What sort of girl falls in love with four outlaws?

What sort of girl plays with fire for the fun of it?

I’m the salvation for the dirty throne of the city’s

underworld, the only person who can secure a future
for the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club. There
are few people in this world that I can trust—a mafia
brat, a soon-to-be nun, and four lascivious demons—
but that’ll have to be enough, or we’ll all burn
together in glorious flame. Only, there’s no telling
what my father will do now that he knows the truth.

They will always be wrong for me.

But sometimes, the darkness simply chooses you.
These guys … they’ve chosen someone.
They’ve chosen me.
Table of Contents

Table of Contents
Front Matter
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Signup for my Newsletter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue Part 1
Epilogue Part 2
Epilogue Part 3
Back Matter
Throwaway Prince Cover
Alpha Wolves Motorcycle Club Cover
Havoc at Prescott High Cover
Stepbrother Inked Cover
Keep Up With The Fun
More Books By C.M. Stunich
About the Author
 I Will Revel in Glory
I Will Revel in Glory © C.M. Stunich 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever
without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or
reviews.

The For information address Sarian Royal Indie Publishing, 89365 Old Mohawk Rd, Springfield, OR
97478.
www.cmstunich.com
Cover art and design © Amanda Carroll and Sarian Royal

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living
or dead, businesses, or locales is coincidental and is not intended by the author.
 this book is dedicated to

those brave enough to try this series when there was only one book out.
thank you for believing in Gidget’s story.
thank you for believing in me.
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Nothing beautiful can ever bloom from darkness.
That’s what most people think anyway. But there are entire worlds of
shadows where life thrives: in the deepest parts of the ocean, in the coldest
caverns, and inside the heart of a girl who only ever wanted to belong.
That was it, all along.
I wasn’t supposed to be a dirty princess with an honor guard.
I was meant to carry a sword into battle; I was meant to fight.
That last moment, the one before Cat pulls the trigger, everything becomes
clear. Of course, like with a strike of hot lightning on an ebony night, it’s
only crystalline for the briefest span of an instant, and then reality comes
crashing down.
And life, as we all know it, is anything but clear-cut.
The lens with which we view the world is hazy, distorted, and oftentimes,
obscured by our own bullshit. So, imagine my surprise when my brother’s
blood—and not mine—spatters the wall near the office door.
His right foot moves forward, as if he’s about to take another step, and
then he just slumps over like a broken doll, collapsing into a twitching heap
with his body half-in and half-out of the doorway.
I sag back against the bookcase behind me, my eyes lifting up to find my
father’s. He just shot his own son in the back of the head, like George did to
Lennie in that shitty old book they made me read in school—Of Mice and
Men.
 If you really think about it, what dear old dad just did is a kindness in its
own way. He made Gaz think he’d won, encouraged him to say his goodbyes
to me, and then sent him on his way, none the wiser.
But what about me? Do I deserve even that miniscule speck of generosity
from the president of the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club?
Is he really going to kill me next, knowing that I know that this is the end?
Cat’s rust-red eyes meet my matching gaze.
I truly believed he was about to shoot me; he was aiming at me. But at the
last second, at the last second …
“You killed Gaz,” I whisper, and then my knees just give out and I find
myself sitting on the floor. I can’t stop staring at my brother’s body. He was
an evil man, there’s no doubt, and he deserved to die for the things he’d
done. He murdered a prostitute, beat my dog, and used me as a punching
bag.
More important than any of that: he led the mafia to my sisters.
“Don’t tell your mother,” Cat says, his voice distant and cold, as if his
only son isn’t lying on the floor with a gunshot to the head. “If she asks
where he is, you say that you don’t have a goddamn clue.”
My brain struggles to keep up with his words. What is he saying? Why is
he telling me this? Isn’t he going to punish me now? Both of his remaining
children were, after all, traitors to the club. It’s a crime punishable only by
death.
Cat moves over to where I’m sitting, blood running down the sides of my
face, dripping off my chin. My whole body hurts, and my ears are still
ringing from the explosion. But my mission remains the same.
I need to find Sin. And Crown. I need to know if Beast and Grainger are
still alive.
“You want to tell me what this is?” Cat asks, removing the bottle and the
syringe from his pocket. I swallow hard as I look down at the items in his
palm and then redirect my attention to his face.
“Gaz and his buddies drugged the kegs; they laced the cocaine with
something. I don’t know what that is, only that we have to give anyone
who’s been affected by it an injection, or they’ll die.”
He grunts at me, shaking his head and rising to his feet with the items still
in hand. I’ve always thought of my father as the devil, the leader of hell’s
demons, a creature crafted of cunning and brimstone. I see now that I was
right all along, and one of Reba’s oft-quoted Bible verses pops into my head.
 Be sober, be watchful: your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh
about, seeking whom he may devour.
Me. He wants to devour me.
“Get up.”
Cat turns and leaves the room, stepping over my brother’s body like it
isn’t even there. I’m struck by how similar this situation is to the one I found
myself in when I woke up and the Don of the Grey Wolfe Mafia was staring
at me.
He made me crawl on my hands and knees.
This time, I force my aching body to my feet.
When I get to the doorway, I look down at my brother’s wide back, at the
small entry wound in his skull. The exit wound will be much messier, much
bloodier, raw and jagged and graphic.
I don’t want to see it.
I stumble over Gaz, my shoulder slamming into the wall as I struggle to
stay on my feet. I’m in shock; my body is brimming over with adrenaline.
All I can see when I close my eyes is a memory I thought was long-buried,
one where Gaz, Queenie, Posey, and I are playing together in a small yard
filled with flowering dandelions and the rusted-out shells of two cars.
Gaz was so much older than me, but I liked that when I was little. He
could put me on his shoulders and carry me around. He could reach things
on high shelves. He could make Queenie laugh.
Dizziness sweeps over me, but I push it back. I shove with all my might
until nostalgia fades into the distance and the blurriness of the real world fills
my vision. It’s hard to tell where the floor ends and the walls begin, if there’s
even a ceiling, if I’m standing up or sitting down.
“Gidge!”
Loud footsteps precede warm hands on my rib cage, lifting me up, pulling
me close.
Suede and violets.
It’s Crown, my father’s vice president and one of the four men in this club
that I dare to call my own.
But only if he wants me.
I don’t know if he does, if he can’t have all of me.
“Oh, Gidge,” Crown says, smoothing his hand over my hair and tucking
me so tightly against him that I feel like I must be crazy. How could I ever
imagine this man didn’t want me when he holds me like this?
 “Sin,” I start, trying and failing to prevent another coughing attack. I got
hit in the chest hard. That, and the smoke and heat from the blast seem to
have irritated my lungs. “Beast. Grainger.”
“I should’ve fucking seen this coming,” Cat says, more to himself than to
us. I don’t know what he saw on Gaz’s phone, but I’ll tell you this: the way
he looks at me wrapped in Crown’s arms is enough. Seeing us together is
enough. Our love—as gritty, as resistant, as hard as it is sometimes—is so
potent as to be a smoking gun. It paints us filthy, like traitors, paints us with
the bright colors of guilt and betrayal. “Jesus Christ, Crown. I should kill the
two of you right now.” My father actually turns around, hefting his gun in
his hands. He stares at it like he’s deciding whether or not to execute us both
right here, right now.
His loyal demons aren’t so loyal, not when it comes to me. Their greatest
sin. Their most holy triumph.
Crown very slowly, very carefully, turns us both around so that he can face
Cat, keeping me tucked in his arms. I’m not sure that my feet are even
touching the floor or, if they are, I’m not sure they’re holding a single ounce
of my own weight.
“I won’t tell you that you’re wrong,” Crown says, his voice steady and
even. He’s remarkably calm. I can’t help but wonder where he’s been all this
time, what he’s been doing. He isn’t singed from the blast; he isn’t bleeding
from any gunshots. “But Prez, give me time to explain the situation.”
The sound that escapes Cat’s lips might be called a laugh in some circles,
but only if you believe that sound can be tinged with malice and the promise
of future violence. The expression he’s wearing now isn’t much different
than the one he held just before he killed his only son.
We’re alive, but only for now.
And Crown has just revealed his hand.
He should’ve left me to flounder on my own beneath Cat’s dark stare.
“Gaz’s body is on the floor of my office; clean it up and keep quiet about
it.” My father turns and starts walking away, dropping that nugget of
information the way someone else might relay the weather to an
acquaintance.
“Fuck,” Crown growls out, squeezing me even more tightly in his strong
arms. “We need to get you out of here.” He looks down at me, but I can’t
really look back at him. I’m too weak. I was running on pure adrenaline until
now; I’m not sure there’s a lot left.
 “Where are they?” I whisper, my voice quavering as I dig my fingers into
the leather of Crown’s cut. He hesitates then. I don’t like that, not one bit. He
takes me by the shoulders and moves me back enough that he can lean down
and meet my eyes.
“Don’t worry about that just now,” he tells me, but of course I’m going to
worry about that. The only people in the whole world who matter to me are
on this compound. “We need to get you some help.” He sighs and flicks his
gaze to the side for a moment, running his tongue along his lower lip. “You
might also need to run.”
You not we because Crown isn’t the type to run from anything. No, even if
it meant his death at Cat’s hands, he’d stay and face the music all alone,
leaving me to ride off into the sunset on the back of another man’s bike.
That’s just who he is. Disturbingly righteous in his own way.
I shove away from him and stumble, only to fall into someone else’s arms.
My head whips around to find Beast looming over me, his face bloodied
and bruised, burns along both of his bare forearms. My new husband is alive.
He’s alive. With a small cry that I’ll probably regret making later, I turn and
let myself fall against him.
“You’re alive,” I whisper, even though that’s an obvious fact at this point.
“You’re alive.”
“I failed you, sugar,” he says, stroking a hand over my hair in a way that
isn’t dissimilar to the way that Crown just touched me. “I failed you.”
As if getting knocked down by a bomb blast and shielding me with his
body was akin to failure in any way.
“Where’s Grainger?” I ask as Crown moves over to stand beside us.
The two men exchange a look, and fury fills me in a glittering red wave. I
shove back from Beast so hard that I stumble again. Only Crown’s hand on
my elbow keeps me upright.
“Where. is. Grainger?” I grind out, feeling my body begin to shake. I’m
hurt. Not as badly as I was after the motorcycle accident, but I need medical
attention, a soft bed, and a bucket of cool water to drink.
“On his way to the hospital, honey,” Beast tells me, but this time, there is
no comfort for me in his pretty Southern drawl. I feel sick. Hospitals are a
last resort for the club; we treat most all injuries here on the compound. Even
me, when I pulled the lace of my original wedding dress down to reveal a
gunshot wound to the chest, I was treated here.
For someone in the club to actually go to a hospital is bad news.
 “Sin?” I whisper, terrified to hear their answer. Please don’t be dead.
Goddamn it, Sin, if you’re dead, I’ll … I’ll find you in the next life and kill
you myself. Beast and Crown exchange a look before turning back to me
again.
“Also en route,” Beast tells me, his voice far gruffer than I’ve ever heard
it, thick with emotion.
“Fuck,” I groan, my body sagging against Crown’s. He keeps me up
easily, as if I weigh nothing at all, and my eyes close of their own accord.
Blackness creeps in at the edges of my vision, but I won’t allow myself to
give into sweet, blissful nothingness. No, I’m stronger than that.
I once compared myself to a resurrection fern. That is, a type of fern that
grows on the trunks of mature trees, but without harming them. The reason I
felt this was an apt metaphor is that I was trying to explain to Crown how I
can exist inside the club’s strict hierarchy without being parasitic. I am my
own entity. I exist on my own, with a little help from the trees.
Right now? Here’s what I can say about myself: the resurrection fern can
live for a hundred years in a dead state. It can lose up to ninety-seven percent
of its water while other plants die with just a ten-percent loss.
That’s me. Living dead for years. Suffering losses that would cripple
others.
And even now, here, in one of the worst states I’ve found myself in since
my sisters were murdered, I’m going to persevere. My eyes snap open even
as Crown tries to lift me to my feet, and I push back against him.
Feelings are luxuries; business comes first.
“We need to make sure Cat administers the antidote,” I murmur, and
Crown’s brows draw together in confusion.
“How do you know about that shit?” he asks me, and I look up at him with
a huh, what the fuck? sort of expression on my face.
“Uh, aren’t I the one who should be asking that question?” I grind out, my
tongue gritty and my ears still ringing. I’ve got a massive migraine, blood
dripping down my face, and a heart that’s being torn into jagged strips with
each second we stand here wasting time. “Grey is on the compound.”
The words rush out before I can stop them. Not that I would, but I’m
taking a huge risk here. This is me extending trust to these men in a way I
never thought I’d be able to. I’m telling them that my friend is here, on this
compound, in the middle of this bullshit. If they wanted to kill him, it’d be
so easy. They could save face with Cat, bring Death by Daybreak a severed
head that the club would absolutely love to stick on a pike outside the gates
to the compound.
“He’s what?!” Crown chokes out as a deep, heavy melancholy settles in
my bones and I resist the urge to go back and look at my brother’s dead
body. Is it possible to wish someone dead and then regret their death all at
the same time? I’m not excited by Gaz’s death the way I once thought I’d be.
I don’t feel smug at the thought of his passing the way he seemed to when he
thought it was me that our father was going to shoot.
He smirked at me. He was an integral part of events that caused Queenie
and Posey to die horrible deaths. Yet … I’m still mourning him. I’m
mourning him, and I don’t understand my emotions at all. Shades of gray,
Gidge. The world is painted in shades of gray. You are as gray as they come,
just like your mean old daddy.
“He’s here; we need to find him before it’s too late.” I squeeze my lips
into a grim line as I turn to look down the hallway. Problem one: antidote.
Problem two: Grey. Problem three … hospital. Fuck. It’s hard to prioritize
needs in a crisis, particularly when the men you love might … if they … I
can’t go there. I just can’t.
If they’re on their way to the hospital, there’s nothing more I can do for
them right now. I need to focus on the things that I can change, the lives that
I can save, even if I’d rather be by their sides. They shouldn’t have to die
alone if …
“We are not looking for or wasting our time on that mafia boy,” Crown
hisses, putting his hands on my arms and leaning down to look into my face.
He’s absolutely stunning. His eyes, that soft moss green, and that gently
curled chocolate hair with the auburn highlights … I force myself to exhale.
I’m so disoriented that my mind is wandering to inconsequential things. “I’ll
do my best by you, and I won’t actively send out a team to hunt him. But I
sure as hell am not wasting my time looking for him.”
I move to tear myself from Crown’s grip, but his fingers tighten
infinitesimally on my arms, and it’s enough to hold my weakened form in
place.
“Whether you help me or not, I’m looking for Grey, and I’m getting him
off the compound. He risked his life to get in here to bring me the antidote.”
“You won’t be able to get Grey off the compound just now,” Beast muses
from behind me, his large, warm hands settling on my waist. Between him
and Crown, I feel myself being grounded, just like that stupid fern, planting
my roots into the base of a very large, very sturdy tree. The entire world
feels like a hectic whirlwind, a violent storm. I make myself find the eye of
it, searching out that eerie calm inside of myself and letting it stop the
swirling around me.
Gaz is dead; I am not.
I have to embrace that now and question Cat’s motives later.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Crown asks, his face disturbingly clean
and free of soot. Free of blood. He doesn’t look like he was in an altercation
of any kind. He’s the only one of us that looks like that. So where was he?
What the fuck was he doing? “You’re going along with this shit?” He stands
up, sliding his palms down my arms in a way that makes me shiver.
Crown acts like he isn’t sure about our relationship, but I don’t think that’s
it at all.
He wants me. He knows that. I was meant to be his wife. He just doesn’t
know how to work out the logistics of sharing me. I can feel that in the way
he touches me right now, in the way he refuses to remove his hands from my
upper arms.
“Have you met my wife?” Beast drawls, stepping closer to me, his huge
form a comforting presence at my back. “She’s stubborn as hell; she won’t
accept any less.” His voice softens slightly, and I can feel his breath stir my
hair as he places a kiss against the top of my skull. “Besides,” Beast drawls,
lifting his head up and letting those long, lazy vowels lasso around Crown’s
neck like a noose. “We already fucked up once by letting her out of our sight
today; we owe her this.”
Crown curses, releasing me and running his fingers through his hair.
“We need to make sure that Cat gives out as many injections as possible,”
I continue, pointing down the hallway where my father disappeared. “If we
don’t, people will start dying; they’ve only got thirty minutes.”
“The Grey Wolfe boy might’ve brought you a small dose of that crap, but
he wouldn’t know that we already have it,” Crown says, looking up at Beast
before redirecting his gaze back to me. “We got the test results back from
our FBI informant; then we had an independent lab craft a separate drug to
counter the effects of the first. We just got the initial batch in today.”
My eyes widen in response to that, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Using the
FBI’s lab not only guarantees the best possible results, but now the feds
know the special breed of drug they’re looking for—and who, exactly, is
responsible for it.
 I would not be surprised if I were to get a visit from the feds, although it’s
possible that Death by Daybreak’s pet is keeping my name off the books.
Who knows?
“If Cat knows that …” I trail off and swipe my hands down my face. I’m
trembling, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Yep, yep, definitely in
shock. That, and my face hurts. My goddamn fucking everything hurts. But I
imagine it’s mostly bruises; Beast’s body shielded me from the worst of the
explosion. I glance back at him, but even though he’s more bloodied than I
am, he stands there like an immortal force, something impenetrable and
eternal, a pillar of strength. “Okay, so if he knows about the antidote, then
he’ll administer it.”
Although it might be too late for some. It’s definitely been longer than a
half an hour since people started drinking from the kegs and snorting up
coke. Fuck. We’ll have lost people tonight. How many, I’m not sure, but Gaz
has done a goddamn number on this club.
What the hell did he hope to gain from that?
I think about that for a second, about the purposes of setting off a bomb in
his own clubhouse. Gaz would never actually want to see Death by
Daybreak destroyed, but if he were to get rid of my boys, and our dad,
maybe a few of the old-timers, then he’d be clearing away his only
opposition.
He could’ve, theoretically, taken over things, got himself voted in as
president.
Especially if he were to blame the whole thing on me and the officers, if
we were the traitors he so gloriously defeated.
But also …
“The families,” I say, feeling my blood go cold. “Anyone who isn’t on the
compound is at risk.”
“I already gave the order,” Crown tells me, and the adrenaline in my veins
spikes doubly over that. One, because I find his intelligence and capability
awe-inspiring and undeniably attractive. Second, it means I’m thinking along
the right lines. “We’re rounding everyone up who’s off-compound.”
“Grey then,” I assert, moving onto the next problem as my eyes flick back
in the direction of my father’s office. I can see Gaz’s body, the small bloody
entry wound on the back of his head, the mess of red and pink around him.
“Cat ordered you to clean up the body; I really don’t want Nellie to see.”
 “I’m not going to ask you to deal with your brother’s body, Gidge,”
Crown tells me, frowning hard. He lets out a sharp sigh. “Why don’t the two
of you look for … that boy.” The edge of his lip curls up in disgust. “Take
him back to the farmhouse.”
“My farmhouse,” I correct automatically, and Crown gives me this
impossible look. I don’t understand any part of it, and I’m in no state to
dissect the emotions of one of these assholes. “Thank you.”
“You’re the end and beginning of everything for me, aren’t you, Gidget?”
Crown asks with an exasperated sigh.
“It’s Gidge,” I correct him, the reverse correction to the one I’ve used my
whole life. At first, nobody was allowed to call me Gidge. Nobody but my
sisters and Reba. Now, the boys have to call me Gidge because the sweet,
soft familiarity of a nickname is a light in the endless darkness of my world.
I need that, a soft place to land.
Is it possible that four inked outlaw bastards could be that softness for me?
Could be my landing strip when I descend from a stormy sky?
Fuck, you’re a maudlin bitch, aren’t you? I think, forcing another exhale
to calm myself down.
Crown places his warm hand on the back of my neck and leans down,
brushing a fervent kiss across my lips that burns as good as it hurts. I’m in so
much pain from Gaz’s punch, but I’d accept that agony for the rest of
eternity if it meant that I could keep kissing Calder Reid.
I’ve never kissed anyone that simultaneously tastes like the most loving
man I’ve ever met, and also the biggest alpha-hole dickhead. Crown is both
of things concurrently; there is no untangling one from the other.
He pulls away, and I see that his own mouth is now glossy with my blood,
giving him that edge that Beast and I have, making him look a little more
real and a little less perfect. Where were you? I wonder again, but I don’t
have time to ask right now.
We’re on a strict time limit.
“Take care of her for me,” Crown breathes, licking my blood from his lips
like that isn’t a particularly weird or morbid thing to do. It just makes sense
here, in this strange world of ours.
“I don’t need any advice on how to handle my wife,” Beast says, almost
absentmindedly, and Crown scowls at him. I mean, he fucking scowls.
Viciously. And then off he goes, to deal with my brother’s body. He could
probably use some help, but he’s right in that I don’t particularly want to be
involved with burying Gaz.
My throat closes up as I move to head down the hall, subsequently
stumbling and finding myself righted by Beast.
“If he were going to hide, where would he be?” Beast asks, his voice soft
near my ear. I lean into it, so dizzy that I can barely keep my feet, even with
my new husband’s help. Husband. But it’s so much more than that, isn’t it?
Beast has chosen me, over everyone and everything—including the club.
I think on his statement for a minute, the wheels in my addled brain
turning.
Where would he be? More like, where would I be? Because Grey and I are
the same person in different bodies. I touch two fingers to my jaw, and
blinding white agony explodes inside my skull. Did Gaz break my jaw?
Fuck, I hope not. I hear jaw surgery’s a bitch.
If I were trapped on the mafia compound, then what would I do? What
would I try for? Especially knowing there was an attack, that people would
be looking for me. Everyone in the club and their fucking grandmother is
going to be combing this place except … except for me.
Ding, ding, ding.
Grey would look for a place that’s undeniably mine. Somewhere that, if
the club were searching, he might just be able to hide out.
“The farmhouse,” I say, turning to Beast and knowing that Reba could—
and absolutely would—show Grey how to get there. If they doled out what
they had of the antidote and took off while melee was still occurring, they
might’ve been able to pull it off. “I think they’re already at the farmhouse.”
Beast nods, running his fingers down his smooth face and then frowning
at them like he already misses his beard. He shakes his hand out like it hurts
and meets my eyes with those gorgeous robin’s egg blue ones of his.
“Good. Because that’s exactly where I’d take you if we didn’t have
anything else to do.” Before I can think to protest—or shit, maybe I should
be thanking the guy—Beast grabs me and hefts me over his shoulder like a
caveman carrying off his bride.
“Put me …”
I don’t remember finishing that sentence.
I must be particularly prone to fits of melancholy and rancor because my
mind is filled with snippets of dark things. All that we see or seem is but a
dream within a dream. Edgar Allan Poe’s dark poetry filters through my
skull, likely summoned up by the same monster that encouraged me to
compare the murder of my brother to a Steinbeck novel.
I guess it’s easier that way sometimes, to understand life through literature
and dreams.
Images of the clubhouse, smoky and stinking of sex and alcohol, trickle
into my subconscious followed by bursts of remembered carnality and heat.
This is for Kian. I see blood; I see longing; I see Cat standing alone in a
field.
More clearly than anything else, I see the four coffins laid out in front of
him.
Four coffins for four children.
Three of them have closed lids, shiny and dark, littered with red roses and
ash that’s wet from the rain.
The one on the end is open and empty.
I know in that disturbing certainty that only comes in dreams that the
fourth coffin is meant for me. It’s only empty because I’m not in it—yet.
A groan of pain escapes my dry lips, so loud that it actually wakes me up.
My eyes flutter open, and I blink away sticky cobwebs to look up at a
wood ceiling. My head is cradled by Beast’s pillow, my body covered with
blankets that are undeniably soaked with his beautiful smell. Tea and books
and leather.
