C H A P T E R T H R E E

"Um..."

"Answer me, baby," he commanded.

Yikes. He was scarier than Finn, Big Ben, and the entire motorcycle gang wrapped into one.

"Gia, I said answer me," his deep voice rumbled.
But I blinked again.

"You freaking know my name?"

He looked me in the eyes.

Then he took a step back and ran his hand through his short-cropped black hair, shaking his head, but not for a second did he unpin me from his savage glare.

"Jesus, honey, you're a piece of work."

"What?" I muttered.

He leaned back into my face, hands on his hips.

"Giabella Jolene Gomez, thirty three, self employed as a freelance editor, you pay your taxes, your mortgage, and your bills on time. Yeah, Gia, I know your name. Your dad is Reynaldo Gomez, ex-Army, current construction foreman, married to Melinda Gomez, executive secretary to a hotshot divorce attorney who, interestingly, pulled your shti outta that mess you got into with that asshole. He has since married three other women and is currently engaged in his fourth divorce. You hang out with Micah Vasquez, a dispatcher for the Metro Manila Police Department, and Antonette De Guia, a universal worker who primarily works in retail. Enrico Tan, who would kill to get in your trousers but you have no idea and he lacks guts, is being led around by you. Your sister embodies the word "loser" well. You overspend on clothing. You expose too much flesh outside. And I am the only man you have slept with for a year and a half."

My jaw was open for the second time that day.

I then shut my mouth, only for it to open up once more.

After that, I shut it before opening it to ask, "How do you know so much about me?”

He said, "Sweet Pea, I know who I fuck," and I felt a movement in my body as if he had struck me, which is precisely how his words had seemed to me—a blow. He didn't notice it, or more precisely, he ignored it and continued. "Tell me now, what the fuck were you thinking entering Grind in that manner."

I explained "I needed to speak with Big Ben" since I was unable to express any of the other ten thousand and fifty things I wanted to.

He said, "You needed to talk to Big Ben."

"Yes," I answered.

"Babe, you were flying under the radar and now you're lit up like a fucking beacon."

"What exactly does that mean?" I inquired.

"That implies you're f*cked," he said.

I was becoming irritated late in the game.

"All right," I said, moving an inch away from the door and straightening my shoulders, "now what does it mean?"

"I think you realize your sister is a piece of garbage," he said.

Isabelle was clearly a piece of garbage. It was also acceptable to suggest that my Dad, Mama Melinda, or I might refer to her as such. Even Finn and Big Ben, to whom she owed over three million dollars, could call her that.

The person who couldn't was the man in front of me, a man I knew well, although this was the first time I'd seen his face in daylight. And one of them turned out to be a huge, fat jerk!

"Do not refer to Isabelle as a piece of trash," I cautioned.

His eyebrows sprang upward, which hurt because he was so ridiculously attractive. His dark skin, his black eyes, his strong jaw, his thick, short black hair, his brilliantly sculpted features, and his equally superbly chiseled physique all suggested that he may be Hispanic or possibly Italian.

The hardest part for me at the time was that he might have been even more stunningly gorgeous while raising his eyebrows in surprise as if he thought I was an idiot.

He questioned, "You're saying you don't know your sister's trash?"

"No, I'm saying you can't refer to her as garbage; only I can do that."

He gave me another glare before murmuring, "F*ck me."

I said, "I guess we're done here," and began to move to open the door when all of a sudden, he held me against it again with both of his hands at either side of my neck and his thumbs at my chin, forcing me to look up at him. He was enormous, firm, sculpted, and unusually warm.

He said in a frightful voice, "Oh no, Sweet Pea, we're not done," and I had to stop my lips from opening once again since he was back to frightening more than a half-dozen motorcycle gang members. I was able to accomplish this mostly because his thumbs were present.

I commanded, "Step back," and I was really pleased that my voice didn't quiver.

He didn't move and ignored me. Instead, he said, "I know there's no love lost between you two and I know it still hurts for you to hear that, but that doesn't make it any less true. Your sister has bought herself a load of shit, then she bought herself more, not done, she bought herself more. She's pissed off some serious people. The best end to this scenario is she turns up dead."

I said again, "Step back."

