The Mechanics of The Heart (Unedited)

53

Amara

Having Hunter by my side made walking into the shit storm of my past a whole lot easier. With his hand pressed to my small lower part of my back, slightly massaging was grounding.

I had been to the club house maybe once or twice, and I had never really stepped into the dwellings. I just lingered outside while Bambi ran in for whatever it was she needed.

The outside resembles any other bar, sided with a garage- despite the wired fence and from my view from the small window in the garage, the back space was even wider with more, squatted buildings.

"My room, Prospect rooms, hall bathroom- never use that one firefly." Bullet pointed his arm over to a door on the far end of the garage before tugging me through the doorway, jutting his chin out to a long looking hall and then a door to our left as we maneuvered the quick hallways.

I wasn't sure if he was trying to take my mind off things or expecting me to come around more often, either way I appreciated just hearing his rumble of a voice.

The man somehow ground me and then wound me up in ways I had never imagined before.
And after Julius, I thought I'd never feel physical attraction again.

I mean sure I was a virgin but I still was aware of my body. After what he took from me, everything about the male species became repulsive.

Until this hazel eyed, stubborn biker, with his own issues but still found time to find his way into my ice cold heart. Thawing it, rapidly.

"Bullet." He stops, turning to pin me with those startling eyes. They reminded me of smooth rocks you'd find at the bottom of still rivers, caressed and perfectly sculpted by the life around it.
"I want you to know, no matter what my father says- I've already chosen you." I take a breath, my stomach swaying with anxiety.
"I've heard all the bitter words, self righteous judgments and disappointment lectures my whole life. But you haven't, don't let him rattle you. He'll be looking for a reaction, a scab he can pick until it bleeds." I lose my gripe and stare at the ropes of muscle in his forearms instead.

I was well aware Hunter had his own demons, a past he shouldered on everyday like a wet jean jacket. Heavy and uncomfortable. I was very familiar with that feeling too.

It was something he hadn't shared with me. And I wasn't setting any expectations to do so, but I had laid what I could of my demons on the table. Bare and open for his scrutiny, bracing for the rejection, disgust. It'd hurt like hell but I'd take it because I knew what I was offering was broken, destroyed tatters of a heart he had no responsibility in breaking but all this man-my man did was cradle it close to his chest.

"I want all the pieces."
I sniffle, realizing I'm holding his hand a lot tighter. Going to pull away is futile because he yanks me forward. Letting me stumble until I land on his chest.

He raises our intertwined hands, placing a longer kiss on the back of mine before feathering kisses over my knuckles and fingers. "I-"

"Sorry to interrupt but you both might want to get your asses in here before Razor kills Amara's father!" The pitched shriek came from Lisa, her eyes bugged behind her glasses as she cups her hand to holler even though we're barely three feet from the door.

My brows crinkle at her words, Razor? The guy who couldn't sit still for five minutes and still giggled at cartoons? My brain couldn't picture it, violence and Razor just didn't sit in the same category in my brain.

Bullet cursed and bolted for the door, his hand still grasping mine as I followed with more curiosity than urgency.
Mulling over what my father could have said to warrant that type of reaction from the most golden retriever coded biker I had ever met.

"Razor!" Bullet barked, moving forward to break up the scene, if you could even call it that.

Bear, Tennessee, Coyote and a few other patched brothers I hadn't really known lingered around, each seeming to have a beer as they perched on the bar. Like they were watching a game of Hockey.

Tearing my gaze back to Razor, suddenly all muscle had my father, despite his age was far from frail and weak. On his back over a table top of a nearest table, his hands clutching my fathers neck, from here his face wasn't visible but I could see his legs kicking, his hat on the floor by the table. Agustin is plastered on the booths walls, practically climbing up the walls as his eyes widened, watching in frozen horror.

Bullet yanks Razor off with ease as I move to grab my fathers hat off the floor, looking up at Razor turns, face red with agitation, his usual sunny expression is darkened with rage and it makes me step back, another when he flicks the box cutter razor blade of the tips of his teeth back into his mouth with finesse, familiarity.
My mouth his dry as I tear my gaze to my father. Finding relief as he sits up wheezing, gasping for air but there's no slices from the razor blade.

"Next time you disrespect my sister, I will slit your throat and nobody will be able to stop me." Razor spits the words as he stomps away, several doors slamming behind him and I realize he may have had a razor blade hidden in his mouth most days if not everyday.

"What did you do?" I hiss, moving to check my father for any serious injuries but even in his coughing fit he pushes me away and I find myself stepping back into a broad warm chest.

"What did I do?! That man was going to kill me!" He wheezes raggedly, shooting me an accusing glare and I feel Hunters hand rest on my hip, flexing and I know he trying to keep from lunging.

My father was lucky, I was quite literally the only thing standing between him and apex predator feeling disrespected and out for blood.

"I told you not to demean her to that." Agustin hissed, finally peeling himself from the wall. I watch in worry as he sits on his shaking hands.

"Demean me to what?" I swallow thickly, tensing myself for another verbal blow.

Agustin looks reluctant but I nod, letting him know silently it's okay but he shakes his head. My father stumbling off the table, his lid finally blown as familiar ranting a raving ensues.

Growing up my father did all the screaming in the house, despite how angry and destructive my mother could get. She hardly if ever raised her voice, my mothers equate to raising her voice an octave was launching a ceramic bowl at your head.

My father seemed to loved the raw, sting left behind from screaming bloody murder.

"Demean you to what you've become, Amara! A blundering fucking catastrophe! Just like your mother. What? You gonna fuck your way through the states like a whore too?!-"

Im lost to when exactly Bullet moved, one moment his warmth was pressed into my back and the next, he had a gun i didnt even know he carried shoved  down my fathers throat.