I sit up suddenly and nearly conk my head into my husband’s.
“Easy, Gidge,” he breathes, putting his palm against my forehead. I move
to shove him off, but he takes my wrist in his fingers and looks me right in
the eyes. “Your friends are here; I put Grey in the attic for now. If he has to,
he can climb onto the roof and crawl into the chimney. Crown forgot to put
the cap back on after he did some repairs.”
“Can I come in now?” Reba demands from the other side of the door, and
I moan as I force myself to remain in a sitting position. Beast releases my
head and sits back on his haunches beside the bed. “That brute locked me
out!”
I rub at my forehead, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand. Holy
fuck!
“I’ve been asleep for six hours?!” I scream, shoving the blankets back and
struggling to free myself from the tangled sheets. Beast grabs me by the
shoulders and holds me still, using a gentle strength to keep me from
thrashing around. “I need to get to the hospital, Beast,” I snap, trying and
failing to move his hands even a fraction of an inch away from my
shoulders. “Sin and Grainger …”
My voice breaks, and I lift up a gaze that I know isn’t appropriate. It’s one
that begs with every blink, that shimmers with unspoken hopes that I have
no right to have. My life has never been easy; it’s never been simple. I’ve
lived through one horrible tragedy after another. How could I ever expect to
ride into the sunset with not one, not two, but four men that I love with my
whole heart? When the fuck did I ever allow myself to want and need that?
I’m a beautiful fool, that’s for sure.
“They’re both alive,” Beast says, wetting his lips in a way that tells me
that’s far from the full story. “But Grainger needs another surgery; we need
to get to the hospital quick, suge.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I try to surge up to my feet, but Beast holds me where I am, forcing me to
meet his gaze yet again.
“You need to take it easy; your face is swollen, and your body is purple,
darlin’. You shouldn’t rightfully be up at all. Honestly, a hospital visit for
you wouldn’t be entirely out of order.” I finally succeed in shoving his hands
off of my shoulders, but only because he lets me.
 Then I’m up and unlocking the door, surprised to find both Grey and Reba
waiting for me on the other side, my dog wagging his tail at me from down
the hall. Fem doesn’t approach though, keeping his distance from both Grey
and Beast probably. He hates men.
Reba’s face breaks into pieces at whatever she sees on mine.
“Oh goodness, sugar, what did he do to you?” She touches her fingers to
my cheeks on either side but even her featherlight touch is too much, and I
cringe. I can only imagine what I look like now that the swelling’s set in.
“Gidge …”
“I need you to stay here while we’re gone,” I say, letting my gaze trail past
Reba and over to Grey. As soon as Beast steps up beside me and sees that the
mafia brat is standing in his hallway, he goes all cold and scary the way he
did when he beat the crap out of Gaz. More specifically, when I begged him
not to kill Gaz. Not for my brother’s sake, obviously, but for his own.
“Wait.” I hold my right arm out, blocking the doorway. Could I ever
physically stop Beast? Even if I were to drop all other hopes and dreams and
throw myself into a fitness career? Nah. I’m woman enough to admit that: I
will never be able to beat Catcher Coffey when it comes to sheer, brute
strength alone.
But luckily, I don’t have any need to do that.
Because Beast has gifted me his leash; it’s attached directly to his heart.
And, if we’re being honest, probably his cock, too, right? I want to laugh
hysterically because, like, this is exactly the sort of wedding day someone
like me would have.
I got one, hot quickie with my new hubby and then bam, my entire life is
ruined, and nothing in the universe makes sense. How could Cat shoot Gaz
over me? How? I don’t understand, and, like with most humans, I am
terrified of the things I understand the least.
“Grey,” I say again, and he sighs dramatically, reaching out a finger to
brush some of my hair back. It seems to be, uh, stuck to my forehead with
sweat. Fantastic. Beast snatches Grey’s wrist before I can stop him, and the
latter gives an angry cringe at the awful sort of cracking sound that ensues.
“You can be friends, but don’t fuckin’ touch,” Beast says, very calmly,
very evenly. He releases Grey’s hand as the boy rubs at his wrist like it hurts.
Must not be broken though or he wouldn’t be rubbing at it like that. Thank
fuck.
 “You look as terrible on your wedding day to Beast as you did on your one
to me,” Grey offers up, rather dryly I might add. Ballsy, considering he’s on
enemy territory once again.
“Have you learned anything since you were last kidnapped and held
prisoner by the club? Don’t be a salty idiot, Grey,” I warn him, even as I feel
Beast tensing further behind me. I have no doubt that without me standing
between them—metaphorically more so than physically—that Beast would
not hesitate to kill Grey Wolfe. “You’re in big trouble here; there’s no time
or resources to get you off the compound for a while.”
“Wouldn’t be possible right now anyway,” Beast amends again, as if he
feels it’s important for Grey to hear that. Why, I’m not sure. Warning him to
stay away so he doesn’t die for my benefit? Mm. Probably not. More like, he
wants to know what, exactly, Grey knows before he releases him.
Because if Grey is caught and tortured again, what will he tell the club
about us? Might be a moot point since whatever Gaz showed my father on
his phone was presented like indisputable evidence. Still, it never hurts to be
cautious.
Cat might still come for me.
No part of me believes that I’m out of the woods just yet.
“I wouldn’t go to the hospital if I were you, not right now,” Grey tells me
with a sigh. He points right at my forehead and closes one eye. “There are
snipers all over waiting to shoot you in the face.”
“I survived the motorcade,” I say, my palms itching as I think about
Grainger, about Sin. If Beast is actually willing to risk taking me to the
hospital, then things must be bad. They must be really, really bad. “What
makes this any different?”
“You survived the motorcade because I helped you out. I had Reba slip me
information about anything she could come up with, much of it relevant and
factual. When I gave my father the incorrect start time for the motorcade, he
believed me.”
I give Reba a harsh look, and she cringes.
Like … is her loyalty to Grey now? For fuck’s sake.
“It was the only way. I couldn’t see you get hurt,” she whispers, and I grit
my teeth, make my head explode with fireworks of pain, and then remind
myself to never, ever do that again. Maybe Beast is right? Maybe I do need a
doctor?
 “Snipers, huh?” Beast asks, musing about that for a minute. “Not
unexpected. I can still get her there alright.”
“Your call,” Grey agrees politely, glancing back at me with his dirty blond
hair falling over his heather gray eyes. Looking at him now, I’m actually
relieved that we didn’t fall in love. It wouldn’t have worked out. He looks as
much an outcast here as I did back at the mafia palace. We might be the
same person, but we’re dressed in different sins.
Mine are rough and gritty, and sure, a little ratchet; Grey’s are crafted of
cobra venom and silk soaked in embalming fluid. Both things will kill you,
but it hurts a little different.
He wouldn’t have been able to fit in here, especially not with my men.
Not in a million years.
And since choosing between Grey and the others is a relatively simple
choice, I know that I made the right decision that day, when I stayed in the
cathedral and wielded an Uzi on the guests of my own wedding.
“All I’m saying is: be careful,” he warns me again, giving me an assessing
once-over that ends with a sharp shake of his head. “Go. I’ll stay hidden.”
“If anyone shows up while we’re gone, get in the chimney,” Beast
commands, giving Reba a different sort of look. “You sit nice and pretty on
the couch. Maybe offer ‘em up some sweet tea or somethin’.”
“Are you being serious right now?” Reba asks, frowning at him as Beast
draws me back into the room and closes the door. He moves over to a dresser
and extracts a long-sleeved pullover sweatshirt. It’s big enough to be a dress
on me, but I think that’s the point.
“You’re going to draw a lot of attention at the hospital,” he tells me,
looking me over and sliding a hand down his face. “Young and pretty and
…” Beast trails off with a sigh as I cock a brow at him. “All beat-up like
that.”
That’s not what he originally intended to say, and we both know it.
“Young and pretty and … what?” I ask, feeling my entire body go ice-
cold.
No.
Not today. Please don’t dump this on me today.
Beast realizes his mistake quickly and tosses me the sweater.
“I really hate to ask this on the first day of our marriage,” he starts, his jaw
tense as he reaches up and rubs a thumb across the swollen seam of my lips.
“But how well can you put on makeup?”
 I laugh this time. It’s a hysterical laugh. I can’t help it.
“Right. I’ll just … cover up my bruises with makeup.” I hold the
oversized sweater against my chest. I’m wearing clean clothes now; Beast
must’ve undressed, washed, and redressed me earlier. I just need a bra, some
leggings, and my toiletries. My shirt and panties are fresh. “I need to use
Crown’s bathroom.”
Beast nods and opens the door, escorting me out and upstairs.
And then off to the hospital we go.
Me, young and pretty and … married to a much older outlaw, covered in
bruises with a swollen face that no amount of concealer can hide. Fuck. I’m
a walking, talking liability to the club right now.
But regardless of what it looks like, I know this: the man who hit me is as
dead as he deserves, and I am no innocent little girl.
I am, and always will be, a wary predator.

Unsurprisingly, all eyes turn to me as soon as I step foot into that hospital. A
nurse agrees to take me back to see Sin if only I’ll head inside a closed exam
room for a moment, just to see if that swelling around my eye isn’t
something to be worried about.
I allow her to examine it, even as I grit my teeth against the irony of the
situation. There are so many domestic abuse victims who need this sort of
help, but I am most definitely not nor will ever be one of them. If one of my
boys hits me, I’ll cut his balls off in his sleep with my own two hands.
Then I’ll leave him. Permanently.
So anyway, the help offered I empathize with, but I most definitely do not
need. After agreeing to at least look at a few carefully selected pamphlets on
domestic violence, I pass them back to the nurse and stare her dead in the
eye.
“Now, you promised me,” I remind her, and she reluctantly escorts me—
and not Beast—to a hospital room where Sin lies comatose, a bandage on the
side of his neck and little tubes connected to his arms. I bite my lower lip.
Fuck. His skin is so pale, and he’s more comatose than I’ve ever seen him.
This look … it’s different than simple sleep.
“Let me in there,” I command without bothering to look over at the nurse.
She gives me another sad, sympathetic sort of expression and gives a slight
shake of her head.
 “You’re not family, and he isn’t in a state to accept visitors.” The woman
puts a hand on my arm, and I can see that she’s already desperate to get away
from me. More aptly, she’s probably grossly overworked and freakishly
underpaid which is why nurses deserve mad props and a fucking raise.
I sure as shit know that I don’t have the emotional capacity to deal with
human beings each and every day at a job. I’d be more like one of those
serial killer nurses who murder their patients.
“Is he … okay?” I ask, putting my fingers up on the glass, knowing that
I’m wasting this woman’s time but finding it hard to care about that in the
moment. You’ve survived the worst pain there is more than once. If
something goes bad with this, you’ll live. You’ll be okay.
But somehow, this seems different.
I’m not entirely sure I would survive this.
When my sisters died, I was able to offload some of that burden onto Sin’s
shoulders. I felt it that day in the cemetery, with ash and rain swirling all
around us while we kissed in the most inappropriate way possible. He
might’ve been a dick to me. Might’ve kept being a dick to me. But he was
hurting, and I was able to commiserate with him.
If he dies now, it’ll be like witnessing three deaths all at once. Him,
Queenie, Posey. A recurring nightmare that I just can’t seem to wake up
from.
“I can’t answer that, I’m sorry.” The woman removes her hand from my
arm and steps back. “The other gentleman you requested to see is actually on
his way to surgery …”
A sound rings out, and voices echo on the loudspeaker.
A code is called, and my blood chills. My eyes go wide as the nurse
gestures back in the direction of the waiting area.
“I need you to go back and sit down. Can you do that for me?” And then
she gives me a sharp look, like she knows I should be escorted back to the
waiting room but maybe also that she’s the only person on the floor who can
attend to the code being called over the PA system.
The nurse reluctantly moves away and then starts jogging. I hesitate
briefly before following after, my own walk turning into a run that takes me
down the hall, to the right, and down another hall. I follow the nurse through
a set of swinging doors and find myself in a room filled with low chatter and
rhythmic beeps.
This is a resuscitation room.
 My eyes drift down to the patient’s face.
It’s Grainger.
It’s … always Cade motherfucking Grainger, isn’t it?
I just stare at him, frozen there in the doorway, watching as the team
inserts an IV. Everyone in here looks quietly frantic to me. And that’s
terrifying.
“Raelynn Grainger?” a voice asks, and I blink as I turn my head to the
side, as if there’s a physical force keeping my gaze locked on Cade’s face.
Did she just … did she say Raelynn Grainger?
Who the fuck is that?
He doesn’t … I wonder briefly if he has like, a fucking wife or something,
but then I realize in that moment that I really don’t give a fuck either way.
He can’t die. He cannot fucking die. That’s … it’s impossible.
What is life without Cade motherfucking, cocksucking Grainger? He’s the
most annoying and arguably the most attractive man on the planet. I … can’t
stand him. I …
I clamp a hand over my mouth, cringing slightly at the pain in my face but
not caring.
I’m finally crying again, as freely as I used to before my sisters died, as if
I still have tears actually left to shed. That’s what love does. It fills your
heart up with saltwater; it lets you tip right over and drown yourself in
stormy seas.
I’m in love with Grainger, and he’s dying?
He isn’t allowed to die.
“I’m the hospital’s family liaison worker.” The woman pauses beside me,
but then frowns heavily. “You’re not Raelynn Grainger,” she says, as if she
could somehow know that.
“Yes, I am,” I say, realizing that nobody’s kicked me out of the room yet.
That must mean if I’m Raelynn, I get to stay, right? “I am.”
“I highly doubt that,” she corrects gently, as if she thinks I might be
confused as opposed to simply being a liar. I take a step forward and the
woman looks as if she’s going to reach out to stop me. “Are you … his
girlfriend, perhaps?” The woman looks down and frowns at the ring on my
finger. “Married?” She checks her paperwork.
“We just got married today,” I whisper, rubbing my finger across the
surface of the ring.
 The woman looks alarmed and not entirely like she believes me, but she
makes a split-second decision when she notices the team working on chest
compressions.
I should be panicking.
Instead, I’m completely numb. That dizziness from earlier overtakes me,
but I refuse to let it affect me. Not right now. I can collapse later if … if
things go differently than I want them to.
“If you’d like to stand beside him and hold his hand, that’s okay. We’ll
work around you.” The liaison puts her hands on my shoulders and guides
me forward. “You’re the only person in the room that he might respond to.”
I get the feeling that her words are meaningless platitudes, worth as much
as dandelion fluff in the wind. But I don’t care. I read an article that listed
the pros and cons of FPDR—family presence during resuscitation—and
while it was something I had to read for school, it stuck with me.
I see why.
Because I’m in here, and I think I’d die if I had to stand in the hallway.
My fingers curl around Grainger’s right hand as I do my best to stay out of
the way. Tears are freely rolling down my face and probably ruining the
careful makeup job that I cooked up, but it doesn’t matter. It’s in those
moments, those very last few when you know they’re the very last few, that
the entire world becomes perfectly clear.
Nothing has ever been simpler or made more sense.
Each moment is special; each second matters.
I squeeze Grainger’s hand, lifting it up to my mouth for a kiss.
“I’m here,” I promise him, because I don’t think that—whoever Raelynn
Grainger is—she’s coming. I’ve never heard Cade talk about his family in
any way, shape, or form. Of all four men, I probably know the least about
him. There’s no distant mention of a beloved aunt and a career in law
enforcement like there is with Crown. No talk of a sister and a horrible
father, a vengeance and a decimation of innocence like there is with Sin.
And there’s certainly no championship belt with which to make rings out of
the way there is with Beast.
It’s just … Grainger.
He doesn’t have anybody.
Just the club.
Just me.
 My tears fall fat and hot on the surface of his hand as the team works—as
promised—around me, and I look down at that man’s beautiful face. I crouch
low beside him, so that I can put my lips near his ear.
“Please don’t die on me,” I whisper at him, my voice far stronger than I
expected. “You are not allowed to get me pregnant and then die; that’s
fucked-up.”
I choke on the words—I don’t even know if they’re true—but if anything
is likely to rouse the man I love, it’s the idea of this. Some distant, weird,
fucked-up dream of a family. And I don’t just mean because a kid could be
involved. Not at all. I’m talking about myself. About Beast and Sin and
Crown. About Fem-fem. About Reba. About learning to let Nellie in just
enough that I can appreciate her accomplishments and not so much that
when she stumbles, she can drag me down with her.
All of those things.
“You can do this, Cade,” I whisper, brushing a kiss against the side of his
stubbled cheek. “I love you, and you’ve got this.” I move back, but I don’t
retract my hand from his. I won’t, unless they need me to in order to save
Cade’s life.
I will never fucking let go—physically or metaphorically.
Beast catches me when I stumble out of the trauma room. Pretty sure he isn’t
allowed to be back here either, but that’s okay. I can no longer stand on my
own; I’m sweating, and the dizziness isn’t going away. Maybe I do need to
get a proper examination? We have a doctor on the compound though; he has
own clinic with a staff and a decent amount of equipment for such a small,
exclusive practice.
But that should be enough.
It needs to be because I’m running out of energy.
“Sugar?” Beast queries quietly, his voice tight with concern. Grainger
might not have a hold on Beast’s heartstrings the way he does mine, but
these men are as good as brothers. They trust each other implicitly. More
importantly, they trust each other with me. That’s how I know for sure that
this could work, as possessive as each and every one of them can be
sometimes.
It takes me a moment to catch my breath because that was intense in there.
It was the most unnerving thing I’ve ever seen in my life, someone I love
resting on a wire, mired in a strange reality between life and death. When
Queenie was shot, it was over in an instant. There was no wondering or
hoping or waiting; it was just a fact. By the time I got to Posey, the result
was the same.
She was gone.
Grainger … is not.
 “He’s still here,” I breathe out, my knees weak. Beast helps me into a
chair and cushions my head on his jacket when I lean it back against the
chair. “He’s alive.”
The words taste sweet but uncertain. Granger is stabilized. But he was
stabilized earlier in the day and crashed quickly. Based on what they said to
me, it seems like his medical team’s located the cause, but I don’t speak
hospital, so I don’t know other than to say he’s okay for right now.
“How’s Sin?” I whisper, because I’m not sure if I have the energy left to
stand up and look for myself. If he’s stable, I’m not moving. If he’s not … I
wait for Beast to reply, keeping my eyes closed.
“Same as when you went in. No change.” Beast takes a seat and pulls me
into his lap. It’s a weird position for me to be in, for sure. Like, we barely
fucking spoke to each other before. Even that day we had sex for the first
time, I knew little to nothing about him. We were strangers.
I think, in many ways, we still are.
But I know this: I like sitting here with him.
“I can’t believe we got married today,” I murmur as he tucks me under his
chin and grunts.
“That we did. And believe me, darlin’, I’m going to show you the way a
man should treat his wife.” He strokes my hair with his right hand, the same
hand that’s put so many people to death, buried them in Gram’s backyard,
washed away so much blood. “Now go to sleep. I’ll wake you up if they
need you.”
I don’t mean to listen to him; I really don’t.
When I wake the next time, I find myself faced with the same nurse from
before. She looks annoyed with me. Maybe because I told that liaison
worker that I was Grainger’s wife and here I am sitting in another man’s lap.
That’s the only part of this possibility, of these four men, that I don’t like,
that there might not be a way to get others to recognize that I belong at
Grainger’s bedside the same way I do at Sin’s or Beast’s or Crown’s.
I sit up as the woman stares down at me with such a confused expression
on her face that I’d love to give a penny for her thoughts. She must know by
now who we are. I wonder if she also knows that Cat will pay off whoever
he has to in order to keep this quiet. Nobody needs to know that some of his
people showed up here today, that anything at all went down on the
compound.
This will be buried, just like anything else.
 “Would you like to see your … friend?” she asks me, studying my swollen
face with a well-earned cynicism that I cannot, in any way, fault her for. I
force myself up to a standing position with Beast’s hand on my arm. I sway a
little, but when he releases me, I’m standing and I feel a bit better already.
That’s a good sign, right?
My friend, she said. Only, she can’t possibly know that Colton Young is so
much more than that. He’s a part of me, an integral part. He’s a piece of my
past, a majority of my present, and a hopeful beacon for my future.
So yeah.
I would like to see my goddamn friend.
My lover.
My … soul mate? Are damned souls even allowed to feel that way? Are
they allowed to feel that way about more than one person?
Implicitly, I know that the answer is yes.
It is because I do.
In this hospital—arguably a place that the hot, fragrant tea of the
underworld has seeped into even more thoroughly than at Gram’s house—
it’s easy to see that. Hubris and hurt feelings and semantics don’t matter very
much here.
“I would,” I tell her, meeting her gaze dead-on and hoping like hell she
doesn’t start calling a bunch of agencies over my well-being. I would bet my
left tit that Cat has already paid off the cops more than once today. But I
don’t need to be dealing with anything else.
The woman turns and guides me back to Sin’s room.
He’s awake. Thank fuck. I almost collapse against the wall in relief, but
the need to go to him … it’s too insistent to ignore. It gives me strength
when I have none left.
Sin lifts his eyes up toward me and they soften just enough that I can hear
a million unsaid things passing between us. This is an affliction, his gaze
says. This love is a wound that I never want to heal. There’s relief there, an
almost overwhelming surge of it. He was willing to die to save my life, but
it’s so much sweeter that we’re both here to be reunited.
While his eyes remain gentle and inviting, the rest of him goes taut and
rigid at the sight of my swollen face. I practically stumble in my haste to get
over to him, and then I’m climbing on the hospital bed despite the nurse’s
protests and pressing our mouths together in this brilliant surge of emotion
and heat.
 It’s like nothing I’ve experienced before.
I don’t think I have ever been kissed like this. Nor do I think that I have
ever kissed anyone like this.
It’s something different than my usual, than that awful black grit that
seems to coat everything from my heart to my soul, taints my bones and my
blood. This is a kiss that isn’t born of shared heartbreak. It isn’t lust and heat.
It’s … feeling. There’s feeling in this, real, genuine feeling.
I put my hands against the sides of Sin’s face, drawing back just enough to
get a breath. My eyes look down into his as he rests his hands on my waist,
looking back up at me. I’m straddled over his lap, and with only the thin
cotton of his gown and the sheet beneath me, it’s easy to tell that he’s already
hard.
The nurse—or whoever she is, really—is talking to me, but I’m not
listening.
My thumbs trace Sin’s lower lip as I take in the charcoal gray of his eyes,
the almost lavender rings near the edges of his irises, the subtle blue cast
beneath it all.
“I’m going to punch you in the balls later,” I whisper, and he almost
smiles at me, and then cringes with the movement, tilting his head to one
side like his neck hurts. My own face smarts and throbs from our kiss, but
there are certain types of pain that feel exquisite, and this is one of them.
It’s the pain of knowing you’re both still alive, and everything hurts, but
that’s okay. Because you’re still breathing; your heart still beats. If you’ve
got that, you can tackle anything else. Anything.
Well, except for … I glance slightly to one side, as if I could see Grainger
through all the walls that separate us. I look back at Sin.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I continue quietly, as he very carefully
pushes me back with his hands on my waist. “You shouldn’t have pushed me
and run, shouldn’t have fired at them—”
“Are you okay?” he asks me instead, his voice rough but threaded through
with steel. “What happened to your face?”
“Gaz,” I say, and a flicker of horrible rage passes across Sin’s face. I cup it
between my hands, even as the nurse sighs dramatically from behind me.
“Please don’t make me call security,” she says, and I lean forward quickly,
putting my lips against Sin’s ear.
“He’s already dead. Try to relax.” I draw back and hop back down to the
floor, giving the nurse a dirty look that she doesn’t deserve. I know that. But
sometimes it’s impossible to remember that life doesn’t center fully around
you and the people you love. “I’d explain, but I’m not sure it’d make any
sense to you.”
“Regardless, your other friend is out of surgery and doing relatively well.”