"The greatest thing you could've have done when Arlene popped up on your porch was close the door, close your mind to that sh*t, and go back to work. You didn't. You sashayed your a*s into Grind, got Finn's focus, and, trust me, babe, you don't want Finn's interest. And doin' that, you made yourself recognizable to a lot of people you don't want to know you exist. That's done. You now keep your head down, be wise, and stay out of trouble. That is, you stay with what you know, who you know, and where you know. You do not depart from your regularly planned programs. Do you understand? "

"How did you get out Arlene was here?"

His brows furrowed, and the manner they did so made him appear frighteningly impatient.

"Clue in, Sweet Pea, I'm keeping an eye on you."

"You keep track of things?"

"I keep track of you because you're mine."

My brows began to shoot together. "Do you want me?"

"I'm f*cking you, Babe, aren't I?"

This was beyond a doubt. I couldn't see his face, but it didn't stop him from speaking. He was very dictatorial in bed, and I could recognize his deep voice from anywhere.

"All right," I said, "maybe we should examine our relationship at this point."

"Again, Gia, the reason our relationship is the way it is is so I don't have to waste my f*ckin' time doing stupid-a*s sh*t like talking it."

Oh boy. I was becoming increasingly enraged.

"I think you should take a step back and then leave," I advised.

"And I believe you should ensure you have me before I go."

"Fine, I got you, now... leave," I retorted.

He didn't stir, and his dark eyes remained closed to mine.

As a result, I cried out, "Hello? I got you. Now leave."

Suddenly, his gaze warmed and his fingers glided from beneath my jaws to the rims of them.

"You're pissed," he said gently.

Was he serious?

"Uh... sure," I confirmed.

"Don't get pissed," he said.

No way, he couldn't be for real.

"You can't tell me I'm not angry."

"Do you think I don't have better things to do than come here, Babe?"
He inquired.

Oh my goodness.

Did people's heads really blow up? Because I was very positive that mine was about to.

"Perhaps you should be on your way," I said, my voice firm.
"What matters is that I'm here."

"I'm sorry to break it to you, but you've made previous trips that I've loved a lot more."

That's when he grinned, and that's when my heart stopped pounding.

I never saw him grin, not once, not even that first night, and if he was handsome otherwise, his face smiling knocked my freaking socks off.

The dude had two dimples, by the way.

Two.

"Do you not see why I'm pissed?" he whispered softly between his teeth.
smile.

"No, I don't and there's never a good excuse for being a jerk so, again, please, if you're so busy, allow me to stop wasting your time and just go."

"You messed up today, Gia," he admitted.

"I believe you've made that plain, darling," I said.

For some reason, the warmth in his gaze intensified as he murmured his warning. "When you're angry, don't call me baby, Sweet Pea."

"Don't ever call me Sweet Pea, baby," I responded.

"You call me baby while I'm fucking you," he said, and I wasn't sure if this was a demand or a remembrance, but I figured it was both.
"Don't hold your breath waiting for that to happen again."

His gaze became deeper and hotter, and his fingers massaged my jaws once more. I attempted to withdraw my face away from him, but his grip tightened and I came to a halt.

"You shouldn't make a threat you can't keep," he cautioned, still gently speaking.

"How many times do I have to tell you to leave?" I inquired.
"I finish things," he said, ignoring me.

Seriously, he wasn't serious.

"It's wonderful to experience change in life; it's rejuvenating and keeps your senses alert," I explained.

"Giabella, don't push that crap," he advised. "You're not going to enjoy the repercussions."

On a dare, I inquired, "What's your name?"

"You call me baby," he said, referring to my dare.

"What's your name?" I asked again.

"Sometimes, honey," he added.

"What... is... your... name?" I inquired.

"However, I prefer baby."

When I realized my hands were at his waist and pushed back, I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and yelled, "God!" while stamping my foot.

He did not move.

When I realized one of his hands had vanished, his mouth was at my neck, his lips were on the area behind my ear, and then I felt his tongue there, I realized my error right once.

Without my consent, my entire body shook from head to toe.
He pulled his face away from my neck and into mine before placing his palm back on my jaw and uttering the word "Yeah."

Then he drew me away from the entrance, and like a freak of nature, he appeared one second and vanished the next.

I regarded the closed door for a moment before moving to the window to confirm my suspicions. He has vanished.

I looked into my disorganized living room after turning my back to the door.

I also believed that he definitely felt the trembling.

My home was a former farmstead that previously adorned fields, but it was now located in a neighborhood of much newer homes, or those constructed within the previous fifty years, on the outskirts of Metro Manila.

