Savage gave him a humorless smile. “Don’t you think I asked myself the same thing a million times? Before I met her, I’d already been preparing to take a ride over the cliff. I knew eventually I’d hurt someone. I have cycles—you’ve seen them. When I’m bad, I need Seychelle to ride those out with me. Trust me, Maestro, the things I do to her aren’t for the faint of heart. Fortunately, I’m able to work with her so she gets off on it—eventually. Whatever you’re asking of Azelie is not ever going to be as bad as what I’ve asked of Seychelle.”
Maestro knew Savage told the strict truth about his sexual needs. He was aware of the things Savage needed in a relationship. Maestro was a natural dominant, and he enjoyed various kinks when it came to sex, but hurting his partner wasn’t something he needed to get off. He might use a flogger or a whip, but again, it was more of a control issue, asking his woman to do something she would be uncomfortable with just to please him. How fucked up was that? Still, even knowing it was wrong, he was aware he would demand and enjoy it if his woman was willing to please him when he asked for bondage. He would need confirmation of her devotion on a daily basis. Was that any better than the things Savage needed?
“You have to make up your mind if you want her, Maestro,” Savage reiterated. “If you do, you not only have to walk a fine line with this mission, but you’ll have to talk to her. Open up about your past and let her know why you’re so fucked up.”
Yeah, that was the one thing he wasn’t certain he could do. Yet Savage had. Absinthe, one of his Torpedo Ink brothers, had to ask his woman to play roles; kitten, librarian, all sorts of fucked-up things, and she did it for him because he’d told her the worst of his childhood. Ice was an exhibitionist. Storm got off on being a voyeur. Ice was married to a wonderful woman. Maestro was certain Ice had told her what he’d been through. Storm was still single, but Reaper, Savage’s birth brother, had Anya. It had been a real shit-storm with Reaper making mistakes, thanks to the rest of them giving him very poor direction.
Maestro was guilty of giving poor counsel to Savage. He probably had given the worst advice of all of them. He had even given Steele crap advice, and Breezy was as sweet and accommodating as any woman could be. Maestro tended to view all women as egotistical rebels, unable to obey when their safety was a concern just because they wanted to prove that they were equal to a man. Protecting his woman shouldn’t mean he didn’t see her as an equal. They had different strengths. Everyone had different strengths.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he admitted. “I do know I want her in my life. I’m going to think about the things you’ve said, Savage, before I contact her. I blew it with her last night. Everything was so perfect, too perfect. I kept waiting for the stab in the back. When she tried to give back the earrings, I panicked. I swear, I can face bullets any fucking day of the week, but looking at her earnest expression and hearing her say she didn’t care about things, she just wanted to spend time with me, I lost it.”
“Let’s head into Sea Haven. Hannah Drake Harrington opens her tea shop early. We can grab coffee and something to eat. You can’t drive back to San Francisco without getting coffee in you. You’ve been up all night.”
Maestro agreed and started up his Harley-Davidson Iron 883. Savage’s Night Rod Special roared to life. The two took off, riding along the coastal highway toward Sea Haven. Once again, peace settled over him, the early morning fog enfolding him like a gray blanket. The sun shot through the fog, sending streaks of orange-red light over the water in a dazzling display. The wind played with the surface of the water, sending white foam and diamonds into the air and over the bluffs.
Maestro tried to keep his thoughts away from Zelie, but it was impossible. He had no idea why she had made such an impression on him. Why he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts. Why he couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing her again. He knew he should cut off all contact with her. He might not be a sexual sadist, but he had flaws. Damage. It was very real and lasting. He wasn’t a man who would put up with his woman defying him. Like with Savage, there would be consequences, punishments. He knew most women would never put up with a man like him. Not long-term. The worst was, he would enjoy those punishments a little too much because it meant she cared enough about him to give him the things he needed.
He wasn’t like Savage and Reaper, men who women sympathized with. Their scars were physical and the trauma to them so deep they never failed to garner the attention of women. It wasn’t as if Maestro hadn’t been physically tortured or raped, but his trauma was far more psychological. Unseen. The scars were there, just not as noticeable. He was softer inside. He was a musician, an artist with a poet’s soul. It embarrassed him that he wasn’t as tough as he thought he should be. Sorbacov seemed to have had a gift for knowing what would harm each child the most. He had been able to see into Maestro when others, to this day, couldn’t.
He wasn’t upset with his Torpedo Ink brothers and sisters. He’d developed a tough shell. He’d had to in order to survive. If anyone saw into him, it was Czar. The others took what he said and did at face value. Unless it was Keys. Keys seemed to read him, to see into his bullshit performances.
Comparing himself to Reaper and Savage all the time made him come up short. It wasn’t as if he ever shirked his duties. He was an assassin, and there was no hesitation when he killed, but the kills haunted him. The victims, no matter how deserving of death, visited him at night.
How did he explain himself to a woman like Azelie without sounding like a pathetic loser when he really was a monster? Sorbacov specialized in creating monsters. Maestro knew he could explode into violence easily. It had become second nature, no matter that the instincts hadn’t been natural to him.