“Relatively?” I ask as Sin coughs and then groans, reaching up his right
hand to press gently at the side of his neck. I worry about him. About
Grainger. I worry that the mafia will get their fingers into this hospital. It’d
be so easy, to slip a drug into one or both of the boys’ IVs and … No. Fuck.
My father has people all over this place, goddamn it. Since when I did start
doubting the club’s might?
If there’s one thing I should be certain of, it’s the power that Death by
Daybreak—and in turn, my father—holds. The Grey Wolfe Mafia is strong,
too, no doubt, but we’re talking clashing titans here.
No one group holds the advantage over the other.
“We remain cautiously optimistic,” the nurse assures me with another
sigh. I can tell that she wants to say more, but I’d be surprised if someone
hasn’t already filled her in as to my identity. Nobody who lives in Ashbury is
unaware of either the mafia or the club. Every now and again, they’ll protest
one or both of us. Every now and again, a politician will make empty
promises.
It never matters.
At this point, the US government would have to send in the military to
deal with this mess.
Even then, I betcha we’d give ‘em a run for their money, guerrilla warfare
style.
“Can we have a minute?” I ask, and the woman pauses, like maybe she
wants to protest. In the end, she nods and steps outside of the room, closing
the door behind her. “What happened to you?” I ask, reaching up to put my
hand over Sin’s where it still rests against the side of his neck.
“I got grazed by a bullet,” he says, his eyes narrowing slightly with the
memory. “Well, I got shot.” He moves the sheet aside, and then points to a
spot on his arm, his shoulder, his waist. “Nothing vital. Except for this. A
shot grazed my neck.” Sin wets his lips. “I was bleeding fucking
everywhere.” He shivers and exhales, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “I
was sure that was it for me, Gidge.”
I sit on the edge of the hospital bed and lean my arm against his, the
fingers of my left and his right hand tangling together. Warmth travels
through me, but not sexual warmth.
Okay, that’s a lie. Some of it is sexual, whether I want to admit it or not.
My body is reacting to Sin’s in the same way his is reacting to me, even if
neither of us is up for sex at this moment.
But mostly, it’s emotional warmth.
It’s possibly … no, no undoubtedly—much as my fucked-up brain hates to
admit it—love.
That’s what it is.
Like a rose blooming in a field of weeds.
I wasn’t sure that I’d ever see Sin again after taking off to find a gun,
running into Gaz, watching my father lift a weapon and point it at my face.
Where is Cat now? What is he thinking? What is he doing?
Because he can’t be doing well emotionally speaking, not after shooting
his only son.
From four children down to … one.
Down to me.
His least favorite.
Shit.
I was right all this time to fear Cat, wasn’t I? I mean, I knew that I was,
that he really would kill his own child if necessary. But then, how am I still
standing here? What was different about my betrayal as compared to my
brother’s?
“Grainger almost died, but Beast and Crown are okay,” I tell him, and
even though Sin doesn’t reply, I can feel him looking at me, waiting for an
explanation. Speaking of, Crown should be here, shouldn’t he? He’s been
missing for hours, more than enough time to load Gaz into a hole. Another
disappearing act. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Grainger exactly, but it
was … it was bad. Catastrophic, actually.”
Sin lifts my hand to his mouth, the tubes in his arm bumping together, and
presses a gentle yet domineering kiss to my knuckles, like he owns every
bone in my hand. And damn it if I don’t like it. Also, it annoys me.
“That declaration I made to you the other night,” he tells me, and I pause
to look over at him. Our eyes meet, and we both know exactly what he’s
talking about. “Never in my life have I been more grateful for anything.”
“The declaration where you said, “If you really want this though, just be
aware: I will be all over your ass.”” I give a wry twist of my lips to try to
make it snarky or funny, but the attempt falls flat and that’s okay. So long as
we understand each other.
“If I’d died, or if you’d died, at least we would’ve both known the truth.”
Sin exhales and leans his head back against the thin, shitty hospital pillow
behind him. He closes his eyes, but then cracks one back open to look at me.
Can he tell how hard my heart is beating? How very un-Gidget-like I feel in
that moment? “But also, yes, I do own your ass.”
He narrows that one open eye of his as I raise my brows in quiet defiance
of his statement. He knows damn well that nobody owns my ass but me.
“What? Beast might have your hand, and Crown might have your house.
Grainger … well, I don’t know what Grainger has, but that ass—it’s mine.”
“Even if Cade fucked it first?” I query, and Sin flips me off with his left
hand. Our brief moment of playfulness fades into yet more anxiety as the
mention of Cade’s name reminds me that as of a few hours ago, he was
literally dying. What a wedding day, eh? “Gaz is dead?” Sin queries, steering
us back to business for a brief, emotional reprieve.
“Cat shot him in the back of the head,” I say, and then swallow hard past a
rush of emotion. “But he knows, Sin.”
Sin opens his other eye and, with great effort, lifts his head back up to
stare at me.
“How much?” he whispers, squeezing my hand with his. I’m surprised
that his grip is as strong as it is, considering the circumstances. If he was
bleeding from his neck the way he’s describing, then he probably came damn
close to dying, too. I’m almost glad I passed out, so I didn’t have to ride that
wave of uncertainty the way I did with Grainger. But only because both men
are still here. If one of them had died without me, I’m not sure what sort of
psychological break I’d have suffered.
I always get up; I always forge on.
But things are never the same. Nothing is ever as bright. Laughter is never
as loud. Smiles are never as wide.
“Enough that I thought he was going to shoot me instead of Gaz,” I
murmur, looking up at a slight knock on the door. It opens and Crown steps
in, looking glorious as always, even with the fluorescent lights casting their
awful glow on his beautiful face.
“Sin,” Crown says, moving over to stand on the opposite side of the bed.
“I’m glad to see you’re awake.” He studies his friend with an assessing gaze,
as if a single once-over is enough to determine the state he’s in. “You did
well today.”
The look Sin offers his vice president is less than pleasant.
“And where were you when we could’ve used another body? Gidget
could’ve been killed, Crown.”
DBD’s vice president doesn’t shy away from the question. He doesn’t
flinch. He also doesn’t answer, which is telling for both me and Sin.
“Get some rest. They’re saying you can come home by the end of the
week.” Crown turns to look at me, his expression an impossible puzzle that I
don’t have the energy to figure out. “Let’s get you back to the compound; I
brought a car this time. It’ll be safer that way.”
I just stare at him, but as much as I’d love to argue right about now,
demand answers from him, I know that I’m fading quickly. I need to be
checked out by the club’s doctor and then left alone to sleep for an eternity.
Holding Grainger’s hand while he teetered between staying with me and
dropping away into the unknown, that was a lot.
“Will you be okay here by yourself?” I ask, and Sin gives me a look.
“What do you take me for?” he asks, reaching up to touch the back of my
head. He brings our mouths together for another kiss, one that rewrites parts
of my DNA in ways that I can’t explain. Things will be different after all of
this, that much I know for damn sure. “But your concern is sexy as fuck. As
soon as I get out of this hospital bed …” he starts, sweeping his tongue in a
hot arc against the length of mine. A moan escapes me, and I shift toward
him, only to hear Crown clear his throat.
Sin scowls at him, but I look up with a challenge in my gaze, one that he
won’t meet. Instead, Crown turns away and heads for the door like he
expects me to follow him. It fucking kills me to leave Sin and Grainger here,
but I have to organize my priorities the same way I did in the immediate
aftermath.
Rest, deal with Grey, let the medical staff do their work here so the boys
can come home.
I look back at Sin, and the words get caught in my throat. I’ve said them
once, but in here, in this weird, sterile place, it feels more raw than it did in
that dark bedroom with a roaring fireplace and a gathering of shadows for
comfort.
“I love you, Colton,” I tell him, offering up another kiss and biting his
lower lip enough that he groans.
 “Fuck, you’re going to kill me yet,” he murmurs, drawing away from me
and running his hand over his glossy mouth in a dramatic fashion. “I love
you, too, Gidge. Get some sleep. Please. Don’t be a stubborn ass about this.”
I give him a pair of raised brows in response but refuse to commit to
anything.
Because I’m still Gidget, and I’m still an asshole.
I close the door behind me only to find Crown waiting there with that
dark, heavy frown of his.
“I can’t get a read on Cat’s motivations for the life of me,” he says,
surprising me. I almost thought he was going to say something about me
kissing Sin or about us saying that we loved each other. I must be delusional.
Of course that doesn’t matter right this second.
“You’ve seen him since?” I ask, and Crown gives a slow, tired nod.
“I have. He’s addressing the situation as if it’s a mafia problem, and not
something internal. There weren’t enough coherent people anywhere near
the clubhouse to say otherwise; nobody knows that Sin was having a shoot-
out with our own men.” Crown looks down at me, bruised and swollen and
swathed in an oversized cream-colored pullover that I can’t for the life of me
fathom Beast wearing, and then he offers up an arm.
It’s tentative, but the gesture is there.
I take it, but not just for physical stability.
“What do we do?” I ask, pausing after we enter the waiting area to look up
at him. Beast is already rising from his chair and making his way over to us.
His eyes never stop scanning the room. He’s extra alert tonight, more so than
I’ve ever seen him. I imagine his perceived failure at the reception is going
to haunt him for a good while.
But he is the one who once told me that the four of them might not always
be at my side, but that I’d always be in danger. That statement proved to be
truer than either of us even knew. If Beast hadn’t taken the time to teach me
what he did, I might already be dead.
A shiver runs down my spine.
I was willing to face death head-on, but that didn’t mean I was ready for it.
I’m just getting started here. I’m just now figuring out mysteries that have
eluded me for years: the facts about Kian and Queenie’s relationship, the
events that led to my sisters’ deaths, the feelings and motivations of these
four men.
It isn’t time; I’m not fucking ready.
 Death can kiss my ass.
“For now, you’re going to focus on getting better.” Crown reaches up,
running his knuckles along the side of my swollen jaw. “If I think Cat—or
the club itself—is a danger to you in any way, I’m moving you somewhere
else.”
I can’t argue with that, so I just nod.
My eyes flick back to the doors that lead to the hallway where Sin’s room
is.
“They’ll be safe in here?” I ask, and Crown follows my gaze. He seems to
think about that question for a moment which I appreciate. I can’t stand the
thought of hearing lies, especially not today. Tonight? Jesus, what fucking
time is it? I don’t even know anymore. It’s dark outside, but that doesn’t
mean it’s night. Could just as easily be early morning.
“As safe as I can make it. Go home. I’ll stay.” Crown releases my arm as
Beast steps up beside us. The VP passes over a key fob to his enforcer. “Take
her home in the Escalade; I’ll bring your bike home safe.”
Mm. Motorcycles are sacred in club culture. Beast letting Crown ride his
bike is sort of like … Beast letting Crown ride his wife. It’s a meaningful
extension of trust.
Beast accepts the key, leading me away from Crown and toward the exit. I
glance back one last time, but his green gaze is still on me, watching and
waiting.
What for, exactly, I’m not sure.
But I hope he doesn’t wait much longer.
Sin was right: if we’d died today (yesterday?) then at least we both
would’ve known the truth.
I want that; I deserve that. And so does Crown.
I head outside, climb into the SUV, and allow Beast to take me back to the
compound—and the farmhouse.
My fucking farmhouse.
If I could, I’d sleep for a week. As things stand, I have Grey to deal with.
“Good morning,” he says when I finally drag myself out of bed next. It’s
dark outside—again. I deign to check the time on my phone, blinking my
eyes at the bright screen. Nine-thirty. It’s night. The day after the wedding.
I look back up at Grey before slumping into the chair across from him.
Beast is there, too, but he’s giving me enough space that I can at least
pretend this conversation with my dear old friend is private. Not that I need
privacy from Beast anyway. I turn back to my husband, but he’s pretending
to care about the food situation—or lack thereof—by opening and staring
into the refrigerator.
I get this strange, little thrill at the idea of seeing these four men in more
everyday type situations.
Men, not monsters.
All of this time, I’ve been thinking of them like demons, like monsters
who ride chrome stallions into battle, who serve the devil and his wicked
deeds. Inhuman creatures prowling the streets and stealing my heart and soul
and body like thieves in the night.
Only … they’re people. Actual human people. And I’m married to one of
them.
They have basic needs—besides fucking—and habits, curiosities, and
idiosyncrasies. My mind is quite literally blown at such a basic idea.
 Like, do they wear socks when they sleep? Do they even wear pajamas?
Are they morning or evening shower people? Both? Neither? Maybe they’re
bath people? Maybe Sin cuts the crust off his toast? Maybe Grainger likes
ice cubes in his orange juice?
Grainger …
I exhale and glance back at Beast. First thing I asked him when I woke up
was if the two of them were still okay. They are. I can’t quite believe it, to be
honest. It’d make more sense if they were both dead, based on the way my
life usually goes.
I return my attention to Grey and find him studying me with unmasked
interest.
“Good evening, you mean?” I ask, snarky little ass that I am. I lean my
elbows on the surface of the table and press my fingertips against my
throbbing temples. After we got back last night, I had a quick x-ray and a
visit with the compound doc. Same guy who fixed up my chest and did the
blood transfusion with Grainger’s donation.
Amazingly, no broken bones. For as hard as Gaz punched me, you’d think
I’d have at least one. But no. Apparently, I’m made of tougher stuff.
“Or good night?” I continue when Grey just smiles at me. All of the blinds
are closed, but it’s still pretty ballsy of him to be sitting out here like he’s a
guest instead of … whatever it is that he is. “Why do you look so chipper?
What’s your father going to say when you don’t come back or communicate
with him in any way?”
One of Beast’s requirements for allowing Grey to stay here was to make
sure he had zero access to a phone or internet. Or really anything. Beast even
took the power cord from the smart TV in the living room. His trust for Grey
is minimal.
“He’ll either kill me or believe the truth: that I was trapped here on the
compound with no way out.” Grey pauses as Reba reenters the room,
coming to stand beside me with an awkward set to her shoulders.
She’s worried about me, but she’s also afraid of what’s going to happen
now that Grey’s spilled her secret.
She was feeding him information.
It’s a crime punishable by death.
Reba has a right to be afraid.
Fem, on the other hand, isn’t afraid of anyone or anything. My dog struts
right into the room behind Reba, tail raised, triangular ears perked, and lets
out a low, rumbling growl. With a click of my tongue, I call him over to my
side and he turns, putting his back to my legs before sitting down.
It’s a defensive position to be sure, but that’s okay. Feminist and I have
each other’s backs. And anyway, it’s kind of nice to see that he still really is
my dog and not Reba’s. If he wanted to go with her to the convent, I’d let
him. My hand drops down to stroke one of his silky ears, and he turns his
head toward me, resting his muzzle in my lap.
“Beast …” I murmur, feeling sick at the idea of having to rely on anyone
for anything, but knowing that I sort of have to right now. I need to heal, and
I need to heal quick. Rest will do that. Being a dickhead and whining about
how I can do everything myself, well, that won’t help me much at all.
“Wife,” he replies, setting a glass of orange juice down beside me and
piling some pills beside it. A bunch of painkillers, an anti-inflammatory,
whatever else the doctor sent me home with. I’m sure most of it is smuggled,
and purchased from the same suppliers who sell the club product for
redistribution. “We don’t have anything to eat in here.” Beast mulls that
information over for a moment as I scoop the pills up and pile them into my
mouth two at a time, using the juice to help me swallow.
I’d make a lewd joke but now doesn’t feel like an appropriate moment.
“We’ve always been so alike, you know?”
Cat said that to me, just before he shot my brother in the back of the head.
Why? What did he mean by it? I’m obsessing over the moment and
rightfully so: this is still very much a ‘life-or-death’ type incident. It’s not
over by any means. I scratch Fem-fem’s head as I think.
“Can you please acknowledge me so that I know where I stand?” Reba
whispers, coming around to my other side and yanking out a chair. She puts
her hands delicately in her lap, but her emerald stare, when she directs it at
me, is anything but delicate. She is going to make a terrifying fucking nun.
Like, God help any little children under her care; that stare dives straight to
the bones.
I glare right back.
“I trusted you,” I tell her, and she cringes like she’s been hit. None of this
is fair. I get that this game that Grey and I are playing comes at a price.
We’re friends, but we’re not … I don’t know how to explain it. We’re still
rivals. He’s still mafia; I’m still club. He’s a Montague; I’m a Capulet. Just
like Kian and Queenie.
 “Grey said it would keep you safe, and it did. He was right. I was right to
trust him. You are—relatively speakin’—safe.”
Beast grunts at her, and I decide to keep to myself how damn lucky the
two of them are that I’m here. I’m not sure what he’d do to Reba—I just
can’t imagine the man killing a child or an innocent woman like Reba Keller
—but he certainly wouldn’t be handling this as calmly and painlessly as I
am.
“Are you my friend now or his?” I snap, which really isn’t fair. The only
reason Reba ever met Grey was because of me, because she is and was my
only real friend. Well, her and Grey and the goddamn dog. My men are my
men, but they are not my friends, not yet anyway. Eventually, I’m sure, but
it’s much easier to cultivate lust and need than it is true friendship. The sex
can even get in the way sometimes.
“Gidge, I am always here for you. I always have your best interests at
heart.” Reba sounds choked up, and that’s when I’m reminded that she’s still
seventeen. She hasn’t clicked over into being eighteen, and she’s going
through worse than most people do in their entire lives.
“I know that,” I reply, raking my fingers through my hair and cringing
when they get caught on several snarls. My curls are raging today, as if
they’re pissed off that I dared pin them into place for the wedding. I must
look insane, especially when paired with the split lip and swollen eye.
Some wedding night for me and Beast, eh? I can’t even quite remember
which part of the night I was even in his bed, which part was spent holding
Grainger’s hand as he flatlined, or which part was spent kissing three other
men.
We are both owed some deliverance for this shit.
I look over at him, leaned up against the edge of the counter, huge arms
crossed over his chest. He’s wearing jeans and nothing else. No shoes, no
shirt, please let me service … I blink away the silliness and groan, folding
my arms on the table and leaning my forehead against them.
“I know that, Reba,” I repeat as her hand strokes down my back.
“Let me get some detangler and a hairbrush,” she remarks after a moment,
and I don’t protest as I hear the sound of her chair legs scraping across the
old linoleum floors, the softness of her receding footsteps.
“How many people did you end up losing?” Grey asks absently, and I lift
my head up to glare at him before Beast gets the chance to react. He won’t
appreciate these sorts of prying questions. Having spent months locked up
with this boy, I know it for what it is: a hint.
He’s pushing me toward something.
We stare at each other, and I’m reminded of the way the sunlight used to
slant through the stained-glass windows of our luxurious prison and light up
his pretty hair with jewel tones.
I glance over at Beast, and he frowns. The expression is far darker than it
would be on another person. He isn’t going to answer my question in front of
Grey, but I need to know.
“If we’re going to make some sort of truce, we need to be equals,” I state
firmly, splaying my fingertips on the surface of the table as Grey’s lips twist
to the side in a trenchant smile. “The mafia lost forty-some people during the
wedding; if we haven’t lost at least that many, then we won’t get either
group to work with us.”
“You’re so sharp-witted, Gidge,” Grey says appreciatively, lifting his mug
to his lips as Beast steps forward, putting his own hands on the tabletop. I
close my eyes at the sensations that spike through me at his nearness.
Turning my head, I take him in, the bandages on his muscular arms, the
cuts on his face that add to, rather than detract from, his rugged beauty.
There’s a bit of blond stubble on his jaw that wasn’t there the day of the
wedding, marking the passage of time.
Oh, I like this, I think, reaching up a hand to brush my knuckles against
that rough hair and shivering. The effect is amplified when those blue eyes
swing over to mine. Beast captures my hand in one of his and brings it to his
lips for a kiss, making my body tremble in ways that have absolutely nothing
to do with my fatigue or pain.
This is all heat.
It’s the burn of a broken promise, that’s what it is.
We were supposed to have a wedding night. Instead, we had to deal with a
violent coup.
Our bodies are aching for what should’ve been.
I inhale deeply, taking in that old books and Earl Grey tea smell that clings
to Beast as stubbornly as the musky scent of male. I see now it’s because
he’s been living at Gram’s, storing his clothes in a chest in the library. He
sleeps in there, too. There’s a cot there that I figured was just for guys on
guard duty or something. I didn’t know until recently that Sin, Beast, and
Grainger all lived there.
 How sad.
They’ve been living in a graveyard. And they certainly wouldn’t have
been allowed under any circumstances to bring women back there. Not to
say they weren’t fucking groupies or whatever—the thought makes me rage
in a way that I don’t care to examine right now—but they never had anyone
to warm their actual beds, to go home to at night, to curl up against.
Am I damning them to more of that by requesting the hearts of all four? Is
that fair, for them to only have a lover in their beds one-fourth of the time? I
know I’d never allow it, for them to date other women. That’s not how this is
going to work.
My selfishness makes my jaw clench because, in reality, Beast and I
haven’t talked about this at all. He’s my husband now, and even if I’ve never
liked the idea of marriage, I’m determined to keep the lines of
communication open.
“I’m not entirely sure you understand how precarious your situation is,”
Beast says finally, turning back to look at Grey with no small amount of
disdain. He doesn’t care for my friend. That’s okay. I know what I’m doing
here. Even if nobody else can see it.
Can’t see the forest for the trees, am I right?
The club and the mafia are going to destroy each other.
There is only one way out of this.
My eyes meet Grey’s, and something unspoken and impossible passes
between us.
Regardless of what happens next in this filthy war, there is one truth we
can both count on: we will have each other’s backs, always. Even if that
means playing dirty. Even if that doesn’t always look the way one might
expect.
Reba fed Grey information; that helped both him and me. I might’ve
figured as much. Those last few days before the wedding, if she asked to use
my phone, I let her. And I didn’t check to see what she’d done when she was
finished. Am I still too trusting? Or just trusting enough?
“I’m well-aware of the peculiars regarding my situation,” Grey muses,
frowning down at the coffee with a wistful sigh. He sets it aside. Guess it
isn’t up to his usual espresso loving standards. “But you’re not going to kill
me, are you? Gidge will never forgive you.”
“Do not tell me what my wife will or will not do,” Beast growls out, and
the sound gives me goose bumps all over—in the best way possible. I want
him to cart me off to his bed and fuck me into the mattress.
My head throbs, and I reach up with my right hand, putting two fingers
against my forehead. My migraine might not like that, but my cunt sure as
hell would.
We all pause at the sound of a motorcycle and Beast stands up, moving
over to the blinds to peek out. Lights sweep across the kitchen just before he
releases the slats and turns around.
“Crown,” he explains, and the tense set of my shoulders relaxes
somewhat. At the same time, a nervous ball of energy forms in my belly, and
I find myself twisting my hands in my lap. If Sin or Grainger is dead, it’d be
just like Crown to come home to tell me in person.
Reba comes back into the kitchen with a bag of my toiletries, settling
herself into the chair on my right. My body hums with energy as Beast
moves over to unlock the front door, and Crown’s impossible presence fills
the farmhouse. I haven’t even seen him yet, around the corner in the front
hall as he is, but I can sure as shit feel the change in atmosphere.
As my best friend reaches up to run her fingers through my tangled hair, I
hear the men having a low conversation near the front door. A moment later,
there he is, the vice president in all of his glory. Fem growls from beneath
the table, and I snap my fingers at him. With a reluctant sigh, he curls up at
my feet and allows Crown to step into his own kitchen.
His eyes find mine immediately, and my body twitches with indecision.
Do I get up and kiss him? Would he like that? Would I? Crippled by a
sudden hesitancy—a very un-Gidget-like trait—I just sit there and allow
Reba to soak my hair with a fruity-smelling detangler.
I know right away what product it is that she’s using. She must’ve dug the
first thing she could find out of my bag. It’s one of Posey’s detanglers. I’ve
kept it for years and never used it. When Nellie brought me toiletries from
home, she just scooped up whatever she could find—including that.