My house featured a living room that stretched the length of the front after you got past the entryway's slender walls and amazing stained glass. A dining room or den existed to the right behind sliding inlaid glass doors, although it was empty at the time. Unoccupied area. A large kitchen's swinging doorway is to the left. Three bedrooms and a huge bathroom were upstairs, along with a slightly tiny bedroom that I turned into my office.

I was not allowed to move in by my father until he and his friend Rob had renovated the bathroom. He said that the bathtub was about to fall through the floor and that is why. Considering how much he detested my place and still does, I felt he was being theatrical. Even yet, my father was not a theatrical guy, so I truly don't know why I had this impression. I shouldn't have been shocked when the bathtub crashed through the floor of the bathroom as they were renovating it.

Dad then renovated my bathroom, naturally after rebuilding the floor, and it was really lovely now with a claw-footed tub, a pedestal sink, heated towel racks, and everything. He also redone the wood plank flooring in my office and bedroom as well as the re-skimmed the walls in both spaces. Melinda and I painted my bedroom, and she also created me wonderful roman blinds for my office and the windows in my bedroom. My workplace was decorated by me and my buddy Antonette. After that, I started the exciting part of the renovation: Dad went to the kitchen, where he worked with Enrico, while Mom continued to decorate the room. The completion of this took five months since both of them were distracted by other issues, such as their personal life, the faucet in my downstairs half-bath not shutting off, the roof leaking, the light switch in my bedroom not functioning, and the furnace breaking down, etc.

But now the kitchen was fantastic, with cabinets painted a buttery cream, a large battered rectangular farm table in the middle with six chairs, butcher block countertops, and fabulous appliances that Dad sourced for me on the cheap through his construction network and because they were damaged but in places you couldn't see them. It was embellished with a quirky twist on country charm. The kitchen was an old farmhouse kitchen, so it needed country, and there were occasions when I could be whimsical, even though I was by no means country.

In order to make chocolate chip cookie dough, I walked to my kitchen after ML had left. I then brought the bowl, a spoon, and a cup of coffee to the table and picked up my phone.

I then sat down, one heel on the chair and one on the floor, and I just gazed at it.

Call Micah, I should. Micah spoke truth to power. She was wise. She was intelligent and well-traveled. Ryan, a police officer, and Micah had been dating for five years and were living together. Because Ryan and Micah both had attitudes, the relationship was nice and loving yet difficult. But if they ever split up, it would be like Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell splitting up—proof that the end of the world was just around the corner.

However, Micah was well aware of ML, and she believed that I was partially insane for allowing him to approach me in the middle of the night while remaining completely unaware of his identity. She continually urged me to kick him in the gonads and phone the police during my very next visit, both of which I did.

Hmm.

I might even call Antonette. The romantic Antonette was. Antonette wasn't a direct speaker. Antonette would sooner be tortured than say something that might make you feel uneasy or upset. Even though all three of Antonette's lovers were jerks, she stuck with them because she lacked the courage to stop her relationships with them. My dear Antonette didn't have a backbone, so she put up with a lot of crap at work before becoming bored and moving on, which she regularly did.

Antonette also cherished the concept of ML. She was sure that one day he would reach out, switch on the light, frame my face with his hands, and tell me that I was the reason the sun rose and set for him. He would then marry me in a fairy tale wedding and treat me like a princess for the rest of my days. She was quite certain that this would happen even after all this time had passed, and she never wavered in her conviction. She'd definitely dance in excitement at ML's most recent visit. She would never recognize it for the abrupt, obtrusive, and utterly irritating thing that it was.

Enrico terrified me off after what ML stated about him, so I was unable to call him. It had always just been Enrico. Prior to Micah and Antonette, there was Enrico. Enrico was there before I met Jonas De Ryann, during our courtship, during our marriage, and after Jonas De Ryann broke my heart.

Enrico was a buddy, and the idea that he could want to pee in my trousers terrified me nearly as much as everything else that day.

I prepared some dough while focusing on my phone.

Then, after dropping the spoon and picking up the phone, I forced the dough into my mouth. This was the first wise move I had made since ML's hand had struck the small of my back the previous evening.
I placed the phone to my ear after dialing and swallowing.

Micah said, "What's up, girl."

Last night, "The Great ML visited."

Silence. Nope—complete quiet.

"Girl," next, and then nothing.

He returned today as well; he was around when I arrived back from something and he just departed a short while ago.

Even more silence, this time feeling more complete as though the world's noise were being sucked into a vacuum.

I yelled into the void, "Mic?"

