Clear (Storm's Soldiers MC Book 3) by Paige Notaro

CHAPTER ONE
    Meagan
    Maybe I should have walked out right then. I could have just turned my back on the two men, one who had struck my body and the other who had hammered my soul.
    Vaughn stood panting in his dark jacket, looking like a giant doberman who knew he’d bit out at the wrong person. But I wasn’t his master. For once, I was the one confused, waiting for him to explain how I should react to the vileness that had erupted from his lips.
    Rico didn’t let that happen. He stood, rolling his round shoulders in his cashmere sweater and pleats. He started to gaze at Vaughn the same way I was - some twisted show of solidarity.
    “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
    I snorted. “What do I want you to do? Get the hell away from me. Nothing’s changed between us.”
    “I don’t want to leave you alone with him.”
    Vaughn’s lips curled with anger, but no bark came. He didn’t seem to trust his mouth.
    “I’ll be fine as long as you’re gone,” I said.
    Rico forced puzzlement, his glowing features all screwed up. What the hell went on in that head?
    “Rico, go.” I said again.
    He stepped toward me and suddenly Vaughn was up against him. His eyes did the talking, thin blue lines aimed down squarely at my ex. Rico withered by instinct and went clattering back into another table.
    “Alright, you deal with your friend,” he said, heading back to the cafe. “We’ll finish talking later.”
    “I’ve got nothing else to say to you.”
    He started a patronizing head shake, but his eyes fell on Vaughn and he pushed through the doors without finishing.
    It was just us two now. Vaughn finally dared open his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said.
    “Sorry for what, Vaughn?”
    “For what I said, what else? I didn’t mean it. It just came out.”
    “Sounds like you did mean it.” I smiled sadly. “Just not for me to hear.”
    I sat down at his table. Vaughn seemed to ballon with relief as he sat down next to me. It wasn’t deserved. I wasn’t in an absolving mood, just looking to see if there was any reason to not call this relationship quits.
    “I can’t control myself when I get pissed,” he started. “The prick was hurting you, and he didn’t even seem to give a damn. I was too busy trying to keep myself from clocking him to keep a rein on my mouth.”
    “So you’re saying that’s where your thoughts naturally go? To words like that?’
    “Shit. No. That’s not what I meant.”
    I spotted a cup. He’d been drinking a black coffee. My mind flew with the sort of racist nicknames they must have for that in his biker club.
    “You sure?” I asked. “You sure that’s not what you really think?”
    “I don’t want to think that way,” he said. “It’s just too many years of being around this shit.”
    His eyes were mired in his past, picking through some trail that had led here. He wasn’t lying, at least. His whole family was caught up in this stuff. Of course, they’d taught him the language of hate.
    Just cause he had a reason didn’t mean I wanted to be around it, though.
    “What about me?” I asked.
    “What about you?”
    I laid my arms out on the wooden table, soft dark bands against the frayed, cardboard-colored wood. “What words come to you when you don’t rein in your mind about me?”
    He took in the sight of that, confused. “I don’t understand. Pretty? Sexy? Fucking hot?”
    I battered any reaction to that out of my body. “Not me then. What do you think of when you see skin like this?”
    “I…” He shook his head. “Nothing, anymore. Just maybe that it’s dark.”
    “That’s it?” I asked, shaking my arms. “What about before? What words used to come to mind?”
    He rubbed a hand over his shaved head. “Nothing usually, otherwise some stupid shit.”
    “What stupid shit?” I demanded.
    He frowned into my face. “What do you want to hear, Meagan? That I come from a fucked up past? That I’m a racist piece of shit? I was. Maybe I still am. I’m working