So now, not only do I have a duffel bag full of my dead sister’s clothes,
but my hair is soaked in her scent.
I consider asking Reba to stop, so that I can preserve what remains in the
bottle, but then … I think it’s time that I stopped holding onto artifacts and
moved my life forward. I will never stop missing my sisters, but maybe I
need to let go of some of that pain?
Killing Giulia Wolfe would help. A hot shiver of violence lances through
me. Oh yeah, that’d help a lot. If possible, I would love to know the
identities of the men who were present at my house that day. Then, if I could
be left alone in a room with them tied up, and a hot curling iron, I’d show
them what it’s like to be violated.
Crown stares at me for a moment before looking over at Grey.
“What the fuck is this mafia shit doing at my kitchen table?” he asks as
Grey lifts up the coffee mug yet again, staring into it with an uncertain
expression before finally taking another sip.
“Pleased to meet you. Calder Reid, right? My father hates you almost as
much as he despises Gidget—and slightly less than he loathes the president.”
Grey turns to look at Crown, and the two of them end up sharing a long,
sticky stare.
The … future president and the future don? Maybe. Hopefully.
That thought, of course, is predicated on the idea of Cat stepping down. Or
dying.
I can’t think about that sort of thing right now. I’ve just lost my brother,
and while it was a necessary and logical step forward, that doesn’t mean I
want to think about losing another family member. Even Cat. Or …
especially Cat?
Daddy.
I hate him. I love him, too, and that’s part of the reason that I’m so
terrified. I’m woman enough to admit that.
“I’ll ask this one more time: what is this thing doing in my goddamn
kitchen?” Crown demands. His voice doesn’t raise or lower, doesn’t darken
or get clipped. It’s just that, the same authoritative tone with which he told
me to suck his cock, get naked, and then watch him fuck me on all fours.
“My kitchen,” I say, because I know that’ll draw Crown’s attention over to
me in a way that nothing else could. Just like I teased a dying Grainger with
the thought of me being knocked-up with his kid. This is like catnip to
Crown.
“Gidge,” he warns yet again, because that’s all he can seem to do in
response to that. Say my name. Just my name. “This boy should be tied up
and bleeding.”
“Like he was when I risked my life to save him?” I query back defiantly,
cringing slightly as Reba yanks on my tender scalp. I swear, I’m not usually
this much of a little bitch. My head just hurts like, well, a bomb went off, I
guess. “Don’t be like that, Crown. He risked his life to bring that antidote
here.”
 Grey keeps watch on Crown, but the man isn’t looking at him.
He’s looking at me.
“Sin and Grainger?” I query, and he nods slightly. My breath releases in a
sharp rush. With each minute that ticks by, their chances of getting out of the
hospital increase.
“Grainger woke up briefly, but he wasn’t particularly coherent.” Crown
moves over to the counter and puts down a paper bag that I didn’t notice
before. Delicious smells drift into the room, and I find my mouth watering in
a way that has nothing to do with the tight denim sculpted over the vice
president’s ass. “It didn’t seem a good reason to bother you.”
“Wife,” Beast says, and I glance over at him, wondering if that isn’t my
new name now. He hasn’t called me anything but since. I smirk slightly.
“Husband,” I reply with a cocked brow. “What?”
“I’m cleaning up and taking off for the hospital; you stay with Crown.” He
gives me a meaningful sort of look before leaning down and putting that hot,
sultry Southern mouth of his near my ear. “No fucking of any kind.”
He grabs my chin and turns my face toward him, his stubble tickling my
sensitive skin as he presses a gentle but urgent kiss to my lips. He knows I’m
hurting, but he wants me. Badly. His tongue tells me as much when it sweeps
into my mouth and slides across my own in a possessive flick. Marking me
for later just before he pulls back, and my overheated body turns frigid in his
sudden absence.
I don’t get the chance to ask if Beast means no sex just for now or, like,
permanently.
He’s standing up and heading down the hall before I get the opportunity to
meet his eyes again.
I turn my attention back to Crown as he pulls out several brown boxes full
of takeout.
“They’re all burgers and fries; take your pick.” Crown turns back toward
the table and tosses two boxes down in front of me and Reba. “Since Beast is
going to eat at the hospital, I have an extra. Here, mafia brat.” He chucks that
one down hard enough that the top pops open and the bun and several fries
flop out onto the table.
It’d be funny if this situation weren’t so insane.
“Thank you so fucking much,” Grey replies, putting his trembling free
hand underneath the mug. He looks up at me with a horrible and disturbingly
neutral frown on his face. It’s taking everything in his power to remain calm
in here. I see two boys warring for control inside the head of the man they’re
trying to become: the reckless asshole who went to the casino to party and
ended up kidnapped by a motorcycle club, and the cold, disturbed socialite
who wants control of his father’s empire. “Your hospitality won’t go
unremembered.”
“If you think I care about your opinion, you’ll be sorely disappointed,”
Crown assures him, giving his signature Cheshire Cat grin. It’s decidedly
darker than Grey’s neutral frown. The latter takes note of the former’s
expression and sets his mug down very, very careful.
I forever stand by my statement that Crown is twice as scary as Cat on a
good day.
Beast, despite his propensity for wild violence, is actually much calmer
than our VP.
“Gidget, come with me,” Crown orders briskly, dropping his smile. He
saunters off like he expects me to follow like a trained dog, and I bristle.
“Well, I never,” Reba murmurs, finally getting the brush to glide through
my hair without encountering any snags. “Are you really gonna let him talk
to you like that? The man is rude.”
Grey chuckles, and I smile, gently pushing Reba’s hands away, grabbing
my food, and taking off after Crown. I find him waiting for me on the stairs,
gaze focused on the landing and not on me.
He doesn’t even look back at me as he starts to climb, leaving Reba and
Grey alone in the kitchen. That’s a big deal to me. Crown doesn’t trust Grey
for shit, but I trust Grey, and he’s putting his faith in me. He’s accepted that
maybe on this subject, my judgment is slightly clearer than his.
It’s the silent gestures like that which seem to matter the most.
Fem-fem follows me into the entryway, but I point at him with a single
finger, opening the lid of my food and extracting a single fry.
“Stay,” I command him, tossing the fry over before closing my container
back up. He snatches it midair and then whines, but he does lay down, his
single paw stretched out in front of him, and watches me ascend the staircase
by myself. Not sure if it was our time spent apart, the new environment or
what, but my beautiful husky boy seems more clingy than usual.
Crown hesitates slightly at the top of the stairs before moving over to his
room and opening the door. He steps aside to gesture me in, and then closes
and locks the door while watching me settle onto his bed.
 The very first thing I do is get ketchup on the pristine white linens, and he
frowns.
“Shit, sorry,” I say, spitting on the long sleeve of the pullover sweater and
scrubbing at it. “Little elbow grease, and this’ll come right out.”
“You’ve never once tried to get a ketchup stain out of anything, have
you?” Crown asks, moving over to sit on the edge of the bed. He’s close
enough to me, but not too close. He gives the stain one last wrinkle-edged
sneer with his mouth and then opens the box of food.
Watching him now, I realize how monumental this really is.
If I’d told sixteen-year-old me that I’d be sitting here next to this man,
sharing a meal, and getting a pass on staining his pretty little bed, I’d have
scoffed and probably thrown something. I take a very careful bite of the
burger.
“I don’t think you’re eating enough,” he says, and I pause with the food
still partially bitten and sitting in my mouth.
“Eh?” I grunt around the food, finishing the bite, chewing carefully, and
swallowing with suspicion. Like … what the fuck is he even talking about?
My heart starts to race, and I feel like I might throw up.
Crown ignores me, tearing into his burger but looking at the wall instead
of my face. It’s annoying as fuck. I pluck a fry from my box and throw it at
him. It hits him in the chest and falls into his lap. He looks down at it, picks
it up, and folds it between his lips.
“It’ll be nice to have my bed back,” he remarks absently. He glances my
way, moss green eyes taking in the damage to my face before he scowls and
looks at the wall again. Of course he’s mad at Gaz, but I think he’s also mad
at himself. “Now that you and Beast are married.”
He turns back to me, and I frown, taking another bite of my burger and
leaving the elephant to sit pretty in the corner of the room. I’m crazy. I must
be crazy. I keep feeling like they’re all about to tell me something I don’t
want to hear.
He didn’t … like, cheat on me with a groupie or something when he
disappeared, did he?
No, no, that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it? But he’s acting weird as hell.
“This is my room,” I say, and Crown literally throws his food at the wall. I
kid you not. He just fucking chucks it and lets fries explode all over the
floor. He turns back to me and rakes his hand through his hair.
 “Goddamn it, Gidget,” he grinds out, looking like he’s about to lose his
shit. “You want to know where I was during the reception?”
My heart skips a beat, but I don’t say anything. I just stare at him. Then I
take another bite of fry, and he stands up suddenly, turning to look directly at
me.
“I had to take a walk to calm myself down.”
“Calder,” I start, and he scoffs at me.
“Stop that. Calling me by my real name isn’t going to change what I want
to say.” He stares down at me with a very serious, very dark expression on
his face. Doesn’t scare me. He literally cannot scare me, not now. Not ever.
“I had to take a walk and ask myself if I could do it.”
“Do what?” I ask, and Crown laughs dryly.
“Watch you marry another guy,” he says, and then my stomach lurches,
and my eyes go wide. Please don’t say it. Don’t say it. It isn’t true. “Or watch
you have another man’s baby.”
“No,” I say, nice and firm. Deliberate. “I’m not pregnant.”
“You are pregnant,” Crown says, and I want to scream. I want to throw
my own food at the wall like a thirty-year-old brat. Instead, I make myself sit
still and keep eating. They can’t know that. They can’t. “Grainger told me
before the wedding.”
“I hope your balls rot off and your dick gets infested with maggots,” I
snarl at him, but he just stands there and stares at me while I feel like my
body’s rocking on a boat astride a stormy sea. I might puke. Oh fuck. No.
“You’re full of shit.”
“You’re pregnant whether you like it or not,” Crown hisses, leaning over
and putting his palms on either side of my legs. The mattress dents slightly,
and I drift toward him without meaning to. Turning, I look right into his
face, and I feel my emotions cracking and breaking like thin ice. “Grainger
even showed me both tests.”
“I want to see them,” I demand, as if that’ll make this better. I’m definitely
in shock right now. The world rocks on its axis yet again, and I shove
another fry between my lips. Fuck.
“Good luck. They were in Grainger’s pocket when the blast went off.”
Crown looks right at me, still frowning. Our mouths are close enough to
kiss, but I get the feeling that neither of us is in the mood right now. I know
that I’m not anyway.
Pregnant? I don’t want to have a goddamn baby.
 I close my eyes and groan, putting my head in my hand and nearly
knocking my forehead against Crown’s. He draws back slightly, letting out a
long, tired sounding sigh. I kept wondering where he was yesterday, what he
was doing, but now that I’m thinking more clearly, I imagine he was dealing
with politics, with Cat specifically. Probably cleaning up other bodies.
I’ve been selfish as fuck.
“Have you slept in the last twenty-four hours?” I ask, closing my eyes.
When Crown doesn’t reply, I have my answer. “You aren’t an infallible
being, Crown. You’re not fucking Hercules. You need sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he quips back at me, and I open my eyes to
return his stare.
Crown moves over to the box of spilled food and begins dutifully cleaning
it up. The move annoys me so much that I really do pick up my box and
consider throwing it at him. But with a sigh of my own, I set it back down
and continue eating. I’m not wasting a single fry.
My stomach rumbles, and I cringe, gritting my teeth.
“I don’t know which one of you assholes got me pregnant,” I say, but
Crown ignores me, taking the box of spilled fries into the bathroom.
Presumably he’s throwing them away and washing his hands. With a frown,
I shove my food aside again and stand up, opening the top drawer of his
dresser and digging around. I look in the nightstands next and, bingo, there it
is.
A small velvet box.
I lift it out and crack it open.
“Gidge, what the fuck are you doing?” Crown asks me, and I turn around
slowly. With great defiance, I continue opening the lid and stare down at the
silver band with the large octagonal cut ruby at its center.
I take the ring out and slide it onto my finger above the rings Beast gave
me.
It fits perfectly.
I look up at Crown in challenge.
“How did you know my ring size? Are you a serial killer or something?” I
ask him, and he frowns again.
“Probably. What’s the rule? Three or more victims? Anyway, I’m sure I
qualify.” He delivers that bit of news in a completely insipid sort of way, but
I can feel the fury still simmering underneath.
 “This fits.” I hold up my hand and Crown’s eyes find the ring. His lip
curls at the edge before he meets my eyes again. “It’s mine.”
He comes at me so fast that I barely have time to scramble over the bed to
the other side. We stand facing each other as Crown crosses his arms over
his chest.
“Don’t be like this, Gidge,” he warns me, but I’ve already spilled ketchup
on his blanket, so … fuck it. “We’ll get a DNA test, but it’s likely Grainger’s
baby.”
My turn to frown back at him. I have a sense that these are two completely
different issues. I feel like I might pass out.
Really lived up to those high expectations, eh Gidge? Eighteen, married,
high school dropout, pregnant, negotiating deals with the mafia. Sounds
about right.
“And what if it is? What if it’s Sin’s?” I curl my hand into a fist, running
my thumb over the surface of the ruby. “What if it’s yours?”
Crown just keeps staring at me. And then he’s moving even more quickly
than I thought possible. He hops the bed like it’s nothing. His hands grab my
wrists and slam them into the door behind my head. He holds me there with
his right hand and uses his left to steal the ring back.
“Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” he asks softly, still keeping me pinned
there. He slips the ring in his pocket and then rests his big hand on the curve
of my waist. I’m panting as I look up at him, at the classic good looks that
hide the monster underneath.
I should’ve known he was the one who’d give me the most trouble.
“You can’t give this house or this ring to another woman,” I declare, and
Crown laughs. It’s a low, dark sound.
“Can’t I?” he asks me, but in a manner that’s … mocking? Like when I
asked him about Amber’s ring. What did he say?
“How could you think that? I … fuck, I put everything on the line for
you.”
“You’re married to another man,” he growls out, his gaze so intense that I
squirm beneath it, tugging on my wrists and knowing that I’m not going
anywhere. If I wanted to, I could use one of the moves that Beast taught me
to get out of this.
I don’t bother.
“Even if you were going to get with another woman, it’d be fucked to give
them this house or that ring.” I nod my chin in his direction. “No woman
wants a secondhand house or worse—a secondhand engagement ring. You’re
not as much of a hero as you pretend to be; you don’t get it.”
“Oh, I get it,” Crown says, leaning down and brushing his hot mouth over
mine, just enough to taste. “But who the fuck do you think you are, giving
me dating advice? I won’t be bossed around by an eighteen-year-old girl
inside my own house.”
“It’s my house,” I repeat yet again, and then Crown’s mouth is taking mine
with savage ferocity, making my toes curl against the wood floors as his
tongue sweeps over mine in the most demanding and infuriating way
possible. His hand on my waist flexes, wrinkling up the sweatshirt and
making the bruises beneath ache in an entirely different way than they did
before.
My hips thrust forward of their own accord, grinding against the front of
Crown’s jeans.
“I was moping, and I almost missed it,” he growls again, and then he’s
kissing me so hard that I can’t breathe, and his hand is reaching for the
button on my jeans. I just barely remember that Beast asked me not to have
sex with anyone else.
Fair enough, considering we only got the chance to consummate our
marriage with a quick, wild rut. I push Crown’s hand away, and he turns his
head sharply, closing his eyes and sucking in a sharp breath.
“Beast and I haven’t really had a wedding night …” I hazard, knowing
that I have to say it whether it pisses Crown off or not. He releases me
suddenly and stands up, turning back to watch me as I rub at my wrists.
They don’t hurt; they burn.
I want Crown to hold me down on his bed and fuck me so hard that the
old wood frame breaks into pieces. I want to dent the wall with him. I want
to scream and tear his back to ribbons.
Instead, I lean my body against the door as he prowls around to the
opposite side of the bed, inserting the ring into the box, and then carefully
replacing it inside his nightstand drawer next to a spare, pre-loaded pistol.
He closes the drawer and then looks over at me.
I’m sure I still look hideous with all the swelling in my face, but that’s not
how Crown looks at me. He looks at me in such a way that I imagine he’s
calculating the risks of breaking Beast’s barriers and taking me anyway. I
really hope he doesn’t do that; we need balance here.
 “If the baby isn’t mine,” he starts, and my heart stutters strangely in my
chest. Not only do I not want a baby period, but I also don’t like the way he’s
talking, as if this is it, as if our chances of being together rest on some stupid
fucking DNA test. “Then I want a baby of my own next. That’s my ask.”
I just stare at him, blinking through the confusion.
“What?” I choke out as he comes back over to stand near me, slamming
his palm on the door near my head and breathing in the scent of my hair.
Crown reaches up to run inked fingers through it.
“If you want the farmhouse and you want the ring … if you want me …
you will—to the best of your ability—give me a baby sometime in the next
…” Crown trails off, lifting his eyes to the ceiling in thought. “Five years.”
He gives a little raise of his lip as he looks down at me. “I don’t know how I
feel about you having a baby at eighteen anyway.”
“You want a baby from me?” I choke out at him, ducking under his arm
and moving away toward a horrible painting of a flower on the wall. It’s so
very … not like Crown. It fits the farmhouse vibe, I guess. I wonder if he
picked it up at an antique store or something? Anyway, I hate it. I want to
take it down and replace it with something else.
I turn around.
“I’m not a womb for rent. I’m not a fucking baby factory.”
He gives me a look, moving back over to me yet again. I circle around
him, but he just follows after me until we’re standing close and facing each
other.
“What if I can’t have kids?” Maybe a weird thing to ask considering the
circumstances, but a pregnancy doesn’t always result in a baby. “What if … I
get injured between now and then? What if I have this kid, and it’s
Grainger’s, and I almost bleed to death and never want to do it again?”
“Semantics. I said everything in your power,” he tells me, looking me over
like he’s already looking forward to the ‘fucking’ portion of the baby making
equation. “Is that a lot to ask? For me to give up all of my other hopes and
dreams?”
“You should be able to say yes to this without asking me to farm your
seed,” I snap at him, but he just smiles tightly.
“You should be able to agree to my terms without hesitation.”
There’s a long pause where I see that we’re both right. I want four men.
Crown wanted one woman. He’s asking for a baby. I don’t know how to feel
about that.
 “If I agree to this, can I have some of your money to buy new clothes and
décor that doesn’t look like it belongs in my grandmother’s house?”
“Huh,” Crown says, but his breathing’s heavy. He looks dead serious. He
looks scary as fuck. I mean, he would if I were anyone else.
“Or I could take a quarter of your money, a quarter of Beast’s, a quarter of
Sin’s, a quarter of Grainger’s … Having a one-fourth wife is cheaper than
having a whole one.”
“Have you talked to Beast about this?” Crown asks, raising his brows at
me. He isn’t latching onto my desire for dark humor. Always so damn
serious, this motherfucker. “Or Sin and Grainger for that matter?”
“Not exactly,” I confirm with a slight cringe. “Well, Sin, yes. But no on
the other two.”
Crown goes to move away, and I step forward, causing him to stop.
“You guys don’t have time for your own wives anyway; this is better.”
He narrows his eyes and moves back toward me, sliding his fingers into
my hair and making me shiver with a violent shimmer of heat.
“You don’t need to spend anymore time convincing me; I told you what I
want.” He wets his lips, and I can see that he’s thinking about kissing me
again.
“Give me the ring,” I repeat, and he shakes his head. I’m not sure whether
he takes that as my agreeing to his conditions or not. I am not sure if I’m
agreeing to his conditions or not.
“If you’re going to wear it, I’m going to give it to you properly. You’ll
have to wait.” He scoffs at me. “Impatient little brat.”
I reach down to cup him through his jeans, loving the way his breath
hisses out between his teeth.
“I thought old men had a harder time getting it up; you seem to be doing
just fine though.”
Crown snorts at me and then wraps his other arm around my waist,
yanking me close.
“Jesus Christ, you’re an asshole,” he growls, and then he’s kissing me
again. His fingers knead the back of my head as his arm bands tight, pulling
me firmly against him. My hands fist in the leather of his cut, my poor
chipped nails scratching at the VP patch.
Crown groans as I arch into him, allowing him to take whatever it is that
he wants from my lips. Whatever he needs. I moan in response, clawing at
him, wishing I could get closer, wishing with every beat of my heart that we
could fuck right now.
The way he kisses me … I know his answer.
He’s demanding a baby; he’d settle without one if he had to.
My hands slide up to his firm shoulders, kneading the tense flesh and
making him growl at me again.
And then I finally—fucking finally, I could sob—feel what it’s actually
like when Crown allows himself to have me.
I think … I mean, I know that I’m the only woman in the world that’s ever
felt this way with him. He could’ve fucked a thousand groupies for all I care,
but not a one of them would ever know what it’s like to be in my position.
Instead of surrendering to Crown, he’s surrendering to me.
As dominant as he is, with as many control issues as he has, this is …
It’s magical.
A dark magic. Black magic. A curse, maybe. But magic, nonetheless.
He ends up pushing me down onto the bed and kissing me like he can’t
breathe if our mouths aren’t pressed tight, if his tongue isn’t working against
mine. Crown grinds the hardness of his erection into me, and I make a low,
desperate sort of sound.
Wow.
The way Sin and I kissed at the hospital, that was new.
So is this.
He’s giving into me; Crown is letting me have him.
“I could have you,” I once whispered.
“Could have me, huh?” he’d replied, ever the cocky, arrogant alpha prick.
Then he made love to me. Then he treated me like a terrible secret, a
mistake.
I wrap my legs around him, drawing him as close as I can without
violating Beast’s wishes. If this is going to work, there have to be some
rules. And they have to be followed.
Crown breaks away from me with a gasp, turning his head to one side.
When I fist my fingers in his hair, he clenches his teeth.
“Get up,” he breathes out, pulling away from me suddenly and shaking
himself out. With a contorted facial expression, he undoes his belt and jeans,
reaching in to adjust his junk with a curse. “You might want to change
clothes.” He slides his phone from his pocket to check the time. “Cat should
be on his way over here by now.”
 My blood goes cold, and I sit up, shivering as all of that vibrant heat
dissipates in a rush.
“What does he want?” I ask, my voice darkening as the reality of our
situation hits me in the chest like a punch.
Did … did Crown really just tell me that I’m pregnant?
Did Cat really shoot Gaz?
Shit.
Reality sucks.
“I don’t know, but be prepared,” Crown tells me, fixing his pants and then
sliding open the center drawer of his dresser. He removes a revolver, checks
the cylinder, slips it into the waistband of his jeans and tucks it beneath his
cut. “If we have to go, we’ll be leaving quick. If there are any material items
that you absolutely need, I’d prepare a bug-out bag.” He looks at his phone
again and gives a quick shake of his head. “Later though. We don’t have
time right now.”
I slide off the edge of the bed, digging through my duffel bag until I find
something that makes me feel more like myself: tight leather pants, a loose
tank with a coffin on the front, and some huge silver hoop earrings that I
have about a million memories of seeing on Posey’s ears.
“What will we do with Grey?” I ask, but Crown just passes me a look, and
I nod. “Right. The chimney.”
I slip my feet into boots just as we hear the sound of an approaching
motorcycle.
A very familiar motorcycle, the one that’s both lullaby as well as
nightmare.
Yep, Daddy’s here—and I just hope he hasn’t brought an army along with
him.
With Grey safely tucked away in the attic and Reba upstairs in a guest room,
it’s just me and Crown in the living room when Cat walks in. The former
stays standing in the arch between the entryway and the living room itself,
his back to the wall. He has his eyes on Cat as soon as the door opens.
My father doesn’t knock, and Crown very purposefully left the door
unlocked for him. This whole interaction smacks of a dominance display.
Cat strides confidently into the house—alone.