She questioned, "He just departed twenty minutes ago."

Yes, I replied.

He was there while it was daytime, she questioned.

Yes, I replied.

And his skin didn't burn at all? she questioned.

I smiled as I said, "Nope.”

“What happened?”

It was then that I explained it all out for her, from yesterday night through Arlene, Big Ben, and Finn, to The Great ML's surprise visit, loving talk, and delicate explanation of our relationship's boundaries.

When I was done, she murmured, "Shit."

"Shit what?" I inquired.

"Girl, I know about Andrew Fontanilla, aka Finn, the current leader of the Mayhem MC, and I understand you don't want to go there. Rumor has it he's spent his term tryin' to clean up the club, with some accomplishment, but clean for those boys does not have the same meaning as it does for the rest of the population. They call themselves Mayhem for a reason, and these boys are not like other boys.

Oh boy.

"Well, I didn't exactly set up a date with him," I pointed out.

"And never, ever. Once you enter that world, there's no way back. You get me?"

Yikes.

"He was frightening, Mic, and I'm not going there," I informed her.

"God, I hope not," she responded, implying she didn't believe me. But I'd met her in the midst of my divorce, so she was well aware of Jonas, who was both hot and a terrible jerk. And she was well aware of ML, who was also attractive, much hotter than Jonas, and was proving to be of the Jonas persuasion, namely a jerk.

Mic said, "I'll speak to Ryan and see what I can learn about your sister. I listened to her take a large breath and I knew what that big breath meant. "The one thing I can say about ML is that he offered you solid advise. You need to lie low. Isabelle is Isabelle and she's been headin' down a path that's leadin' her to major problems and looks she found it." She was about to say something that I wouldn't appreciate. Although Micah was direct in her speech, this did not imply that she lacked compassion. Did she? the most compassionate.

As a result, she proceeded with caution. "I know she's your sister, but Isabelle Gomez doesn't care who she drags down with her and will use anybody as a shield to defend her tiny, white ass.

She's in difficulty, and if she gets a sense that she can exploit you in any way, sweetie, she'll do it without hesitation."

This was clearly correct.

"I am formally disowning her as of now," I announced.

"Finally," Mic grumbled.

"Call me after you speak with Ryan," I said.

"Gia?" she inquired.

"Yeah, girl," I said.

"I'll also talk to him about ML."

Oh No. No way. Dad and Melinda were unaware about ML.
Enrico was unaware of ML. And Ryan Garcia was unaware of ML. Micah and Antonette were the only ones who knew about ML, and I'd promised them to silence.

This indicated a lot about me and how I felt about ML, primarily that I was embarrassed of what I was doing and why. It smacked of desperation and slut, two things no female should be.
Ever. Dad, Melinda, Enrico, and Ryan were all people I adored. I didn't want them to think I was a desperate slut.

"Gia -" Mic began.

"No, Mic, no, don't talk to Ryan about The Great ML," I said emphatically.

"All right, girl, listen to me," she said forcefully back. "This man can stroll through doors. This guy has the means to probe you and keep tabs, so now I know this guy has to be on the grid, and if he's on the grid, Ryan can get a hold on him."

"Perhaps, but I don't want Ryan to get a hold of him."

"Why?" she inquired, growing irritated. "He looked into you."

"That may be true, but as of today, I am formally disowning my sister and terminating my twisted up, non-relationship with The Great Mysterious Lover. It's done. It's completely finished."

Silence once again.

"Seriously?" he asks.

"Really, Mic?" I exclaimed. "I told you how he spoke to me, what he claimed about our connection, and how he probed me.
He knows everything about me. He claims only he has the authority to terminate things. He won't tell me his name. That scenario was completely insane before, and now that it has, wake up call. It's finished."

"I hope so, girl. I've said it before and I'll say it again. There are hot guys out there who aren't motherfucking assholes. They don't use you to get off. There are men out there who know how to treat a woman right and you're going to find one, babe, but the only way you can do that is to scrape off the one who doesn't."

Straight-talker Micah Vasquez was there. And Micah Vasquez, the astute young lady who has her head screwed on straight.

"Well, today was the day of enlightenment; Isabelle and The Great ML are no longer," I said triumphantly.

Mic responded, "Hallelujah."

We hung up after ten minutes. After that, I sat at my table, spooned some dough, ate it, and glanced at my phone, hoping to make good on my bold claim.

Then I took up the phone and dialed Antonette's number.