deuce frowned at Preacher.  “Don’t know whatcha talkin’ ‘bout old man.  I got no connections with Angelo Buonarroti.  His old man, yeah.  Coupla of his cousins too, but not him.  If you lost your deal with them it ain’t on me.”

“You’re full of it,” Preacher growled.  “My boys seen yours on the fuckin’ docks.”

“Can’t help it if my boys in Queens got business on the side.  They got families to take care of.”

Preacher’s dark eyes narrowed and cut to his right where Dog, One Eyed Joe and Tiny sat.  Next to Joe were his boys, Mick, Cox and Jase.  He was seated at the end of the table directly across from Preacher.  Next to him, on the other side of the table was Kickass Charlie, President of the MC, Notorious, and two of his boys.  Shit was tense.  Not one brother in this room wanted to be here.  He and Preacher for their own personal reasons involving sixteen-year-old Eva and a gun and Charlie because Frankie had buried his old man a few years back.  It was one of the crazy fuck's few caps that had been on the grid.  Charlie's old man had been a tried and true dirty bastard.

Yeah, shit was real tense.  Even without Frankie in attendance.

The meeting room door burst open with a loud bang.  Startled, several brothers shot out of their chairs, pulling their pieces.

Frankie sauntered in, grinning.  He was zipping up his jeans, buckling his belt and completely oblivious to the firearms pointed at his head.

"Sorry I'm late," He said to no one in particular and slid into his chair at Preacher's left.

Preacher glared at him.  "Where the fuck you been?

Frankie started to open his mouth when an empty coffee cup sailed across the table hitting him in the chest.

One Eyed Joe scowled at Preacher.  "He’s walkin’ in here grinnin’ like a dirty dog, zippin’ up his pants and you’re askin’ him where he was!  You know where he was, you fuckin’ idiot and you know what he was doin' and who he was doin’ it with cuz that’s all the two of them ever do!  Spankin’ each other, day and night, not carin' that we all gotta hear it!  And you're gonna ask him stupid questions bout' where he's been knowin’ he’s gonna start talkin’ ‘bout fuckin’ my niece!  And I just can’t fuckin’ stomach that shit.  He says one more word about hot pussy or titty fuckin' in relation to my girl I’m puttin’ him back in the hospital!”