I stand up from the sofa, suddenly desperate to maintain a defensive
position. The man radiates violence as he moves over to stand on the other
side of the coffee table, turning to face me.
We look at each other, matching gaze to matching gaze.
In an instant, there’s a gun in my face.
“Remind me again why I shouldn’t blow your fucking brains out?” he
asks, but then there’s Crown stepping forward. The barrel of his own weapon
presses into the side of his president’s skull, and he pulls the hammer back.
“No,” he says calmly, just like that. “I won’t allow you to hurt her.”
Cat maintains his position, his face an unreadable mask, his pain hidden
beneath all those pesky layers of his, the shields he puts up to protect himself
from the dark nature of the life he lives.
With a dry, caustic laugh, Cat lowers the weapon, engages the safety, and
slips it back into his holster.
 “I should’ve fucking known,” he growls out, stroking his hand over his
beard as Crown drops his own weapon. He doesn’t put it away, however, just
points it at the floor. “I suspected as much, but I thought you had more
brains than that.” Cat adjusts his stare over to his vice president. “Never
pegged you as the sort of man who’d let pussy get ahold of his balls.”
“This is about more than that,” Crown tells my father, completely stone-
faced, completely serious. That’s the thing about him. He’s a romantic. He’s
also a cold-blooded killer who knows exactly what being a Daybreaker
means. He’s just willing to use violence and dominance to protect the
romance. “If it were just about sex, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
My father sneers at his vice president before turning back to me. He slides
Gaz’s phone from his pocket and bile rises in my throat. Cat selects a photo
before tossing the phone onto the coffee table in front of me. I hesitate
before picking it up.
My father watches me like he wants to kill me.
“Take a look at this and tell me why I shouldn’t have the club come over
here so the five of you can hang from a tree? I’ll even string your pretty
redheaded friend up to sway in the wind beside you.”
“If you’re asking why I think you haven’t told the rest of the club yet, all I
can say is that it’s a brilliant political move,” Crown continues, taking up the
tense silence as I lift the phone up and stare down at a picture of myself on
Crown’s bike, Grey clinging to me.
The photo was taken from in front of us, just as I rounded that corner into
a roadblock of mafia men. This is dashcam footage from one of the Grey
Wolfe Cadillacs; Gaz is an idiot. He helped put a nail in his own coffin by
choosing to show this to our father.
Even though the details are a little blurry, if you know what you’re
looking for, you can see everything. The teal and white Chieftain Classic, the
bloodied mafia boy … me in a short skirt with pretty legs.
I turn the screen off and lift my gaze to meet Cat’s.
My entire future hinges on this moment.
“We can’t handle infighting and accusations while still battling the mafia,”
Crown adds, refusing to put his weapon away. Can’t quite believe he actually
put that gun to his president’s head for me, but … I’ll take it. I can’t fight my
father on my own. “That, and we lost a lot of people today. How many?
Fifty-two?”
Holy shit. Fifty-two?!
 It’s close enough to the forty-six people that the club slaughtered during
my wedding to Grey to be considered a fair trade.
I’m terrified to find out if there are any familiar faces among the dead.
You know, besides the sibling that my father shot.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” I ask him, my voice low and disconnected. Cat
stares at me in a way that he never has before, and that terrifies me. He’s still
looking at me as if that’s a possibility. “I saved Grey; I’m not ashamed of
that. You wanted me to hand you the last of my humanity; you wanted to tie
me to the club with blood.”
Cat laughs at that, and I’m suddenly thankful for the coffee table between
us. If he has to, Crown should be able to shoot my father before he lays a
finger on me. My own gun was recovered from the clubhouse wreckage; I
have it hanging on my hip, but I doubt I could ever outdraw Leroy
Kesselring.
“All the while you’re fucking my officers?” he asks me, tilting his head
like he’s trying to take my measure. Like I’ve surprised him, maybe. “You
tied yourself to this club, baby doll.”
“I was willing to marry Grey and take over the mafia if that’s what had to
happen.” I lift my chin, and even though I’m sure I look like a mess, and I
still hurt all over, I’ve never felt stronger on the inside. Never. “So long as all
the right people were punished for Queenie’s and Posey’s deaths.” I narrow
my eyes on my father, voicing aloud for the first time everything I’ve bitten
my tongue against. “You didn’t have to kill Kian. That’s on you. That’s on
Gaz.”
My father smiles at me, and the expression makes me cold in a way that
no warmth will ever be able to reach. Not the warmth of these men. Not the
strength I’m finding in myself. It’s a void, like the darkness of space.
Impossible. Endless. Terrifying.
“You think I didn’t have my suspicions?” Cat asks me, stroking his salt-
and-pepper beard. I feel like there’s more gray in it with each passing day, as
if my father’s clock is finally running out. I squeeze my hands into fists and
then force my fingers to release, splaying them at my sides and taking a deep
breath. My pulse slows. Some of that cold recedes. My old, familiar anger
sweeps up on me like a firestorm, but I push it back. I hold myself
somewhere in the middle of those two extremes. “You think I didn’t know
my son was up to no good? Kickin’ the shit out of prostitutes, shootin’ up. I
have to wonder if he wasn’t beatin’ on my old lady on top of all that.”
 “You think I never saw you beat on that son yourself? Kick him to the
streets when he was still a kid? You forget that Gaz wasn’t shaped overnight;
you crafted a monster in your own making.”
My father says nothing to that. He doesn’t react at all. That’s what disturbs
me most. He’s reacted with blinding white rage toward me for the entirety of
my life. So, what is this?
“So why pick me over him?” I ask, because I can’t take it. I don’t
understand. My father’s always taken his son’s side over mine. In fact, I’m
pretty sure Cat’s hated me my entire life.
“Didn’t you hear me, girl?” Cat asks me, taking another step closer, until
his shins are pressed against the opposite side of the coffee table. “I told you:
you’re just like me.” His gaze rakes over me from head to toe, but not like
I’m his daughter.
Like I’m his rival.
I get the chills but manage to maintain a neutral expression.
“Of all my children, the only one I ever saw much potential in,” he drawls,
working his jaw. He looks over at Crown as I fight this bizarre rush of
unwanted pleasure at his praise. I can’t shake it, can I? That disturbing need
to please the president of Death by Daybreak. To please … my father. “Are
you working with the mafia?” he asks point-blank, but not like he’s willing
to believe whatever answer is going to come out of Crown’s mouth. “Really,
what I’m asking here is: are you going to blow up my compound the way my
son did?”
That’s when I hear it, the first bit of strain in his voice, this harsh clip that
tells me that no matter how calm Cat seems right now, he’s breaking on the
inside. He killed his only son, and that’s affecting him.
“I have only ever had your and the club’s best interests in mind,” Crown
tells him, turning along with Cat as my father laughs and moves past him
into the front hall. I follow so that I’m just a step and a half behind Crown’s
broad back. “Hurting Gidget, killing Gidget, that was never in your best
interest. That’s true. Now, I’m putting her first.”
“You let her marry Beast, and you still wanna die for her, eh?” Cat asks,
turning back to look at the pair of us like he’s so disgusted he doesn’t even
know where to go from here. “I haven’t decided what to do with you just yet.
But believe me, you’re not going to like it when it comes at you.”
As Cat turns away, I’m so relieved to see him go that I almost collapse
against the wall. By the grace of whatever dark and dirty gods might watch
over someone like me, I’m safe. For now.
“Fuck,” Crown murmurs, swiping his hand over the lower half of his face.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He turns to look at the sound of creaking on the stairs,
scowling violently when he sees that it’s Grey. Crown’s gun comes up to
point at the boy, but I scramble up a few steps, turn, and take hold of it.
Crown very quickly releases the trigger and drops the weapon. “Was all of
this worth it?” he asks me again, looking past me at Grey.
I glance back and see that my friend—and the biggest pain in my ass that
ever existed—isn’t smiling either.
“This is all because of you,” Crown murmurs, shaking his head as he
finally puts his gun away. I hope he’s hidden the rest of the weapons around
this house in better spots because, wherever they were before, Grey will find
them. I don’t necessarily know if I want him to have a gun—even if I am a
much better shot. “You got a way out of this?”
“We have to kill my father so that I can take over the mafia,” Grey says, as
if it’s that simple.
“As if you can just kill him and step into his role as the don. I might not
know much about that shit, but I do know this: that’s a pipe dream,” I choke
out, my voice acidic and sharp. It’s been a long fucking two days. I can feel
exhaustion tugging at me all over again.
I guess … I’m not just injured but pregnant.
Goddamn it.
I stray away from that thought for just a minute. I need time to think.
“You’re right. My plan is entirely unconventional, but I can assure you:
I’ve been working on this project for a while now. Since I first woke up back
at the cathedral after you rescued me. Months of planning, Gidget.”
“And then what?” Crown asks, addressing Grey directly. I can hear Fem
barking and Reba frantically shushing him. I wonder if she’s listening in?
Not that it matters. She can eavesdrop to her heart’s content. But I will be
just a little more careful what I say around her in the future. I’ll just have to
assume Grey knows every word of it.
I’m not even mad about that.
“I’ll work with Gidget,” Grey offers up, gesturing at me with his left hand.
“She’ll be my liaison with the club; I won’t work with anyone else. That
solves all of our problems: my father is scrubbed from my life like a bad
stain.” He lifts up a single finger. “The war is stopped.” A second finger.
“And Gidget becomes invaluable to Death by Daybreak. However you
decide to handle your other problems with the president, that should serve
either way.” Third finger.
Grey drops his left hand by his side, tucking his right into the sweatpants
that he must’ve either stolen from someone’s drawer—I hope for his sake
that isn’t true—or was more likely given to wear to get him out of a suit.
Grey is recognizable but only close-up. From far away, in sweatpants like
this, he could be a prospect or just a young guy one of the older members
isn’t familiar with.
“It’s an interesting concept,” Crown agrees grudgingly, giving me a sharp
look. “But that won’t fix the problem with Cat. Still, I’ll consider it.”
“Incredibly generous of you,” Grey agrees, and I give him a sharp look
that he returns with a half-smile.
“You are on our compound, and we have ways of making people
disappear,” I tell him, not entirely disingenuous with my words. “Remember
that.”
“We’ll go visit the boys in the hospital tomorrow, see if the gate guards are
still checking every passenger that’s outgoing. Then we’ll know if it’s safe to
move you off the compound.” Crown gives Grey an awful sort of look, one
that promises violence if he dare breathes in the wrong way. “Don’t
underestimate me, Grey Wolfe. The club isn’t just made up of grunting
barbarians. If I were you, I’d be very careful with my behavior while inside
these walls.”
“On the contrary,” Grey says with a shrug, letting his half-smile get a little
wider. “I laud you, Calder Reid. It takes guts to switch teams, doesn’t it? For
an undercover cop to abandon his position. You’re a very impressive
individual, no doubt about it.” Grey turns and heads back up the stairs,
knocking lightly on Reba’s door. She lets him in, and Fem immediately tries
to attack him; he hates all men apparently. Not without reason. Basically
every man but my officers and Grey have kicked the shit out of him, choked
him, shot him. Why should he like men?
I’ve decided I’ll leave my husky as he is, no training required.
I look back at Crown, blinking hard as Grey’s words settle over me.
“Undercover cop?” I ask, but Crown doesn’t meet my gaze, moving over
to the front door to bolt it and activate the alarm. It feels so much bleaker out
here when it’s just us. If someone attacks in the night, it’ll be just me and
Crown. I like it better when we have our little army. “What does that mean?”
 “Get upstairs and get in bed,” Crown barks out, flicking off the lights. He
comes to stand beside me in the dark. He stays to my right, his hand on the
banister. I mimic his pose, just facing in the opposite direction.
“Don’t boss me around,” I warn him, and I can feel him smirking at me in
the dark.
“Why?” he asks, almost innocently. “You like it.”
Crown continues up the stairs as I scowl after him, turning to look after
his retreating back. But the temptation of his bed … it’s too much.
With a long sigh and a swipe of my hand over my face, I turn and follow
after.
Cat thinks Crown lost his balls to me. Must’ve been a fair trade. Because I
almost do like it. We’re trading our vulnerabilities as well as our strengths to
each other.
I step into the room, only to hear the shower running in the bathroom. The
door is half-cracked, leaving a small sliver of golden light to fall across the
bed. I close the bedroom door, lock it, and then climb into the bed by myself.
If I go in that bathroom, and I see Crown naked, I’ll snap. And I can’t do
that to Beast.
With a sigh, I curl on my side and thankfully, blissfully lose myself to
exhaustion.
Thank fuck.
I can’t deal with my own thoughts just now; I need a fucking break.
I find myself terrified to face Cade Grainger.
“Fuck,” I grumble, swiping a thumb over my purple-painted lips. I really
overdid it today with the dressing up. In an effort to feel more like myself, I
donned a pair of cherry red leather pants, Beast’s jacket, and motorcycle
boots. My makeup is heavy, like I’m off to a nightclub, and it’s got a
decidedly gothic tint.
I tell myself I’m dressing up in an attempt to scare the hospital staff away.
In reality, I may or may not have dressed up with the prospect of seeing
Grainger.
“Go on, suge,” Beast encourages, pushing the door in.
Grainger is more or less sitting up on his own, his head thrown back in the
pillows. He’s frowning, which I guess is a good sign? He looks …
poisonous, rather than weak or comatose.
With a deep inhale, I toss my glossy black hair over one shoulder and strut
into the room, purposely letting my footsteps fall loud enough to rouse him.
Cade lifts his head up suddenly, blinking at Beast before swinging his gaze
over to me.
I pause beside him, and we stare at each other.
It’s awkward. It’s really fucking awkward.
Why can’t I just crawl on him and kiss the life out of him the way I did to
Sin?
 “Gidge,” he says warily, his voice husky and broken. Grainger struggles to
clear his throat, and I do my best to blink the images of him getting chest
compressions from my mind. I looked up the statistics of survival for
someone who’s been resuscitated. Long-term survival rates aren’t great, even
after initial success.
“Cade,” I reply, swiping my tongue across my lower lip. It tastes waxy,
like the lipstick I smeared across it earlier. With a small curse, I reach out
and run my nails over the back of Cade’s tattooed hand. I spent the morning
filing and painting them, so it’s a substantial improvement over the ‘post
bomb blast and fight to the death’ manicure that I had before. “It’s nice to
see you—” I almost say alive. The word catches in my throat, but I make
myself breathe past it. “Awake.”
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty fucking hard to kill,” Grainger growls out, and
then he coughs a little and shakes his head like he’s shaking off a wave of
dizziness or nausea or something. The first thing on my mind when I saw
him was the pregnancy, but my emotions are far too raw right now to bring
that up.
He lifts that umber gaze of his to mine, and I frown at him, but I don’t
move from where I’m standing.
“Who is Raelynn Grainger?” I blurt, and he goes completely still.
“Did you meet her?” he asks, his voice strange and distant. His face is
dark with stubble, but even though I can see that he’s in no state to get up
just now, the fire is there in his eyes the way it always is. From what I hear,
he threw his food tray at the wall earlier over a disagreement with a doctor.
You’d think this asshole would be more grateful to the staff for saving his
life, but … Cade really hates being told what to do. Almost as much as I hate
it.
“No. But the hospital’s … whatever, social worker or something, she
mentioned her.” I pause there, waiting for an explanation. I can’t help the
nervous butterflies in my stomach. It never even occurred to me that one of
these men might have like, an ex-wife or something. Or maybe even a wife
that they never divorced … Ugh.
Luckily for me, Grainger puts me out of my misery after only a minute of
contemplation, like he’s deciding how much of himself he wants to share.
I’m not going to give him a choice: if he wants to be with me, he’ll tell me
everything. We’ll have no secrets between us.
 If he wants to be with me, of course. Because I feel like he has yet to
commit either way.
“Raelynn Grainger is my mother,” he explains, looking me over with a
gaze that’s entirely inappropriate for the hospital setting in which we’re
standing. If he had enough energy, I bet he’d flip me over on that bed and rut
into me until I was begging for this pregnancy to be his.
Gross.
I sneer at him, even though the thought is mine. It’s a defense mechanism
that I’m trying to weed out, but it’s especially hard around someone like
Cade who makes life difficult by simply breathing. I’m so relieved right now
that my knees feel shaky and yet, I’m scared to show him how much I care.
I need to break that habit, that fear of rejection.
“Mom wasn’t interested in seeing you?” I ask, and he laughs at me. It’s a
harsh sound, and it’s echoed with that distant huskiness that reminds me of
how close he came to death. Should I really be insulting him here? I know
that quips are our thing, but … he almost died, and I felt myself falling apart.
I love him, and he knows it.
He loves me, and I know it.
He’s been saying as much to me since the very first time he whispered,
I’ve always hated you, Gidge, just before claiming my virginity with a hard,
deep thrust.
“We’re not exactly close,” Cade admits, almost reluctantly, looking me
over. His jaw clenches at whatever thoughts are going through that pretty
head of his. He swipes that inked hand over his hair and cringes as the tubes
in his arm jiggle around. “What are you waiting for, sweetheart? An
invitation? Get the fuck over here.”
He reaches out a hand, and I take it, climbing over him but making sure
that most of my weight is on my knees and, as I sit back, resting on my
calves. I place my hands on my thighs as Grainger runs both of his over my
hips.
Fuck.
Fire lances through me, and I end up shifting toward him without even
meaning to. There’s a pull between us that’s damn near impossible to resist.
It’s always been there, from that first moment he said I looked like a damn
vampire, and I felt a rise of emotion that I interpreted as hate.
Looking back at it now … the attraction was instant.
 “You dressed up for me,” he breathes, eyes half-lidded, voice a little bit
stronger than it seemed when I first walked in. Prideful, too. Excited? Eager?
Maybe even a tad wary. “And fuck if it isn’t working. I want that sweet cunt
of yours so bad I can taste it.”
I close my eyes for a moment, lifting up a hand and putting it gently
against Grainger’s chest, just to feel his heartbeat. He stiffens up, but he
doesn’t stop me. We don’t talk much either. Considering that we’re both
ornery assholes, it’s probably better this way.
I’d much rather speak to him through body language.
Grainger squeezes my hips so hard that my breath releases in a throaty
purr. I shift and try desperately not to put any weight on him. I don’t know
what he looks like under that hideous hospital gown. It’s already slipping
down his shoulders though, revealing finely sculpted pecs, rounded biceps,
swathes of ink.
I force my gaze back to Cade’s face.
He wants this.
He wants it so bad, he can taste it.
“And if I did dress up for you, what then? Maybe I dressed up for myself.”
He scoffs at me, and I smile. But just a little.
“You’ve never been tamable, Gidge. It’s one of the things I’ve always
liked about you. You do whatever the fuck you want, everyone else be
damned.” He yanks me just a bit closer, and I give him a warning look.
“I won’t be able to sit here forever,” I tell him, my heart racing. If one of
the nurses sees me like this, I’m going to get in trouble again—and for all
the right reasons, I’m sure. I shouldn’t be sitting on someone who almost
died just two days ago. “Just say it. You have to say it, Cade. I can’t read
minds.”
“You know what I heard when I thought everything was over?” He slides
his left hand up a little higher, holding onto my rib cage. His other hand digs
tense fingers into my hair, gripping me with a possessiveness that both
excites and irritates me. “When I was certain I was already on my way to
hell? I heard your voice.”
Chills skitter over my skin, but I’m also not sure that I believe him.
“Stop feeding me lines,” I warn, but then Grainger grabs my face and
closes the distance between our mouths. His filthy lips steal over mine,
making me dig my nails into the tops of my leather-clad thighs.
 “It’s true. I fucking died on that table,” he hisses against my mouth, his
own smeared with a tease of my purple lip color. “What sort of a moron
would I be if I kept lying?” Grainger tightens his grip on my hair, keeping
me close. “We’ve gotten more than our fair share of second chances. Don’t
you think?”
I swallow hard, but he’s right. I know he’s right.
We can’t keep running from this.
Either we agree to give our relationship a proper go, or we say good
fucking riddance and be done with it. And I am nowhere near ready to do
that. Not after almost losing him. If anything, it’s made this decision a
relatively easy one, my intimacy issues be damned.
Grainger smirks at me, releasing my hair, but I can read the overwhelming
surety in his face like it’s tattooed on. I don’t believe it for a second though.
He’s unsure. He’s only that cocky because he doesn’t know what I’m
planning on doing, what my marriage to Beast means, if his brother-in-arms
is even willing to share; he’s overcompensating.
That, and neither of us has brought up the pregnancy just yet.
“Anyway, don’t answer me now. Just … think about it. You know I want
you. It’s out there. Now it’s your problem. You decide what to do with it.”
He sighs and leans back into the pillows, closing his eyes and pretending as
if he’s just relaxing with his woman on his lap. In reality, our interaction’s
sapped the last of his strength. He just can’t stand the thought of being
vulnerable, so he hides it well.
The hospital gown has now sagged all the way to his waist, and I can see
multiple bandages across the center part of his chest. If anyone has a right to
feel vulnerable right now, it’d be Cade.
I move to climb off, and he actually squeezes my ass.
I toss an awful look back at him.
“You don’t deserve an entire girl to yourself anyway; you’d drain her dry.”
“You’re the vampire here, doll,” he tells me, opening his eyes back up just
in time to match the dirty smile that’s curved over that obscene mouth of his.
I turn around to look at Cade, finding that intense gaze of his sweeping
over me. It wouldn’t hurt to wonder if, in the past, some of our attraction had
to do with circumstance.
After all, Beast was right: forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.
I wasn’t allowed to have these men; they wouldn’t allow themselves to
have me.
 The setting matters, too, right? Like, motorcycles and leather and darkness
are all very erotic, sexy things. But this? Standing in a bright sterile hospital
room with a million unknowns spread across the sky like storm clouds,
Grainger in a hospital bed, the soft shush and beeping of the machines
monitoring him.
All of those other things are stripped away; it’s just us in here right now.
Even more than that, it’s raw as hell. It’s … tender in a way I’ve never
experienced before.
I decide to change the subject before the atmosphere thickens any further.
“Did you hear about Gaz?” I ask, because I don’t have any fancy words or
pretty prose to feed him or myself right now. I’m coming undone on the
inside. It’s for the best; it’s what I needed. But it’s also the most difficult
thing I’ve ever done, opening myself up to both love and pain.
Because in order to get the former, you accept that the latter is an
inevitable part of the equation—especially when Cade motherfucking
Grainger is involved.
Grainger adjusts himself a little, trying to sit up and then cursing. He
squeezes his hands into fists on the sheets, digging his fingers into the bed
and gritting with frustration. It’s like he’s royally pissed off at himself for
being human.
“I heard.” His voice is starless, a night that’s black and endless, crawling
with dark things with even darker intentions. “I should’ve fucking killed him
sooner.” Grainger puts his hand over his face and breathes into it.
“You were hamstrung by Cat,” I say, trying to comfort him, which is just,
like, weird? Me, comforting Cade goddamn Grainger. Whoever would’ve
thought? “By me, even more so. If I’d just killed Grey, things might’ve gone
down a hell of a lot differently.”
Grainger drops his hand into his lap, studying me like he’s never seen me
before. It’s as if a veil’s been lifted, one that he placed over his own eyes. He
isn’t looking at me like something that should be resisted. No, instead, he’s
staring at me like something that should be consumed.
“I hope Crown remembers where he buried him so I can take a piss on his
grave,” Grainger growls out, reaching up to swipe a thumb along the edge of
my jaw. “Leave it to you to almost die on your wedding day.” He withdraws
his hand, watching me warily, with a tightness to his face that disguises the
real emotions hiding underneath that pretty scowl. “I’ll be home soon,” he
assures me, but I’m not entirely certain that’s true. “Then we can talk this out
more.”
Talk.
And I know exactly what it is that he wants to talk to me about. This
pregnancy. The arrogant surety that the baby is his. Ugh.
