Heathen (Cerberus MC Las Vegas Chapter #1)

Chapter 14

Kaylee

I blink down at the bag in my hands.

At first, I was excited to see the familiar bag, although a little annoyed that the man had the damn nerve to go back to my house without me. Being there in the comfort of my own home would be a lot better than this damn hotel room.

The sight of what he has packed for me makes me wonder if he just loves torturing me because, honestly, there's no other reason for it.

"This is great and all," I say as I pull out the purple dress. "But why did you pack this?"

Ellis looks up from his spot on the sofa. I don't know him well enough to determine if the grin on his face is some form of retribution or if he's just a goofball and doesn't have a clue about what women wear on a daily basis.

"I figured you need something to sleep in," he explains with a quick shrug.

"So you thought an old Halloween costume was the perfect thing?"

"I didn't know it was a Halloween costume. At least I didn't grab the wedding dress that's hanging in there. Why do you even have a wedding dress?" He spins on the sofa, giving me all of his attention and watching me as if he's anxious for my explanation. "Are you supposed to marry someone else?"

"That dress is also a Halloween costume," I tell him, my face heating.

I don't have to explain to him that Morgan has an annual party that she won't let me say no to, and that event is happening soon. I had regrets of buying that dress before I even made it home with it from the thrift store.

"Isn't that bad luck? To wear a wedding dress when you aren't a bride?"

"How should I know?" I murmur as I continue to dig through the bag. It's not like I ever imagined getting married, so why would I worry about bad luck? "Ellis!"

His smile is wider when I look back at him, and I can see in his eyes that he's been waiting for this moment. His smile is almost enough to make me lose my train of thought, but handsome or not, the man has a lot to answer for right now. I can't get distracted by his boyish good looks.

"What, dear?"

"You went through my underwear drawer?"

"I found the ones I bought for you in the trash. I figured you'd want something of your own, so you'd be more comfortable."

"And this screams comfort to you?" I ask, holding up a piece of lingerie.

"I would be very comfortable in seeing you put that on," he says, licking his lips as his eyes drop lower on my body. The boyishness in his eyes has quickly faded into something a little more primal as his gaze runs the length of my body.

"That is never going to happen," I growl, but there's a little whisper in my brain asking what if .

"Because then we couldn't get the marriage annulled?" he challenges.

Without answering him, I shove the strappy lingerie back into the bag.

"I have to say, wife. I'm already super jealous of whatever man got to see you wearing that."

I open my mouth to explain the damn thing, a gag gift from Morgan because she's well aware that I'd never wear it, but I decide he doesn't deserve to know the truth. Let him think what he wants.

"He loved it," I lie, because I never even tried it on.

The sight of it makes my face turn red. I don't know that I'll ever be close enough to a man to feel comfortable wearing such a thing.

"Couldn't keep his hands off of me when I had it on," I continue.

"He's one lucky bastard," Ellis mutters before turning back around to watch the television.

I stay in the too-small and outrageously colored clothes he got for me earlier because there's nothing in the bag he packed for me that I can wear and still hold my head up high.

After putting the bag in the bedroom, I rejoin him in the living room, once again taking a seat at the table rather than beside him on the sofa.

"I don't bite," he says, pointing the remote at the television and changing the channel.

"You're in the middle of the sofa," I complain.

"You want to sit here?" he asks, patting his lap like it's a chair.

The zing of awareness it causes in my body makes me want to get up and bolt back into the bedroom.

I'm not an innocent, virginal woman by any means, but I come from a very small town. One that doesn't so openly use suggestive language the way he has more than once today. Even in my time living in Vegas, I haven't gotten used to how openly sexual so many people can be. It's not exactly a space I feel comfortable in, and I doubt I ever will. It's just not in my nature.

"Do you have to do that?"

"No," he says, holding his hands out wide as if the lap patting was the issue of concern.

"Why do you speak to me like that?"

His brows scrunch as if he's confused. "You don't want me flirting with you? It was all in good fun. I don't—"

"You call that flirting?"

"You call it something else?"

"Do you normally pick women up in bars or something?"

"Where else would I pick women up?"

I stare at him, a little dumbfounded.

"That actually works?"

He shrugs once again. "Usually."

"Wow," I mutter.

"Are you insulting all the women I've flirted with before?"

I tilt my head to the side, honestly doing a little speedy soul-searching to see where the offense is coming from.

"No," I say truthfully.

The irritation isn't on the women he has been with in the past. I don't think of them as dumb for falling for it. Ellis is stupidly handsome, and I imagine he's met women willing to place their hand in his and walk right out the door of a bar without a word, not even needing the sexualized flirting.

The problem is with myself and my inability to let loose even a little in order to accept someone as good-looking as him would be flirting with me in the first place.

I stare at the ceiling. The realization that my self-esteem is so damn low is like a slap to the face.

"What's that look for?" he asks, refusing to cut me some slack.

"Nothing," I tell him.

"Says every woman ever who doesn't mean it," he says, but he turns his attention back to the television.

I'm grateful that his eyes aren't assessing me, but I'd be a fool to think that he's no longer paying attention to me despite the lack of eye contact.

Silence swirls around us, but I don't know if it's my irritation at everything that's happening or my curiosity about this man that makes it feel heavier than it should. I have a million questions but asking him things gives him the opportunity to ask me things, and giving this man my pitiful, unexciting life story isn't a door I want to open now or ever if I have the choice.

I stare at the television without actually seeing what's playing out on the screen, wondering how long it'll be until I can go home. It hits me like a ton of bricks that other than my job and Morgan, I don't really have much of a life. I think that's the main reason I ended up in this position in the first place.

Walking into that warehouse was so out of character for me.

Maybe I subconsciously wanted a little adventure in my life.

"I have an important meeting tomorrow," he says, startling me from my thoughts.

"Okay," I say, waiting for him to tell me more information, but there are five minutes of silence and he never offers me anything else.

I don't know if I have a right to be angry, but that doesn't stop the emotion from raging inside of me.

Annoyance continues to grow when he finds a comedy on the television and he just sits there chuckling as if I don't exist.

I feel like I'm losing my mind. Never have I considered myself easily irritated, but somehow, I feel exasperated with his mere existence.

It's not that I feel like he owes me his attention, but he made a promise to help Alena, and we've yet to discuss how that is going to happen.

I begin to wonder if he's actually capable of doing anything to help. Even as I search all possible outcomes of why he would put himself in danger, in order to get me out from under Dima's thumb and that warehouse, I can't think of any other reason than he honestly wants to help, and that annoys me even further.

Is there anything worse than a man with a hero complex and the inability to actually help?

"What's your meeting about?" I ask, eventually, because I can't stand the secrecy.

Slowly, he turns his eyes in my direction. He isn't exactly glaring at me, but I quickly realize that being the focus of his scrutiny isn't something I want to be.

As he soundlessly watches me, I imagine him trying to determine if I'm worthy of the information, and I hate the way it makes me feel when he turns his attention back to the television without a word.

I might've never imagined myself in love and married, but it never even crossed my mind to consider I might end up being married to an enemy.