The town of Sea Haven was very quiet so early in the morning. The street was mostly empty, and they had no trouble finding parking directly in front of the tea shop called the Floating Hat. The sign was a hat made of wood. The name Floating Hat was intriguing, but other than the cups that looked like hats in the windows, and the bells shaped like hats on the door, the shop had nothing at all to do with hats.
The Floating Hat was not only a tea shop but an organic bath and lotion shop. With bay windows on either side of the door facing the street, when one first looked, the shop appeared to be on the small side. The shop was really quite spacious, spreading out behind the bay windows and going back the whole depth of the building. Behind the counter, there was at least one more room and another exit.
One window held the intriguing hat-shaped cups, an assortment of teas and stacked caddies of delicious-looking scones and pastries. The other window held lotions and bath products. The division was the same in the shop, with products for sale on one side and tables and chairs, as well as a few booths, on the other side. Most tables were for two to four people, but there was one larger table that could handle at least six. The tables were a distance apart from the other half of the store, creating a feeling of openness.
Savage pulled open the door to the shop, setting the hat-shaped bells chiming, announcing their presence. A woman looked up from the counter and Maestro recognized her immediately. She sometimes worked at the roadhouse bar. She was learning bartending from Anya and Preacher.
“Sabelia,” Maestro greeted while Savage nodded at her.
The woman was tiny, like a little pixie—or a woodland fairy—with her wealth of shiny black hair and eyes that should have been too big for her face. When he’d first met her, she never smiled, and with her long black hair and small features, at times she appeared witchy to him. Now, seeing her smiling and hearing the welcome in her voice, he understood that she knew she had a safe home with Hannah and Torpedo Ink. He realized that had changed Sabelia, giving her happiness and perhaps some peace. That showed in her laughter and lighter expression.
“Anywhere is fine.” Sabelia motioned toward the tables. She sent Savage a wry smile. “I know you’re not fond of tea. Do you want your usual coffee?”
Savage gave her a thumbs-up as he headed toward what all the Torpedo Ink members considered a prime table. The table gave them the advantage of seeing the windows and the door, and they could keep an eye on the back exit without being seen. Everyone else wanted tables by the windows, but they didn’t care to present a target to anyone looking in. They stayed alive by being careful.
Kasimir “Preacher” Popov sauntered in as if he owned the place. Preacher was Lana’s older birth brother. He had very curly hair and wore it on the longer side. He was the club’s chemistry man. He had other well-developed gifts as well. He worked at the roadhouse as the head bartender and manager of the bar. Hannah Harrington was working with him to teach him more about the natural products and what they could do. There may have been a little magic mixed in, but if so, Maestro didn’t want to know about it.
Preacher greeted Savage and Maestro, and rubbed his knuckle on top of Sabelia’s head as he swept past her to go behind the counter. “I’ll make my drink this morning, Sabelia.”
“Good morning to you too,” Sabelia said. “I don’t recall Hannah hiring you to work here, but if she did, that makes me your boss.”
Preacher gave a little dramatic shudder. “You’re already bossy as hell. I’m not stupid enough to allow you free rein to boss me around.”
Sabelia arched a winged black brow. “I work for you at the Torpedo Ink Roadhouse. Does that mean I’m braver than you? Because you’re sounding a bit like a coward.”
“You’re looking to get yourself in trouble, little girl. Keep it up and you’ll find yourself over my knee.” Preacher sounded perfectly amicable.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Try it and you’ll have the cops knocking on your door.”
Preacher laughed, his eyes lighting up, indicating he felt genuine amusement. “That’s an empty threat if I ever heard one. You despise law enforcement.”
She tilted her chin. “I don’t despise them,” she clarified, “but I don’t trust them. So, no, I wouldn’t call the cops, but your favorite truck would be filled with frogs. Slimy ones. Toads. Big giant toads.”
Preacher threw back his head and laughed aloud. “That isn’t an empty threat, but it still might be worth the pleasure I’d get from spanking your ass.”
Sabelia stuck her nose in the air. “I’m ignoring you this morning. Everything was quite pleasant until you came along. I refuse to change my good mood just because you’re a blight on society and the bane of my existence.”
“You two need to get a room,” Savage suggested.
“I don’t need a room,” Preacher said. “I’ll lock the doors so she doesn’t get embarrassed when her customers come in.”
Sabelia’s pale skin flushed red. “You two aren’t funny at all. For your information, Savage, Preacher thinks of me as a baby.”
“An obnoxious baby,” Preacher confirmed.
“Maestro?” Determinedly, Sabelia turned to him. “What are you looking for this morning?” she asked.
“Clarity,” he answered honestly. “Tranquility. You make the blend of tea for me, Sabelia. And three of your orange cranberry scones.”
Sabelia laughed softly. “I don’t see how any of you can put away that many scones and look the way you do. If I ate like that, you’d have to roll me out of here.”
Preacher came around the counter and smacked Sabelia on her ass. She yelped and spun around, glaring at him. He glared right back.