“You think you’re capable of that?” I quip, drawing back just enough so
that he can’t keep touching me. If he does, I’ll soon find myself incinerated
to ashes on the floor. “Talking things out? That doesn’t seem like your style.
Why don’t you lay out a line of coke and snort it with a sixteen-year-old
girl?”
Grainger scowls at me, but his eyes track my movements as I head for the
door, pausing as a nurse slips in and gives me a look. This is not the same
nurse from before and, now that the swelling’s receded just a little and I’m
dressed up like a proper club princess, she doesn’t look at me with pity
anymore.
No, there’s fear in her eyes that I decide not to antagonize.
See, I’m growing up fast, aren’t I?
My eyes meet Cade’s, and his go to the nurse’s before shifting back to
mine.
“I love you,” I tell him, and his jaw clenches tight, but I don’t wait to see
if he’s going to answer me. I don’t care if he does.
I slip into the hall and close the door behind me, putting my back against
it.
Beast is waiting for me.
I look up to find him watching me, and my heart breaks into pieces
beneath the intensity of his stare. He escorted me down the hall to Grainger’s
room when I got here, but that’s the only interaction we’ve had since Crown
broke the news to me.
You married me knowing I was pregnant with another man’s baby.
This is soap opera level shit right here.
That or … it’s like love in its purest form. Nothing else matters except that
we’re supposed to be together. Do I believe in that shit? I want to. But if I
allow myself, will it break me?
Probably.
“Sin wants to see you,” Beast tells me, his voice carefully neutral. He
sounds like he’s holding back; I recognize it in the tightness of his shoulders,
the way he seems almost disturbingly calm when he’s anything but.
 “Right.”
I take off down the hall before I’m forced to acknowledge the attention,
finding Sin waiting for me. He’s sitting up, and his color is much improved
from the last time I was here.
A grin takes over my lips as I end up in his lap again. He grunts, but he
puts his arms around me anyway, letting me kiss him with a fervor that
makes me want to wiggle on his lap. If only …
“I might be able to go home this weekend,” he says, his mouth as stained
with lipstick as Grainger’s. I swipe the color away with my thumb.
“Whatever that means.” Sin reaches up to tousle his blue hair.
Back to the farmhouse. Or to my Gram’s place.
That’s what he’s asking.
I decide to shift the subject to an even more agonizing one: the pregnancy.
It’s sort of a time sensitive subject; I can’t bury my head in the sand and
ignore it.
For all the reasons that I wasn’t ready to talk about this with Grainger, I
feel like I should talk about it with Sin. Partially because Grainger is so
damn convinced that he’s the one that got me pregnant. He’s the one I gave
the tests to, that I shared that emotional moment with in the kitchen. He told
the others, but he hasn’t told me yet.
I feel like he’s the one that needs to bring it up.
Sin is like … easy rationality in an irrational world. He’s never told me
what I wanted to hear, just the truth—whether I like it or not. The other
three, I imagine, might romanticize the idea of having a child with me. Sin
wanted to eject me as far and as fast from club life as he could. He won’t
talk me in or out of anything for his own benefit.
“Crown told me,” I admit, and I decide that in the future, group
discussions are in order. It’s fucking agonizing to drag these things out
person by person. But hey, it’s a learning curve.
The whole idea of considering other people’s thoughts and feelings is new
to me. First off, I never gave a shit what Cat or Nellie wanted because they
never gave a shit about me. As for my sisters, I was the youngest and so that
sort of responsibility never fell on my shoulders.
Now, here I am with two huge issues that need working out: the pregnancy
and the sharing.
Beast said he might not be inclined to share.
So what the fuck does that mean?
 What do I do if that’s the case?
The only way I’m going to find out the answers to my questions is to
figure out how to talk things through with these men.
Sin grimaces, resting his hands on my hips. He knows what I’m talking
about, even if I’m being vague.
“I figured you wouldn’t be happy,” he remarks, but in a carefully neutral
sort of way.
I push my hair back with both hands and stare down at him. He said that
once he had me, he was never letting go. But does this change things?
Should it?
Not for the first time, I wish that we’d had a normal—at least for us,
anyway—reception. I wish Beast and I had been able to dance all night, and
fuck until morning, and I wish that stupid test was negative.
But wishes don’t get things done.
Actions do.
I should know: my list of unfilled wishes is longer than Beast’s dick—and
trust me, not many things are.
“I’m not, and I’m still processing it.” I scrub at my face with both hands
and try to breathe through the sudden rush of anxiety. Until just now, it
hadn’t hit me. It’s hitting me now. Hard.
I feel panicked, jittery, both trapped and wildly free at the same time.
Sin takes my hands away from my face and forces them down into my lap.
“If you could go anywhere and do anything right now, what would you
choose?” he asks, almost disturbingly calm. I don’t see how he can be. He
should be freaking out right now. I almost want him to freak out, so that I
don’t have to.
Even though my heart is racing, and that anxious feeling is sweeping over
me in a tidal wave, I make myself stop and think. If I could go anywhere, do
anything …
“I’d get on a bike—my own bike—and I would take a road trip. No
particular destination in mind. I’d just ride until I felt like stopping. And I
would stop wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted.”
Sin listens to that for a moment, mulling my words over. The silver hoops
that line his right ear are missing; I assume the medical staff removed them
at some point?
“Alone?” he clarifies, and I give him a sharp look. “What? It’s a valid
question. Who would you take on the ride with you? Just yourself? Reba?”
His mouth twitches with distaste and he meets my eyes with his silver ones.
“Grey?”
“I … don’t know.” Only I do. I’m just afraid to say it, to put it to words.
It’s too much to hope for. I’ve already gotten more than I deserve, with
Grainger and Sin living to see another day. How could I possibly ask for
more than that?
“Figure out the answer to that question; it’ll help.” Sin pulls me close
again for another kiss, but it’s tainted a bit with our matching issues. We
both have fears of being abandoned. Of being alone. Even if neither of us
will dare admit it.
Beast escorts me back into the waiting area, and my eyes catch Crown’s
right away.
His gaze follows me as the two of us approach together. He can’t miss the
shine of Beast’s ring on my finger or the heaviness of his jacket on my
shoulders. It’s all there, all of the possessive things he dreamed about but can
never have.
He wants a baby.
So even if I decide not to continue this pregnancy, children are a part of
the future that Crown wants for himself. I’m not sure if I’ve ever even
considered having kids. I’m neither for or against it, it seems; it’s just that I
never imagined my life taking place years or decades down the line.
More than once, I’ve been sure that this is it, the end of my existential
crisis.
I’ve spent so much time wondering if I might die, that I haven’t given
much thought to what I might do if I lived.
That’s sad. That’s so fucking, goddamn sad.
“The two of you can’t just keep switching places like this,” I tell Crown,
before he gets a chance to open that annoying mouth of is. I might still have
a jacked-up face, but at least I’m dressed the way I like, and my makeup is
as good as it gets for someone who got clocked in the jaw by her rat-fucking
brother. My uniform makes me feel more powerful. “You both have to sleep
at some point.”
 “I’ll—” Crown starts, and I wave my hand dismissively.
“Sleep when you’re dead. I know, I know. But that doesn’t work for me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, your majesty,” Crown drawls out, flicking his tongue
against the edge of his mouth. “Does my work schedule displease you?
Perhaps you’d like to figure out how we’re going to fit three other chapters
worth of men onto the compound? Make all of the local families comfortable
as they hunker down in the clubhouse? Organize guard rotation for all of our
people that are currently staying in the hospital? Take your pick.”
“I’ll do any or all of those things if you’ll just give me the chance,” I snap
back at him, shoving my fingers through my hair and exhaling to release
some of my anger. “Put me to work.”
Crown doesn’t expect my answer, his eyes narrowing on me before he lifts
his gaze up to Beast.
“We need to talk,” he tells him, and I get the sense that this is about me.
“If you need to talk about me, I sure would enjoy being included,” I quip
right back, stepping between them.
“Probably best if it were later,” Beast clarifies, his accent thicker than I’ve
ever heard it before. He rubs his hand against the blond stubble on his face.
“After the wedding night.”
Crown tenses up, but when Beast wraps an arm around my shoulders and
escorts me to the door, he doesn’t stop him. I can feel Crown staring after us
as we go, my heart pounding in my chest. We head straight for the Escalade,
and Beast opens the rear passenger door for me, waiting until I’ve climbed in
before shutting it and moving over to the front driver’s side.
“If anyone needs to talk, you and I do,” I say, buckling my seat belt and
glancing into the rearview to get a read on his expression. He seems calm.
He must know about the pregnancy, right? If Crown knows then Beast would
have to.
“Later,” he assures me, starting the car and heading back in the direction
of the compound. Beast’s hands tighten on the wheel enough that it squeaks
beneath his grip, and then he forcibly relaxes himself. “You wouldn’t want to
have a conversation with me right now.”
I open my mouth, but then I can’t decide what it was that I wanted to say.
I continue to stare at him in the rearview mirror, but his stoic expression
gives absolutely nothing away.
When we get back to the compound, the on-duty guards open the back
door and shine a fucking flashlight in my face. I’m tempted to hiss at them,
but instead, I just cross my arms and stare back at them like the vampire
Grainger accused me of being.
Intense. Baleful. Undead.
They check the back seat, slam the door, and off we go.
Beast thinks sitting back here in the center seat keeps me the safest from
snipers, so … this is now my go-to spot. Anyway, the guards checked us on
our way out with just as much attention to detail, so I guess Grey stays
another day. Maybe a week. Maybe longer.
I stare out the window as we head through the main parking area and then
rattle our way up the makeshift road that leads to the farmhouse. There are
people fucking everywhere on the compound, in a way I’ve never seen
before.
All the families of local members.
This is insane; it’s unprecedented.
A lot of the families—at least half, I’d say—don’t really have anything to
do with the club at all. Their husbands are members, but they go to school
and work and live like anyone else. Not everybody’s as embroiled in this shit
as I am, tangled up in the bloodied tendons of club life like a tumor.
With a growl, I turn back toward the front of the SUV.
Gaz really fucked things up, didn’t he? Cat never needed to know that I’d
stolen Grey; he never needed to know that his officers were involved. We
could’ve worked our way out of the Grey Wolfe Mafia mess without my
father ever being the wiser.
This complicates things.
When we pull up in front of the farmhouse, Beast climbs out and moves to
open the door for me, a gentlemanly behavior that I can accept. Mostly. I eye
him warily as he climbs in beside me and slams the door shut.
His hand ends up on the side of my neck, and I go completely still before
he puts his lips near my ear, grazing that glorious stubble of his against my
cheek.
“Was that fear, Gidge?” he drawls, his voice tight and strained.
“No,” I say. It’s the truth.
It isn’t fear; it’s something else entirely.
“Good. Know that as your husband, I will never hurt you.” His hand
tightens slightly on my neck, and he adjusts his mouth to meet mine. His
lips, when they do brush mine, hurt worse than any other kiss I’ve ever
received.
 It’s a quiet, desperate sort of violence lined up beside a savage claiming.
My tongue flicks across my husband’s bottom lip as he pulls away to look
at me, putting our foreheads together as his grip on the back of my neck
squeezes just a little more, and I groan, caught somewhere between a
massage and a possession.
“Not unless you ask me to,” he murmurs, licking up the side of my face.
My hands fist in his cut, and I find myself enamored with the song of our
attraction. The tempo is made up of frantic breaths; the rhythm is the
shushing whisper of leather on leather; the beat is my heart, a steady but
rapid flicker of muscle that leaves my pulse racing and my body wracked
with dizziness.
A gasp escapes me as Beast puts his teeth to the side of my neck, grazing
the throb of my carotid.
“I’ve tried my best to remain a gentleman for you, suge,” he growls, and
then he’s biting me in that tender space between my neck and shoulder, and
I’m thrusting my hips up off the leather seat. I’ve always found the back of
this SUV pleasantly roomy.
Not with Beast in it.
He takes up all of the extra space, consumes the oxygen until I’m not sure
if I’m even breathing anymore. I could be dying. If so, if this is what death
feels like, I would gladly give into it.
A groan slips out as he grabs my right hand with his left, pinning it to the
seat with unbelievable strength.
“But I don’t have to be.” Beast moves his mouth back to mine, using his
right hand to fist in my hair as he kisses me like I dare not even ask him to
share. Like this is it. And if it is, I have to be okay with that.
My thighs spread willingly, wrapping around his huge body as he bites my
bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth.
“Ask me.”
It doesn’t sound like a request.
I swallow hard, lids fluttering as I try to keep them open. I want nothing
more than to close them and let myself drift away on a dark river, drowning
underneath the harsh current. That’s what Beast is, a mighty river meant to
carry me away.
“Hurt me so good that I forget everything else,” I murmur, pushing
thoughts of Gaz and Cat from my mind. Old, ugly memories. New, persistent
threats. “Hurt me, Beast.”
 He reaches down and grabs a lever on the side of the seat, making it lean
back at a forty-five-degree angle so that he can cover me with his body. His
tongue slides along the edge of my jaw until he’s biting my ear with a growl.
His left hand slides up and underneath my shirt, seeking my breasts through
my bra. As soon as his fingertips glide across the lace of one cup, he digs
into it and tears a hole in the delicate fabric. The hard, pert point of my
nipple ends up between his rough fingers, rubbing and pinching as I groan
with reckless abandon.
There’s nobody out here to listen.
Nobody out here to hear me scream.
The farmhouse is far enough away from the main clubhouse, and the only
people in it are Grey and Reba. They can both watch for all that I give a shit.
Guess we’ll be testing the Escalade, just to see if the shocks can absorb a
little bounce.
When Beast kisses me again, I bite his lip, and he lets out a small, gruff
laugh, grabbing my chin in his right hand and making me gasp. He never
stops playing with my nipple, igniting this line of fire between my chest and
my cunt. I can feel a needy pulsing and throbbing between my legs, and I
want his huge cock to fill it.
My husband’s cock, I think, and the idea thrills me just as much as it freaks
me out.
Sin asked me who I would take on that fictional trip of mine. It’s a valid
question.
Would I take Beast with me?
Oh yeah.
“This is why I like you, Gidge,” he purrs against my ear, rubbing his
cheek against mine again. “The only woman strong enough to be my wife.”
He pulls back just slightly, pushing my shirt up and over my breasts. Beast
drops his hot mouth to my exposed nipple, and I almost choke on the rush of
pleasure, digging my nails into the back of his head and pulling him against
me.
He sucks me hard enough to make me see stars, and then he bites down,
and I really do scream—but with pleasure, not pain. I hold him against me as
he works my breast up until my nipple’s on fire, and then switches to the
other side. This time, he leaves the lace where it is, flicking his tongue
against the hardened bud and making me arch up against him.
 “Maybe we should go inside?” I whisper, but Beast ignores me, taking his
time with my breast before kissing down my still-flat stomach. His fingertips
graze the waistband of my cherry red leather pants.
“No.”
Just that one word.
My new husband unbuttons and unzips me, taking hold of the waistband
and yanking the pants over my hips. My skin is mottled with bruises from
the blast, but Beast protected me from the worst of it with his body. He may
as well drape himself across me all over again, full circle and all that.
With my pants around my ankles, Beast grabs my hips and turns me over,
pressing me into the reclined back of the chair. My arms wrap around the
headrest as he undoes his own jeans, pressing the hot head of his cock
against my tight opening. I can’t spread my legs now that my pants are in the
way.
Beast braces his right hand on the edge of the still-upright seat to our
right, thrusting into me with one hard, fast motion of his hips.
It’s almost too much.
He’s huge, and I’m tight, and it’s been days.
I bite my lower lip, my teeth finding the same indentation that Beast left
with his own teeth.
“Wait, wait,” I breathe out, but he puts his mouth up against my neck and
licks the side of it.
“You can handle me, Gidge. You’re the only one,” he tells me, and then he
begins to move, and that sharp prick of pain very quickly becomes
overwhelming pleasure as my body stretches to accommodate him.
“When did you know …” I whisper, choking on the words, burning to ash
on the inside. My phone buzzes, but I ignore it. Beast’s buzzes. He ignores
his, too, which probably isn’t a very smart thing to do. I’m not sure either of
us gives a shit in that moment.
There is no club.
There are no other men.
It’s just me and him, his body buried inside of mine, that coiled fury of his
pumping into me with each hard thrust, pinning me to the seat. I can feel the
SUV shaking with each movement, creaking slightly.
“When did I what, darlin’?” he purrs against the side of my neck, biting
me again and causing my hips to buck back against him of their own will. I
swear, I take him even deeper then and he readjusts one hand to my hip to
hold me there, forcing himself in another inch.
I cry out, squeezing the leather seat for support. Is that it? I hope that’s it. I
hope it’s not.
Beast fucks me so hard and deep that I swear, I can feel him moving in my
belly. I have to bite my lip yet again to try to stifle the guttural, almost
animal-like moans spilling from my throat.
I’ve always been bad. I’ve always liked sinful things. And this? A
supposed communion of husband and wife, something that’s supposed to be
sacred in certain circles. And we’re managing to make it dirty and raw as
fuck.
“Sugar,” Beast repeats, almost a warning. He slows the movement of his
hips so that I can talk. Still, my voice is breathy and weak, twisted up with
sex and need.
“When did you know you wanted me?” I whisper, feeling my body pulse
and clench around him, milking him. I’ve got such a greedy cunt, trying for
more seed when it’s clearly had enough. I push back against him anyway,
just to feel my ass press against his sweaty skin.
Beast strokes a hand over the round shape of my ass, and then reaches up
to wrap that same hand over my mouth.
“As soon as you looked me dead in the eye and begged me to fuck you
without a hint of fear. That’s when.” He thrusts in hard and deep, and my
sounds of wild abandon are stifled by his palm over my lips. Beast fucks me
so vigorously, so desperately that I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.
Everything is feral and unhinged, and I just want more of it, more of him.
Harder, faster.
The frenzy inside of me coils up, unfurling like a whip and making me
scream again. I can feel the orgasm hit me like a freight train, and then my
body’s squeezing and wrapping Beast’s, drawing him deeper, making him
curse.
He pulls out so abruptly that I fall against the seat in complete shock, still
quivering and shaking from the aftershocks of the orgasm.
“I need a minute, Gidge,” he tells me, and then he’s kicking the door open
and buttoning his pants up as he takes off. I stare after him while I struggle
to swallow and breathe, shakily turning myself around and slumping in the
seat so that I can fix my own pants.
 I follow after him because, like I said before, I love the taste of sin on my
tongue.
“Beast.”
I find him behind the house, one hand on the wall, his head hanging down.
He’s breathing hard, like he’s trying to collect himself, to bring back that
cool, calm assuredness he wears so well. Sin said he wasn’t sure if Beast
ever fucked anyone, if he even cared about such earthly pursuits.
I see that it’s the exact opposite.
He cares a lot; he lets sex carry him away on a river of fire.
He cares too much, so maybe he didn’t screw a lot of groupies. I can’t
imagine it. I just can’t.
“Give me a minute, hun,” he says, and the nickname melts my heart. It
doesn’t come across in a sweet, cloying sort of way like it does when Reba
says it. There’s an edge there that makes my pussy clench so tight that I end
up wrapping a hand over my crotch and squeezing.
He sees me do it and curses, turning away, like he might take off again.
I move after him and grab onto his arm; he whips a sharp warning look
back at me.
“I mean it: Gidge. Back off.”
“No.”
I release his arm, but I just stand there, shaking and panting, wearing his
ring and his jacket. I cross my arms obstinately.
“I won’t,” I continue, fully confident in my position. “I’m your wife now,
not just some hot fuck. If I want to follow you, I damn well will. It’s my
right.”
Beast growls at me, and then he’s grabbing my arm and twisting it behind
my back. I end up with my cheek pressed to the side of the house, his other
hand wresting my pants down over my ass. He mounts me unceremoniously
and ruts me into the wall, hard and fast and violent.
If this is what he was running from, then I’m glad I gave chase.
“I love it,” I murmur, even with my arm trapped, and my face pressed to
the wall. “More. Fuck me harder.”
“Goddamn it,” he breathes, accent thick and syrupy. He licks the side of
my neck again, and I push back against him, only to be pinned to the wall by
his pistoning hips as he fucks me hard and comes with a ragged, masculine
groan.
 Beast goes still suddenly, releasing my arm just in time for Crown to
appear around the corner.
He stares at the two of us with this expression of impossible rage on his
face, and I ask myself yet again how the hell I think this is all going to work.
“You animal,” Crown says lightly, reminding me, oddly enough, of Giulia
Wolfe. Pretty sure she said the exact same thing to me once upon a time. The
thing is, we’re all animals. Some of us are wolves, some are bears, some are
rats (like Gaz). Giulia is a fucking viper.
Beast slides out of me and manages to catch me around the waist before I
fall. He hefts me up and turns me around so that I’m leaning back against the
side of the house, panting heavily. I don’t even bother to fix my pants just
yet. No point.
I stare at Beast’s profile as he studies Crown.
“You’re back already?” he asks, like he’s annoyed by the idea.
“Gidget is right. I’m exhausted. If I don’t get some sleep, I won’t make it
another step.” Crown is staring at me now, but I can’t seem to bring myself
to look away from Beast. “There are still men that I trust in this club, believe
it or not.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” Beast tells him, but even though I’m not looking at
him, I see Crown give a loose shrug of his shoulders.
“Sin and Grainger are at least awake now; they can babysit themselves.”
Crown turns away, but not before trying one, last time to get me to look at
him. I finally do, and I see that his eyes … they’re blazing. He looks at me
like something that should be devoured whole.
I just stare at him for a minute before he turns away and takes off.
Birds chirp in the late afternoon sunshine as I close my eyes and lean my
head back against the house, feeling warm rays on places that don’t usually
see the sun. The air is hot and thick with smoke from those stupid, goddamn
wildfires.
“Come on, wife,” Beast says, his voice substantially less dark than it was
earlier. He waits for me to open my eyes and pull up my own pants, meeting
my gaze as I look up at him. He touches a thumb to my lips, and I shiver.
“That’s when I knew, that night. It wasn’t right, what we did. But I wasn’t
strong enough to resist you. Of everything I’ve ever encountered, every
person, every situation, I’ve been able to make the right choice regardless of
what I wanted.”
 Beast steps closer to me, putting his big hands on my waist and drawing
me close. I tilt my head back automatically, groaning and sagging against
him as he kisses down the side of my throat.
“You’re the only exception.”
“Beast, I’m … pregnant,” I whisper, hating that I even have to say it, but
knowing there’s no other choice for us now but pure, raw honesty. “And it’s
not yours.”
“You’re my wife,” he says, kissing my neck again and giving me goose
bumps. “So it’s mine. I explained that to you.”
“Grainger won’t like that,” I whisper back, but Beast just grunts, as if his
opinion is inconsequential.
“Come with me,” he says, giving me such a long, studying sort of look
that I know I’m not leaving his bed until tomorrow. Or maybe the day after
that. Maybe longer.
Beast holds out a hand to indicate that I should move past him, and I do,
loving the feel of his heavy shadow trailing along behind me. He’s got my
back in a way that I’ve never had before; I trust him implicitly.
Trust.
Wow.
I make quick work of the front steps and head inside to see Grey leaning
against one wall, watching us with heather gray eyes.
“That was quite the show,” he murmurs as I pass by him, just a hint of that
cocky playboy he used to be in his words. Without so much as a breath of
hesitation, Beast reaches out and wraps the fingers of his left hand around
the mafia brat’s neck, slamming him into the wall.
Grey grits his teeth and curls his hands around Beast’s, but he doesn’t
fight him. He goes perfectly still, as if he knows that’s his only chance to
make it out of this alive.
“Be quiet, boy. I wouldn’t lose a lick o’ sleep putting you in the ground.”
Beast shoves him hard against the wall and Grey grunts as I watch
impassively, offering a silent apology with my eyes but little more. He’s on
club turf now, club rules. These are my men and my house.
