Zero and Beauty's Breath (A Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club Series Book 3 - 4)

Chapter 45 (Beauty's Breath) (Beggar)

Today will be different, today I will look at the woman whose life is changed because of me.

I will see the damage I have caused, knowing that there is nothing I could do to make it go away.

There is no remedy to the past. Once it is done, it is written and sealed in blood, memory and time.

My cousin, Marco said, that the past is that which has happened. No matter how we look back on it,

those moments, memories will be an unaltered occurrence, so we best just learn, observe and move

on.

I scan the room.

The thick rumpled grey and white duvet, a reminder of my late night.

Fluffy pillows discarded to the floor, in my haste to run to the bathroom.

Empty containers of pudding that filled my stomach just a few hours ago sit in a line on the black

wooden bedside table.

All of this a daily occurrence since the three of us have left Kanla.

The man standing shirtless, imposing as the day I first snuck a glance at him from underneath my

hood, watches me from across our bedroom we have shared as a couple should.

Every day I remind myself, this life is temporary.

This man who has not touched me like a lover should, yet still breathes life into me is part of that

temporary.

I admit it gets harder.

Zero is the biggest challenge I have yet to overcome.

Nothing good has ever lasted long enough to consider it a routine before now, especially not a man.

In the end he will be no different.

There are nights my body sweats and my hands shake as shivers rake up my back at just the thought

of going back on the streets. Those nights show me that I have become weak.

Those nights I get this urge to hold Zero, to wrap my arms around his muscular back and dig my

fingers into his torso just to remind myself that this is real.

I really did wake up on a soft bed, ate a hot meal and drank a warm drink while the Enforcer of a

motorcycle club sat next to me. All content is © N0velDrama.Org.

Even these clothes on my back are mine, not hand me downs or stuff that was stolen. But as much as I

want to hold my man, I don't.

Life on the streets will always be there. My past always the darkened taint to my present, reminding me

of who I am.

No matter how comfortable I feel in this moment I have now, there are some things that are set in

stone.

Relying on a man to comfort me is one of those things.

Unfortunately, my husband, Lucca is a big part of the reason why a man’s arms is not something I will

ever need to warm my chills. No matter how much I crave it

And as I sit here looking at the Enforcer of one of the deadliest Motorcycle Clubs in the U.S, I don't

need to seek him out to know that something is up.

I can smell it every time he steps into a room.

This Zero is not the man I met almost a year ago.

He is different since leaving Kanla. The man in front of me is not the Zero I know.

I get a weird feeling that his thoughts are playing a deadly game of Russian roulette on his mind.

On the streets I learned from a young age that there is never mistaking caution for paranoia.

Those two feelings can be the single thread that separates you from the living and the dead. As sad as

it sounds, it wasn't until I met my father, and he held a gun to my head that I figured that out.

I was twelve, still learning the rules of survival, still hoping.

I snort at the thought of how stupid and naïve I was at one stage.

Killer enters the bedroom and I watch the devil as he grabs the charger next to the bed in silence, at

ease, leaving Zero and I alone again.

Killer has noticed Zero’s behaviour too.

But we remain silent in verbalizing our worry, doesn't mean we are not watching Zero.

“Killer's takin’ me to see Kylie today, I wanna go alone.”

“I gathered as much, tell her I said hi.” He walks closer to me, opens his mouth to say something else

but thinks better of it and closes it.

Seconds tick by as he just stares long and hard at me. His eyes are filled with questions. What? I am

not sure.

He turns and walks to his side of the bed, grabs his three rings first, puts them on. His phone is next,

sliding into his pocket and lastly his wallet, which is a silver thin case that slides easily in the front side

of his left pocket.

I know this as my eyes watch his actions now, as it has done this past month.

His back muscles bunch as he straightens his position and his tattoo that takes up his entire back

screams at me to run as it has done this past month too.

It tells me to leave him, because that biker insignia knows its owner.

When our tide gets high, I will meet the killer that lives inside of the Enforce of The Satan Snipers.

“When you get back, I'm taking you out,” He says with his back to me, and I don't hide my surprise.

“Aren't you taking me to Kylie?” I ask in my fucked-up voice.

It sounds scratchier now after I puked my guts out while he was in the shower. Another thing that has

become a daily occurrence.

At least I feel better once I am done.

His shoulders bunch, then drop, it is odd for him and something else that doesn't go unnoticed,

confirming my suspicions. Something is up

“Can't got shit I need to do today. Killers takin’ you in a cage.” He finally turns to me and I watch as his

face remains closed off.

It feels like he just hit me in the chest with a bat, which isn't something I know too well. I rub that spot

frowning.

My multi-coloured sock covered feet hit the soft cream carpet as I head straight to the bathroom.

“Beauty,” His voice is hard and stern, but the silent plea is heard- for what? I don't know.

I am not his equal. I am a beggar, a woman hardened by the trials of life. He should know better than to

think he can make me pliant.

“I told you my name is Beggar,” I snap as I head into the bathroom and slam the door closed.

The lock on the door makes that distinctive sound, telling me that the door is locked. I strip off my jeans

and t-shirt, opening the spray of water.

My scarred body steps into the grey tiled shower.

The heat and sting from the waters pressure welcomed as it brings me to reality, hitting my back,

reminding me of a similar sensation when something else hit my back too.

The door handle rattles and I look at it in fear. My hands go to my neck.

The scarred tissue, something I expect to feel. But the strings of diamonds and gold links relax me,

reminding me that it is covered and brings me to reality, warding off my minds need to remember.

I am here, safe and sound.

Kylie is at home and she is away from all those men. No one will harm her again.

Vincent might be a made-man but he has honor and I know he is making sure that all those men who

touched Kylie die a gruesome death.

questo è personale non è business. This is not business, it is personal.

The door rattles a bit more before Zero gives up as he has done every day. He could break it down if

he really wanted to, yet he doesn't.

I am not sure what makes me doubt his love for me. The fact that he refuses to fuck me or the reality of

this thing between us just a ploy from him to keep me away from his brother.

The water sprays my skin. I grab the soap, rubbing the bar on my marked flesh that matches the deep

scars of my heart.

I rub the sensitive area, where I got shot on my shoulder. Making my way down to the multiple risen

scars marring my flesh. I block out the memories of how I’d gotten stabbed, beaten, hurt and burned.

But I can’t hide the evidence.

It is all on my skin, a reminder of who I am. What I have gone through. What I will go through even in

the future to make sure my girl is avenged.