“I warned you,” I tell him as he coughs and puts a hand to his throat, his
eyes steely as he watches us walk down the hall. The only reassurance I get
that he isn’t going to do anything stupid is the faintest hint of a smirk before
we pass through the living room and into the second hall.
The door to Beast’s room is on the right.
 He pauses behind me, but he doesn’t touch me.
“Your wedding dress is in the bag on the dresser,” he tells me, and I blink
in surprise, glancing back to look at him. But he’s staring down the hall in
the direction of the living room instead. “Put it on.”
He takes off as I exhale and open the door, slamming it closed behind me
and putting my back to it.
Oh my god. Holy fuck. Holy fucking fuck.
I rub at my face with both hands.
“What have I gotten myself into?” I whisper, pushing away from the door
and stumbling over to the dresser on shaky legs. I unzip the duffel and find
my dress—Nellie’s dress—stuffed haphazardly inside.
How many days ago was the wedding? I’m so disoriented. I unzip one of
the jacket pockets and slide my phone out. Two days.
“It’s only been two fucking days?!” I choke, starting to put the phone
down and then realizing that I never checked the message that came in
earlier. I feel a frown pull at my lips when I see that it’s an automatic alert.
Lane County Emergency System - this is an automated message. Your area
has been upgraded to a Level 1 - Be Ready - Alert. Please be aware that fire
danger exists in your location. Make preparations, perform precautionary
relocation for those with special needs, pets, and livestock.
“Fuck.”
The year my sisters died, there was ash on the wind. Now, it’s back, and I
can taste it every time I step foot outside the goddamn door. I’m not
someone who generally believes in omens, but nobody could argue that this
is good news in any way, shape, or form.
The club and the mafia are both powerful entities, but even they can’t stop
a literal firestorm.
Still, it’s only a level one alert for now. The club won’t move any of its
people for anything less than level three—and even then, it’s questionable.
We have hoses, water tanks, and other firefighting equipment on the
compound.
With a sigh, I chuck the phone aside. One nice thing about throwing in
with four outlaws of questionable motives, all of whom are nursing alpha
male complexes, is that this isn’t my problem. Let them worry about and talk
over the fire danger.
If it’s time to move, we’ll move.
 Part of me wonders if it wouldn’t be nice for this whole damn city to burn
to the fucking ground, but then I remember that the sorts of grudges held
between the club and the mafia are the kind that taint the very earth with
blood, all the way down to its liquid, molten core.
I snatch the dress up and take it with me into the bathroom, starting the
shower and stripping down to nothing. Like I did in the mafia’s hideout the
morning before my wedding to Grey, I lean over the sink and stare into the
mirror.
My face is still swollen, yes, but it’s substantially better already.
I managed to escape that entire mess with minimal injuries.
My dark eyes look accusatory, even though it’s only myself that I’m
staring at. My makeup is expertly applied, but it looks almost desperate in
this light, covering up those bruises, that swelling. It almost makes me look
younger, as opposed to older.
Next time, I won’t cake it on quite so heavily.
The mirror begins to fog up and I push away, staring down at the white
dress draped over the closed lid of the toilet.
When Nellie put that dress on for the first time, did she have any idea of
what a shit show her life would turn out to be? Would she have cared?
Would her love for Cat still have spurred her to do what she did anyway?
Her son is now dead. She isn’t, but only because she was on her best
behavior the night of the reception. In that, she didn’t need any of the
antidote from Grey or Reba because she’d been true to her word and hadn’t
touched the kegs or cocaine.
If I have a baby, will he just end up like Gaz? Rotten to the core, head
blown open by his own father? Or what if it’s a girl?
A shiver takes over me, and I shake my head again.
I shower, dry off, and then spend a stupid amount of time braiding my
dark hair so that it doesn’t frizz all over the place. A bit of light foundation, a
very light dusting of eyeshadow, and some gloss to help disguise a bit of the
damage.
I look at myself again.
Better.
I slip the dress on but not before donning the lacy undergarments I picked
out for this exact purpose. Reba cursed up a storm—in her own way, like son
of a biscuit—when she saw what was in the package I unwrapped.
White.
 What an ironic color.
For the wedding itself, I chose the red thong. For the wedding night … I
caved in and went semi-traditional. Mostly so I could see Beast defile these
pretty white slips of sensuality and satin.
I sit down on the edge of the bed to wait, eventually turning onto my side
and staring at the far wall. My stomach twists with nausea, but it’s just
because I’m nervous for Beast to come back and nothing to do with … that.
“You chased and you pushed until you got exactly what you wanted,” I
whisper, and for a split-second there, I almost manage to convince myself
that I picked the wrong thing.
I should’ve left Grey and taken off by myself, gotten on a plane and left for
Paris. Or Tokyo. Or Seoul. Anywhere but here.
But then what? What the fuck would I do? This shit is in my blood; the
club has its ugly claws so deep inside of me that I’d probably bleed to death
if those sharp objects were torn abruptly out. Who am I kidding? I can’t live
a normal, boring, easy life. I would suffocate.
This is where I want to be, in the heart of everything.
In the hearts of those four men.
The door cracks open, but I don’t look up.
I can’t.
I feel frozen in place.
Footsteps enter, and the door closes with a soft, strange finality, cutting off
this moment from the rest of the world.
I finally convince my nervous heart to look and see that Beast is standing
there in the doorway, watching me.
“You look good like that,” he says, voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it.
“Stretched out on my bed.”
“What were you doing?” I ask him, because he wasn’t just giving me time
to change.
It was something else.
“Talkin’ to Crown,” Beast drawls, but he doesn’t look particularly happy
about it.
“Did you see the fire alert?” I ask, and he steps forward, shrugging out of
his cut and tossing it onto the dresser.
“I saw it,” he says, and his voice makes me shiver all over. I could bathe
in that sound.
 I think back to the night of the clubhouse party two years ago, when I saw
him fight, how much I wanted him even then.
Now he’s mine.
He’s actually mine, and it’s fucking official.
And I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man would not only
kill for me, but that he’d also die for me. He proved that—more than once.
His eyes rake over me and he curses, rubbing at his stubble in a way that
says he very much misses his beard.
That makes me smile.
“You can grow it back if you want,” I tell him, and he pauses, seeming to
realize what it is that he’s doing. The expression on his face grows darker, as
if he knows what I’m about to say. “Or you can rub it against my inner
thighs while you fuck me with your tongue.”
“You’re lucky we had a quick rut out back or you’d be in some serious
trouble,” Beast tells me, slipping off his shirt and revealing a drool-worthy
midsection that was clearly carved up by the hand of a horny goddess. If I
closed my eyes and imagined what I wanted a man to look like, and then
opened them, I’d be seeing the same damn thing.
Beast is just as bruised as I am. Worse, actually. There are some splotchy
areas with deep redness around them that would concern me if the
compound doc hadn’t already taken a look. Also, he’s got bandages up and
down both arms, covering a myriad of minor cuts and burns.
He might get hurt if we end up naked and tangled together, but I think,
like with me, that he doesn’t give a shit.
We were supposed to have a wedding night, and even if the whole world
has gone to shit since then, we’ll put it on pause for this.
Beast puts one knee on the end of the bed, and I sit up, leaning back into
his pillows. Everything in here he likely brought over from Gram’s place,
and it all smells like him. I take in a deep breath to drink it all in, filling my
lungs with his scent.
I take it we’re not going to talk about the Crown thing right now which is
just fine by me.
This isn’t about him or Sin or Grainger, not at all.
This is just about me and Beast.
“Spread those pretty thighs for me, and I’ll give you exactly what you
want,” he promises, his voice a sultry kiss for my senses. Only one thing
about that statement bothers me.
 The scars …
My fingers drop down, tracing a ridged line of pink flesh. Beast follows
the motion, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he moves forward on the
bed, reaching out to take my knees and pushing them apart.
“I spent a lot of time figuring how this might go,” he admits, staring at the
white lace thong I’m wearing, the one with a simple split down the center for
easy access. “I waited not so patiently. I watched you fuck other men.” His
blue eyes lift to mine, the light catching on his septum piercing and his dirty
blond hair as he takes me in. “I touched myself every night thinkin’ o’ you,
sugar.”
He runs his fingers down the thigh-highs tucked into my white motorcycle
boots. Ironically, they cover the best parts of my legs and leave the scarred
parts bare. I figure that’s okay though, right? Now my thighs match the
shape and texture of my heart.
“You’re a sadistic bastard,” I whisper as Beast turns his head, rubbing his
stubbled cheek against the softness of the thigh-highs. The whispering sound
of his roughness against that gentle lace, it gives me chills. “You organized
that gang bang in the living room.”
My voice is almost accusatory, and Beast picks up on it, smiling more to
himself than he is to me. With the curtains and blinds shut on both windows,
it’d be near pitch-black in here if it weren’t for the almost disturbingly lovely
pair of lamps on either side of the bed.
They’ve got glass shades, Tiffany style or something. Guess not all of
Crown’s taste is bad.
As carefully as he did that night on the sofa in my grandmother’s living
room, Beast removes first one of my boots, and then the other. I’m glad now
that I put them on, just so he could take them off. It’s the sense of
anticipation in all of this that makes it fun.
“I want you to choose me,” Beast says, and not in the past tense, like it’s
already done, but like it has yet to happen. He crawls forward so that his
hands are on either side of me and I’m sliding down the mountain of pillows
to lie flat on my back.
My heart is on fucking fire. My chest burns. Old Gidget is breaking into
pieces, and someone new is emerging from the ash. Not yet. But I’m clawing
my way out of the grit, one desperate handhold at a time.
“Choose you …” I start, trailing off, studying him. It’s hard to think
clearly with him hovering over me the way he is, his bare chest within reach,
the rest of his gorgeous body swathed in denim. My only complaint right
now is that there isn’t a cheap, seedy mirror on the ceiling so I could watch
his ass while he fucks me. “I do choose you, Catcher,” I say, thinking about
how he said he was going to take me to Tennessee and show me off. “I
married you.”
He gives a shake of his head, still watching me from a ruggedly handsome
face. I keep joking about how all the boys are old and shit, but this is
timeless beauty. I rest my hands on either of his cheeks, teasing my fingers
up and into his hair. It’s styled the way it always is, a very particular sort of
way for someone who doesn’t seem all that concerned with his appearance.
A slight smile curves my lips as I purposefully muss up that perfect hair,
but it slips right off when I realize that Beast hasn’t actually replied to me.
He’s still thinking, staying quiet the way he does sometimes.
“What if I told you that this was it?” he asks me, and the question is like a
stake to the heart.
I start to feel sick; I start to panic.
“You and me?” I query back, and he licks his lower lip.
“You and me, wife. Just us.”
I look away for a moment because I can’t possibly think clearly with him
staring at me like that.
“That’s a hard pill to swallow,” I admit, and even though he tries to hide it
from me, I can feel him tensing. His emotions are written into every line of
his body, whether he wants to admit it or not. I let myself have a minute
before turning back. Both of my hands come up to slide over Beast’s
muscular shoulders, tracing one of his tattoos with a fingernail. “Because
that would mean it was just me, vulnerable and open in front of you with
nobody else around. That terrifies me. I’m not sure I can handle that.”
“Which part of it?” he grumbles, lowering himself onto me. His mouth
finds mine, and then his tongue is just there, and it’s hot, and I’m having
trouble remembering what we’re even talking about. “Gidge.”
I huff out a breath that fans against his lips, sliding my palms greedily
down his back and drinking in all of his hardness, all of that strength and
power. It’s mine. It’s all mine. He is all mine.
“You seeing me for what I am.” I frown and then shake my head. “No,
more like … me seeing me for who I am, if that makes any sense. If you’re
around, and Crown is around, Sin, Grainger, then it’s … I have other things
to do. But if it was just us? Eventually, I’d have to look inside and see who I
really am.”
“Sometimes, we hype up things in our mind to the point that they start to
scare us, but if we just tackled them head-on, they ain’t so bad. I don’t know
a lot of things, Gidge, but I do know this: if you looked inside yourself,
you’d like what you see. I promise that.”
He cups the side of my face, kissing me again. It’s in no way less
demanding than it was before, but there’s enough restraint to it that maybe
… But then his hand digs into my hair, and he’s pressing in, kissing me long
and deep, making me moan and writhe underneath him.
Beast reaches between us to undo his jeans, finds my molten core, and
drives into me yet again, like he just can’t fucking wait a second longer. The
headboard slams into the wall with each thrust of his hips, but it’s hard to
care about that. Who’s here to listen? Reba will put headphones on or hum to
herself; I’m sure Grey’s learned his lesson.
Crown … will have to get used to this.
If …
I can’t quite decide what Beast is trying to say to me, what he’s asking.
He grinds his pelvis into mine, pushing so deep that he makes my lower
stomach muscles ache from all the clenching and squeezing they’re doing.
I’m going to be so goddamn sore tomorrow.
“Fuck, that feels good,” I groan, threading my fingers in his hair as he
moves over me. His eyes find mine, and I think back to that first night we
spent together in the pool. And then outside of the pool. And then almost
two years later, right next to that goddamn pool again.
Other than that, the only other time we fucked was in the closet after the
wedding.
That’s it.
Well, except for today of course. This is all brand-new.
New and shiny and exciting.
“I’ll make you feel good until the day I breathe my last breath,” Beast
murmurs, and then he’s pushing my right thigh up toward my chest and
fucking me until I’m certain that this is my last breath. Pleasure crashes over
me, making me sex drunk, making me sloppy and needy in a way I haven’t
really allowed myself to be before.
This isn’t a quick fuck and a goodbye, a last hurrah before we go back to
ignoring one another, pretending the other person doesn’t exist while pining
after them.
This is a new chapter.
I refuse to allow myself to sink back into ruin; I will revel in glory.
“Turn over,” I whisper, putting a hand on Beast’s chest to halt his
movements. I’m not ready to come just yet.
He studies me in that way of his, a way that might be unnerving if I were
quite literally anyone else.
Beast rolls onto his back, taking me with him for the ride and leaving me
breathless above him. His cock remains sheathed inside of me, and I bite my
lower lip, adjusting my hips and leaning forward. How the fuck does he feel
even bigger like this?! I wonder, bracing my palms on his stomach and
trying to find a comfortable sitting position.
“Easy, wife,” he murmurs, and the sound of his voice makes me feel hot
and sweaty. I sit back with a groan, letting my head hang back, my braid
slithering over my shoulder like a dark serpent. Lids half-cracked, I start to
move, undulating my hips against his thick shaft, taking him all the way
inside of me. Once I’m fully seated, I start to move faster, harder, pressing
down against him and finding a spot that gets my clit.
As impassive as Beast can be sometimes, he’s a very attentive lover. I’m
not just fucking a huge cock and a hard body; I’m fucking him. He makes
that very clear by reaching up and taking my chin between strong fingers,
tilting my face down to look at him.
“Whose wife are you, sugar? Tell me,” he commands, and I groan,
pushing my hips down harder, fucking him harder.
“Yours,” I murmur back, my voice this breathy, wild thing, like a bird with
bright red eyes and black plumage, something taking flight. My nails dig
into Beast’s bruised body, marking him as the slickness between our bodies
grows, my arousal drenching us both.
Beast takes my hips in his hands, gripping hard, his jaw clenching, eyes
glittering.
“Say it again,” he tells me, but he forgets that I’m the one on top right
now.
I slow the roll of my hips and look down at him, a pretty frown
blossoming on my mouth.
“Whose husband are you?” I ask, and he lets out this low, deep chuckle
that vibrates straight through him and into me.
 “Was Cat right? You gonna give me trouble, darlin’?” he asks, but I just
give another hard push of my hips against him, and he curses up a sultry
storm that has me flushing with pleasure. I love that, seeing how I can get
him to break in a way that nobody else can.
“Alright, alright,” he purrs, sliding his hands under the wedding dress in
such a way that I can see he’s ready for me to take it off. I grab hold of the
hem in tight fingers and then cock a brow, looking down at him with what I
hope is a serious expression. “Your husband, hun. Just yours.”
I tear the dress off and toss it aside, loving the flare of heat in his eyes
when he sees what I’ve got on underneath.
A white balconette bra that pushes the girls up and makes them look full
and plump, ready to spill over the lacy edge of the garment. There’s a single
red bow in the center, just a hint of sin to break up the disturbingly virginal
white color.
It matches the red bow at the top of the panties, the crotch-less ones that
are now soaked straight through. The panties are situated over the garter belt
because, if you’re in the know, it’s obvious that’s how lingerie is meant to be
put on, so that the underwear can come off and the thigh-highs and garter
belt stay.
Beast traces the hard nub of my clit through the lacy panties with the pad
of his thumb. All the while, he keeps his gaze on me, holding me captive.
“I didn’t look for a bird with pretty wings just to clip them,” he promises
me, and that practiced frown on my face slides away. I don’t want to be
practiced or cool or perfect right now.
I just want to be Gidge.
Here, with Beast, I know it’s enough.
“Fuck,” I murmur, and then I move hard and fast until I’m shattering to
pieces and coming all over him, drenching him in slick heat as my pussy
milks his cock and brings him over the edge along with me.
I collapse forward on top of him, and his arms go around me, a huge hand
stroking its way down my back. His lips press against the side of my head,
that glorious stubble of his making me wiggle against him.
“If it’s too much, let me know,” he murmurs, but I have no idea what he’s
talking about, not until he flips us over again and retreats between my thighs.
Beast looks down at my lace-covered cunt, cupping it with his hand and
teasing me through the opening in the fabric with his thumb. It’s almost too
sensitive right now, still pulsing and throbbing from my orgasm. “Mm, I like
the sight of that. My seed dripping right out of that pretty pink pussy of
yours.”
He slides his thumb in, and I bite my lip to keep back an embarrassing
sound, reaching up with both hands to curl my fingers around the headboard.
Beast moves that finger in and out for a moment before removing it. I know
what he’s looking at right now: those residual contractions of my cunt, his
cum dripping down my ass crack.
I don’t expect him to go down on me now, but he does anyway, scraping
his cheek against the fabric of the thigh-highs again with a groan before
pressing his hot mouth to the inside of my right leg. Beast takes his time
tasting my skin as I lie there and stare up at the wood on the ceiling. There’s
a chandelier hanging over us, the glass shades similar to the lamps on the
nightstands. It’s turned off right now, but I bet it fills the room with a
comforting glow.
My eyes drift closed, relaxation sweeping over me as Beast runs that
torrid tongue up my leg toward my pussy, stopping short and redirecting his
attention to the other thigh. Nobody could accuse this man of being an
inadequate or sloppy lover.
He slides his hands under my ass, cupping both cheeks in strong fingers as
he nips and licks at the mostly soft skin on my inner thighs. There’s no
indication that my scars bother him as he adjusts his mouth to those shiny
pink ridges, kissing and licking across my body as a sigh escapes me.
Can he hear how much relief is in that sound? Beast pauses as if he can
sense it and then he, too, sighs heavily against my skin. My entire body
breaks out in goose bumps as he rubs his stubble against me.
“I’ve got you, Gidge,” he promises, and I throw an arm over my eyes,
trying not to let his words dig too deep. “I’ve got you. We’re in this together
from now on.”
“I don’t understand,” I whisper as Beast pauses, lifting up just enough so
that when I drop my arm from my face and look down, I can see him
watching me. “Why? You had the club. You’re supposed to put the club
above everything else. I know you care about Cat, respect him. I know what
this life means to you.”
Beast scoots up just enough that he can rest his chin on my lower belly.
“So why?” I ask again, not questioning his devotion or his promises, just
asking. Because I want to understand. I need to understand.
 “Because I finally found what I was looking for,” he says, watching me
with an intensity that’s almost uncomfortable, like I truly am his be-all, end-
all, not just a stop along the way. Not just a partner. Everything. Fucking
everything. “I grew up alright. Poor, but happy. My family is what you’d call
blue-collar.” He sits up, looking down at me with a face that could—and
probably has—made angels cry. There’s a harshness, a realness, to his sort of
handsome that makes him impossible to resist for someone like me. “My
father ran an auto body shop. Worked there for a while after high school, but
I was miserable.” Beast reaches up and pushes his hair back with both hands.
“I started wandering, Gidge. I looked everywhere for happiness.”
He pauses again, studying me like he’s committing my sweaty, aching
form to memory.
“What about your MMA career?” I ask, but he just smiles at me. It’s an
understanding smile, but it’s just a tad patronizing, too. Like I should
understand this already, but he’ll explain it to me anyway.
“It was easy for me to carve that belt up to make your rings,” he tells me
honestly. “I left that life behind for a reason. It was nothing to me; it meant
nothing.” Beast curls his fingers around the waistband of my panties and
drags them down and over my feet, stuffing them into his pocket to save for
later. I won’t soon forget that he wore my red thong like a pocket square to
our ill-fated reception. “I moved from place to place until I found myself
here.” He sighs again and offers up a smile that absolutely shatters the last
shield of cynicism that I have in place to guard against him.
This is it.
If Beast fucks me over, I’ll never have another chance to trust anyone ever
again.
“Even then, I knew it wasn’t enough. I still hadn’t decided what, exactly, it
was that I was looking for.”
My breath is coming more quickly; it’s easy to see with the way I’m lying
there, my upper half relaxed into Beast’s pillows, my cunt bare to him, his
huge body between my thighs.
“I was with the club, sure, but I was still wandering.” His mouth quirks to
one side as he rubs a hand over his jaw. “Until I found you.” The smile fades
from his face, replaced with that terrifying intensity. “The club is irrelevant.
The other men are irrelevant. My only loyalty is to you.”
I’m having trouble keeping my emotions in check.
 Reaching up two fingers, I actually find that my cheek is wet with tears. I
stare at that glistening liquid on my fingertips, and I’m just completely
dumbstruck by it. Piece by piece, I’m coming apart and reforming into
somebody new. I don’t want to be just bitter and broken anymore; I’m a
fighter. I deserve better than that. I can fight for more than that.
“Don’t you dare break my heart,” I whisper, meeting Beast’s eyes. “Don’t
you fucking dare.”
“You have to trust me with it first,” he says, tilting his head slightly to one
side as he studies me. “Do you, Gidge?”
“I do,” I whisper, and Beast gives me this devastating smile, readjusting
himself so that he can put his mouth between my legs. He shudders at that
first taste, flicking his tongue over my clit.
“Tell me again,” he murmurs, his lips moving against my sensitive folds
as he brushes his stubble against my pussy, and I cry out, reaching down to
dig my fingers into his hair.
“It’s yours,” I promise him, and he makes this satisfied rumbling sound as
he sucks the hardened bud of my clit into his mouth. This is such a bad idea,
I think, but it’s too late. I’m tumbling down into unfamiliar darkness. Never
in my life have I given myself up the way I’m doing now. If Beast wants to
hurt me worse than I’ve ever been hurt before, he now has all the tools to do
it.
“Again.”
His scorching tongue slides down my folds as my labored breathing turns
to harsh pants and my fingertips dig into his scalp. He doesn’t seem to mind,
bathing my core with heat as I struggle to find the words he wants me to say.
“It’s … it’s yours.”
Beast slips his tongue inside of me, fucking me with it just the way I asked
him to. He shudders again and pulls back. I can feel his warm breath against
my body as he struggles to control himself.
“I love the way we taste together,” he murmurs, and I groan again,
dragging a pillow over my face and biting down as he drops his mouth
between my thighs and works me into a frenzy. When he grabs onto my hips
and pins me down with his immense strength, I let out a scream that’s just
barely contained by the pillow as another orgasm bubbles up from deep
inside my belly. This one feels different from the others; it’s damn near
agonizing as it cracks and breaks over me in a wave.
 I’m shaking like I’m in the middle of a seizure, my toes curling into the
mattress, my pelvis fighting Beast’s grip as it attempts to rise off the bed. He
never stops fucking me with his sinful, little tongue. Not even when I reach
down and try to push him away, pleasure rippling through me with every
beat of my heart, the one I just freely gave away.
“Death and life are in the power of the tongue; And they that love it shall
eat the fruit thereof.”
Whether this is God’s will or the devil’s design, it doesn’t matter.
I’m committed to it.
I’m a glutton for that ripe fruit. I want Beast’s tongue. I want all of him.
“Please,” I choke out as he raises up, pressing kisses to my bare belly and
finding his way to my breasts. He runs that powerful tongue along the edge
of my balconette bra, and I know for a fact that even if I don’t believe
everything in the Bible, I believe this: Beast really does hold the keys to life
and death in his tongue.
And I don’t just mean when he’s eating me out. I mean the words he said
to me, the promises he’s made.
He moves up to kiss me as I wrap my arms around his neck. As soon as
our mouths touch, I find that I understand exactly what he means about the
taste of us. It’s an ambrosial delight, his salty seed and my sweet warmth.
It’s a symphony on my tongue as Beast makes love to my mouth the same
way he just did to my pussy.
“Let me return the favor,” I murmur as I turn my head to one side, licking
his ear and enjoying the way he shudders in response to my touch. “I want
your huge cock in my mouth.”
“Not just yet,” he mutters, voice authoritative but gentle. Beast’s alpha
male is more than willing to shift aside for my alpha female. We’re both still
predators, but maybe we weren’t meant to hunt alone? “Not yet.”
He sits up and then slips off the bed, shucking his jeans and then
encouraging me to remove my bra. He gets us both naked save for my garter
belt and thigh-highs, and then he’s switching off the lights and plunging the
room into darkness.
“Relax, suge,” he whispers as he climbs back into the bed with me. I
thought the situation was bad before, with the lights on. We could see each
other. More importantly, Beast could watch as I came undone and fell apart
beneath his words and his touch.
But this?
 I can hear my heart thundering, my breath coming in rapid bursts.
I feel more, rather than less, vulnerable.
Beast pulls me into his arms, his mouth near my ear.
“Three people. Nobody else. They back out of this, or they don’t like my
terms, and they’re done—permanently.”
My eyes go wide, but it’s too dark for Beast to see the expression on my
face.
Is he … what is he agreeing to exactly?
“You’re serious?” I choke out as he strokes his hand down my back.
“Deadly.”
And then he’s encouraging me to turn away from him, curving himself
around me like a big spoon. He keeps my ass cradled against his pelvis,
entering me from behind with a slow, deep thrust. His right arm curls
beneath me, banded around my waist, while his left finds my breasts,
kneading and squeezing and playing with them.
It feels too good for me to argue. And anyway, even though I’m usually
the type of person who loves to look a gift horse right in the fucking mouth,
I don’t.
Not this time.
Because I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
And, for once, I’m not too afraid to let myself have it.
Please don’t let this bite me in the ass, I think, but then Beast is gently
fucking away the anxious thoughts until it’s just me and him, two shadowed
souls tangled together in perfect darkness.
Despite the high stakes of our current situation, I’m not sure that I’ve ever
been more content.
Now that, that’s what fucking scares me.
What goes up … must come crashing all the way fucking down.
Crown is sitting on the couch in the living room when I finally emerge,
elbows on his knees, fingers curled together. He’s leaned over, forehead
resting against his joined hands. He lifts his head to glance over at me when
I pause in the doorway.
I wonder what I look like to him right now.
He keeps his expression neutral and empty, and just a little bit scary.
“Don’t look at me like the Vice President of Death by Daybreak; look at
me like a woman you requested a baby from.”
The asshole goes completely still, and his moss green eyes narrow slightly
as he sits up fully, leaning back into the couch cushions. His gaze sweeps
mine before he lets his attention swing toward the dark TV screen on the
opposite side of the room.
“About that,” Crown starts, heaving a deep sigh. I ignore him, padding
past and tossing my hair over my shoulder as I throw a withering look his
way.
“You know what Beast said?” I query, raising a single brow and then
smirking viciously at him. Crown just stares back at me, but if he isn’t going
to answer my question then he can go fuck himself.
With a scoff of disgust, I turn back around and continue into the kitchen to
find Reba and Grey seated across from one another. There are fast-food
wrappers crumpled on the table, and Reba is sipping a drink from a straw.
Her green eyes widen when she sees me.
 “Your neck,” she breathes, and I reach up a hand to touch the sore side of
my neck as a slight smirk works its way across my lips. “Did he …” she
starts, almost choking on the words. “Did Beast hurt you, Gidge?”
“Those are just hickeys,” Grey explains, and Reba’s entire face flushes.
She makes a horrible face and shakes her head violently, wavy red hair
flying.
“That’s disgusting,” she murmurs as I chuckle and slump into the seat
between them, reaching out to drag the large white bag in the center of the
table closer to me. There are a bunch of breakfast sandwiches wrapped up in
waxy yellow paper, and—bonus for me—they’re still warm.
“Fuck yes. Sex is exhausting. I need to refuel.”
Reba groans and Grey smirks right back at me as I take a stack of
sandwiches and pile them in front of me. There are some hashbrowns in
there, too. Score. I shove one into my mouth whole and groan.
“Why would you want someone to suck on your neck until it bruises?”
Reba whispers, clutching once again at her non-existent pearls. I almost
laugh—because really, that’s funny as hell and the most virgin-like thing
she’s ever said—but then I remember that I didn’t gather any of Reba’s
belongings for her. Not even the pearls she inherited from her grandmother.
“I’m sorry about your necklace,” I murmur, putting a hand up to cover my
mouth as I chew. “I’m so sorry.”
Her face softens slightly, and I know she understands what I’m really
trying to say. It isn’t about the necklace; this is about everything else. Not
only did I ruin her life and get her parents killed, but now she’s here, trapped
on the compound like a prisoner.
I imagine that, when Grey goes, she’ll go with him.
That makes me so fucking sad.
I unwrap an egg and sausage sandwich and take a huge bite, so that I don’t
have to say anything else.
“When someone sucks on your neck,” Grey begins in a teasing voice,
leaning forward and splaying his fingers on the tabletop. “All the blood
rushes to that spot. It makes you dizzy. It gives you goose bumps. It makes
your cock hard—”
“Alright, alright,” Reba says as both Grey and I chuckle. She sets her
drink down and holds up both hands in surrender. “I don’t need to hear any
more than that. Sorry I even asked.” She lifts her chin in that imperious way
of hers, and I smile.
 Footsteps behind me send chills skittering down my spine.
Not Beast, Crown.
I don’t bother to look at him. I don’t even react when he puts a hand on
my shoulder.
“You said you wanted to work?” he asks as I glance back to see him
frowning harshly down at me. His eyes lift up to Grey, and I can see that he’s
struggling to understand our easy companionship. Maybe he can’t
understand how two people from rival groups can bond so quickly and so
easily.
Everything Grey’s family stands for is at odds with everything that mine
stands for.
But so what?
Two people don’t have to agree on every fucking thing to get along.
There’s more to all of us than just opinions; there’s an inner core to each
person that, if we try hard enough, we can usually connect to. Even if they
disagree. Even if their views don’t match ours.
That’s me and Reba. That’s me and Grey.
Our souls and hearts and personalities resonate.
Our humanity resonates.
Those three months I spent with Grey weren’t like a normal three months.
We were together twenty-four hours a day, trapped together, facing death
together. Shit, that was just a cherry on top of our friendship. As soon as our
eyes met in the cabin that day, we knew each other in a way that would make
it hard for anyone else to understand.
A throwaway prince. A hard-knuckled princess.
A very unconventional friendship.
“I want to work,” I agree as Grey lifts his gaze up to look at the vice
president.
“If you and Beast are done fucking for now,” Crown says dryly, and I can
feel his jealousy radiating down his arm and into his hand. His fingers
tighten slightly. “There are plenty of tasks that need doing—especially with
Sin and Grainger out of the office.”
“Just tell me what you need,” I agree, taking another bite of the sandwich
and then slipping out from under Crown’s hand to head to the fridge. I know
what I look like in the short-shorts I’m wearing, bending down to push beer
bottles aside, looking for something non-alcoholic to drink.
 I see a green bottle with Asian writing on it, and figure maybe it’s a
bottled tea or something. I take hold of it and stand up to examine the label
when Crown plucks it right from my fingers with a growl.
“Not that. It’s soju,” he says, and then gets close to me. “You won’t drink
any alcohol when you might be carrying my baby.” He whispers this last
part, his mouth far too close to my ear for comfort. I shiver all over, but I
also laugh.
“Don’t think me marrying into this shit or considering having a baby gives
you any control over me whatsoever.” My voice is too low for Grey or Reba
to hear, but I can feel them both watching our interaction carefully. I toss my
hair at Crown again, and he’s so close that it hits him in the face. I turn
around suddenly, looking up at that hard frown on his pretty mouth. “And I
didn’t know it was alcohol, you prick.”
Crown reaches past me into the door of the fridge and removes a water
bottle, offering it up. I snatch it from his hand with a cocky grin.
“Thanks chief.” I use my hip to push past him, taking a seat in the chair
again and heading for my second sandwich. I’m fucking starving. “So, what
do you want me to do?”
“I’d prefer to have this conversation elsewhere,” Crown begins as more
footsteps approach the kitchen. It’s intentional that sound, meaning that
whoever is coming wants us to know he’s here. Beast. My entire body
shivers in remembered pleasure, and I shift on the old wood chair—this one
is pale blue with flaking paint—and revel in that sweet soreness between my
legs.
“Mornin’,” Beast grumbles, reaching past me to snatch the bag of
sandwiches. “You want any more of these, wife?”
“No, I’m good with what I’ve got,” I reply, trying and failing not to get
any pleasure out of this simple domesticity. The guys and I have never had
this or anything even remotely resembling this. I’m obsessed. It’s been a
long time since I had people around me this regularly—people that I like,
anyway. People that I’m close to.
I take another bite of sandwich, wondering what my sisters would think of
this whole situation.
Posey would be jealous that I managed to snag the four hottest guys in the
club for myself; Queenie would be happy as long as I was happy and being
treated well. She’d encourage me not to let club business affect the rest of
my life; she’d make me get my GED for sure.
 It hits me suddenly that I have a third dead sibling to consider.
I’m the only Kesselring left, the only club brat still standing. Based on my
behavior—or rather misbehavior—it’s not something anyone could’ve
predicted. A friggin’ oracle would be shocked.
Beast surprises me by moving around to sit on the opposite side of the
table, digging through the bag on his lap and taking out a sandwich.
“Cat isn’t going to let you hole up here forever,” Crown warns him, but
Beast ignores him. I get a thrill remembering what he said last night, about
how he was wandering until he found something to live for. Until he found
me. That’s one hell of a romantic confession.
My gaze slants over to Crown as I think about what Grey said, the
undercover cop thing.
I’d love to know his full history, too.
“I had a task to complete; I’ve completed it.” Beast looks up, and a lewd
smile spreads across his face. “We deserved a proper wedding night.”
“That was an entire day,” Crown quips, but Beast just shrugs.
“Takes as long as it takes,” he remarks, looking up to meet his VP’s eyes.
He isn’t smiling anymore. “Soon as I eat, I’m headin’ over to see Cat.”
My blood goes cold as Grey looks between the two men with keen
interest. They’re not saying anything important, or talking about anything
he’s unaware of, but he’s a smart man. He’s picking up every nuance
between Crown and Beast, every unsaid thing, all of those little tells like
tightened jaws or raised brows or shrugs.
Grey realizes that I’m staring at him and smiles back at me,
acknowledging that I know what he’s doing, but completely unapologetic
about it.
“You’ve been seeing Cat regularly,” I suggest as Crown curls his fingers
around the back of my chair. “How does he seem?”
“Terrifyingly blank,” Crown confirms with a sharp exhale. His breath stirs
my hair, and I shiver. My body is well-loved and well-fucked, but still, my
lower stomach muscles tighten at the idea of feeling Crown enter me, of him
giving himself up to me completely, losing himself in me the way Beast and
I did with each other last night. “Be careful.”
“He can’t kill me,” Beast says, taking half of the sandwich in one bite. I
look back at him and our eyes lock. Can’t kill me. Not won’t. Can’t.
“Of course not,” Crown drawls out, releasing my chair and standing up
straight. “Finish eating, Gidget. Get dressed.”
 “It’s Gidge. I hate having to repeat myself,” I tell him, but he ignores me,
leaving the room as Reba looks around like she has no idea how I survived
eighteen years of this shit. “Reeks of testosterone and masculine bullshit,
huh?” I query with a crinkle of my nose. “You learn to amp up your estrogen
to combat it.” I pretend to turn an imaginary dial as Beast chuckles and rises
to his feet, coming over and pressing a kiss to the crown of my head.
It should be a sweet gesture. Maybe it even looks like one. It feels like a
carnal promise, something with heat.
I almost groan, closing my eyes against the pleasure.
“I’ll see ya when I get back. Stay with Crown and try not to get into
trouble.” Beast stands up and nods at Reba. “Miss Keller,” he drawls, and
she gives him a dirty look.
“Don’t think I don’t see what you did to her neck,” she says, all prim and
proper, hands folded neatly on the surface of the table.
“Shoulda seen what I did to her—” Beast starts, but Reba’s preemptive
gasp cuts him off, and he just laughs again. “I’ll be back tomorrow
morning.”
“Tomorrow?!” I call out, but Beast is already on his way out. There’s a
hurried motion to his steps, as if he can’t bear to separate himself from me. I
look after him with a curse, shoving the last of the second sandwich into my
mouth.
With this sort of grueling schedule, I really do need four men all to
myself, just so I don’t ever have to be alone. Not that I can’t take care of
myself. Case in point: I defended myself at church camp. Sure, I got that girl
—poor Carol Briggs—killed. But I survived. I survived a motorcycle
accident. I survived the mafia.
Still …
At least right now, I need a guard at all times.
I am the Grey Wolfe Mafia’s number one target at the moment.
I can’t let myself forget that.
“I still can’t believe that you’re a married woman,” Reba says with a long,
wistful sigh, as if she’s dreaming of a life she’ll never have. I know that’s
what she wanted, to get married and have kids, to teach kindergarten. Now,
she’s going to be a fucking nun, and all because I burn too hot and too fast
and fall in love with older men I shouldn’t want and wasn’t supposed to
have.
“I’m pregnant,” I say suddenly, before I can lose my nerve.
 Both Grey and Reba go completely still.
“You’re …” Reba starts, her green eyes going wide. She slaps a hand over
her mouth as I flick my eyes her way, trying to get a read on her emotions.
She looks like she’s flip-flopping between several different options: fear,
pity, excitement. “A baby.” Her breath releases in a rush.
I glance over at Grey, but if Reba is switching between several different
emotions, he’s gone completely blank.
“You’re pregnant?” he clarifies, tilting his head just slightly to one side.
I nod, and Grey shakes his head.
“Fuck. I’m sorry.”
Reba throws an annoyed look in his direction.
“You’re sorry? Babies are blessings.”
“They aren’t blessings to everyone,” Grey retorts right back.
It’s like I have an angel and a devil on either shoulder, offering up their
opinions. Despite Reba’s kindness and Grey’s lack thereof, I wouldn’t
exactly equate either of them to the side of good or evil. Just different
perspectives.
“Yes, well,” Reba huffs, straightening out the skirts of the dress she’s
wearing. It looks familiar, and it takes me a second to realize that it’s
Queenie’s. I almost smile. Then I almost cry. Then I remember that there’s
no way in hell Reba would ever wear Posey’s or my clothes, and she really
needed something other than borrowed sweatpants and t-shirts to wear.
Someone—probably Sin—must’ve retrieved some of my sister’s things
from Gram’s basement before the wedding.
“Yes, well, what?” Grey asks, and I look back at him to see that his
forehead and cheeks are slightly red. He looks right at me. “Are you keeping
it?”
“Whoa there, cowboy,” I whistle out as Reba gasps, clapping a hand over
her mouth.
“You are supremely rude,” she hisses out after dropping that hand to her
lap. “How dare you pose such a question to a lady; it’s not your business.”
Reba glances over at me, a slight fear wavering in her gaze.
“I don’t know yet,” I finally answer, and Grey stands up suddenly, looking
down at me with an expression that makes me believe he really could take
over the mafia if he wanted to. Without another word, he turns and storms
out of the kitchen.
I look after him with a slight frown before glancing back at Reba.
 “What the hell is his problem?” I ask, and she gives me a look that makes
me feel like the young and inexperienced one in our relationship.
“Hun, Grey thinks he’s in love with you.”
Oh. Shit.
That really throws me for a loop, and I blink confused eyes back at her.
“Seriously?!” I choke out, because I’m not usually this stupid when it
comes to things like that. I’d consider myself worldly and experienced when
compared to most. “Fuck.”
Reba cringes, but she doesn’t follow after me when I stand up, trying to
figure out where Grey would go if he needed a minute alone.
He can’t go outside; he’s been sleeping in a guest room.
Mm. No. The attic.
I head up the stairs, just in time to see the ladder being pulled up, and a
curse slips past my lips.
I grab the small string with the little ball on the end of it that opens the
attic door and yank on it, dragging it open and then putting my hands on the
lower rung of the ladder. It slides open and I climb up into the dark shadows
of the attic, lit only with a small camping lantern that Grey probably found in
the boxes of crap strewn about. Doubt any of the guys would care to offer
him something to light his way.
“Hey.” I pause at the top of the ladder, but Grey doesn’t acknowledge me.
Instead, he leans back on a small chaise and ignores me. With a sigh, I
continue up, dragging the ladder up after me so we can have some privacy.
I sit next to him on the chaise, even though it’s a tight fit.
“Whose baby is it?” he asks absently, gazing toward a small round
window on the far wall. There’s no glass in it, just wood shutters that are
currently closed. It’s pretty early in the morning, but I imagine that when the
sun does come up, rays of dusky sunlight will stream through those slats and
make the strange planes and sloping ceilings of the attic glow.
“Not Beast’s,” I offer up, unafraid to be honest with Grey Wolfe, even
about something like this. “Probably Grainger’s. I don’t know.”
He’s silent for some time, crossing his legs at the knee and curling his
fingers together. He glances over at me, the light from the camping lantern
hitting him beneath the chin and giving him this look of cold cruelty that I
really hope doesn’t blossom into a dark rose. He needs to keep it contained,
just as I need to work to control the fires of my own internal rage.
“You don’t love me,” I tell him, but he’s already shaking his head.
 “You don’t know the shadows of my own heart,” he says, giving a low,
caustic laugh. “Don’t be so presumptuous.”
“Don’t talk to me like we don’t know each other,” I warn him with a
growl. If he’s going to drop into pompous mafia brat mode, then I can go full
club on his ass. “That’s fucking stupid.”
“This whole thing is stupid,” Grey snaps back, reaching up to rake his
fingers angrily through his hair. For the first time since I left the cathedral
with Grainger, I wonder if Grey isn’t disappointed that we didn’t end up
getting married. If, maybe, that’s what he wanted all along.
I feel like a total dickhead.
I guess I just assumed we both felt the same way. I look back down at my
lap, picking at the peeling decal on the front of my shirt. The image used to
be one of a sleek black and silver motorcycle, but a few tumbles through the
washer and it’s coming apart.
“Are you happy here?” he asks eventually, breaking the silence before I
get a chance to. “The way you talked back home, I couldn’t tell. There was
melancholy in your words, sure, but I thought it was just a bygone sort of
thing. But now here are you are, married and … pregnant.”
“You knew I was getting married,” I remind him, and then I think about
the way Cat encouraged me to wear Grey’s engagement ring during that
video chat, the way Grey’s eyes flicked down to look at it. Wow. Cat knew
before I did, or at least suspected something.
“I don’t mind sharing,” Grey says absently, but he isn’t looking at me.
He’s just staring at the floor, his eyes shadowed and impossible to read. He
means what he’s saying, but also … this isn’t just about me being knocked-
up.
It’s about him finally realizing that there’s nothing romantic between us.
I don’t think he wants me the way he imagines. I just think Grey Wolfe is
… lonely. He’s as alone in this world as I was the day I took that first
pregnancy test and Cat started taking control of my life. Grey doesn’t have
anyone he can count on except for me and Reba.
His family doesn’t love him the way a family should. And when he says
he’s going to murder his father? I believe it. His brother is dead. I’m going to
fucking kill his awful mother. That’s where this is coming from; I know it is.
“If you’re helping me out just because you think we might get together,
then stop. I’ll have the boys smuggle you off the compound and we can start
taking shots at each other like normal rival gangs.”
 I almost get a slight smile at that, but when Grey turns to look at me, he’s
dead serious.
“That’s not why I’m helping you. Considering what you’ve just said to
me, I’m going to presume that isn’t why you’re helping me either.” He turns
back to look at the mountain of Crown’s crap in front of us. Like, what the
hell does he even have up here? What is all of this? He better not be a
fucking hoarder; I will dump all of his shit. Then again, the rest of the house
is immaculate; this is the only stain. A private, quiet place for Crown to keep
his messy heart hidden.
“I can’t have the four of them and you at the same time: they would never
accept that.” I study Grey’s profile. He’s handsome, elegant, learned, well-
traveled. If our plans work out, he’ll also be wealthy and powerful. Mm.
You’d think all of those things would make it easy to find true love. Not the
case. It’s the exact opposite.
Grey is going to have to be very, very careful with whomever he falls in
love with.
“I’m having a hard enough time as it is; they’re all stubborn as fuck.” I
sigh and lean my head back against the back of the chaise. It creaks a bit as
Grey adjusts himself and does the same. “If you and I got together, you’d
still be alone a lot of the time. I’d have to split my time between here and
there. It would never work.”
He’s silent for a long moment, and I actually start to drift off. I’m that
tired. Still recovering from the bullshit that went down the day of the
wedding. Still healing. Still sore and comfortably used by Beast. My mouth
twitches.
“Is it truly possible for a monster to fall in love?” he queries, and I
consider the question seriously. Cat seems to love Nellie, and I know for a
goddamn fact that he’s one of the biggest, ugliest monsters out there. “Kian
did, I suppose. He found Queenie. And he was horrible, Gidget. You
would’ve despised him.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind about that,” I agree, but then I remember
the way Queenie held her belly and smiled in an absent sort of way, like she
was happy about her baby but also about something else entirely.
“But he was different around your sister. His love for her shaped him in
new ways.” Grey reaches up and rubs at his face with both hands.
“Sometimes, I think I’m just trying to live his life for him. Because he didn’t
get to. Because he should’ve married the club princess and been happy.”
 I put my hand over my stomach, and I think about Queenie.
I think about the fact that she’s dead, and her baby is dead. Posey is dead,
and Gaz is dead.
Our whole fucking family is dead.
My breath releases in a rush, but I don’t have answers right now. Anyway,
I have other things I’m supposed to be doing. I need to find Crown and jump
on whatever project he’s offering, just to show him how goddamn serious I
am about all of this.
“We can live our own lives and still honor them. You and Reba are my
best friends, my only friends.” I give a harsh, sharp little laugh. “And true
friends, real friends, those are as hard to find and as rare as true love. Ask
anyone. I’ve got your back. I wasn’t lying when I said that.”
“Neither was I,” he agrees, reaching down to take my hand. He curls my
fingers with his and squeezes. I squeeze right back, offering comfort when
he needs it most.
“But I do have some conditions,” I add, and Grey gives a low, refined
chuckle in response.
“Such as?”
“Your mother’s head,” I offer up, and Grey pauses to think for a minute.
“I was going to kill her myself, but if the opportunity presents itself, then
fine.”
I should probably be surprised that a man can so easily discuss murdering
his own mother, but then, I grew up in this life, too, remember? Also, I’ve
met the woman. She’s a fucking nightmare of a human being.
“What else?”
I take a deep breath.
“I don’t know how possible it is to sniff out the exact men—and I mean
literally, the exact ones—who came to my house that day. But I want to
know who they are so that I can cut their dicks off, slit their throats, and bury
them in a shallow grave out back.”
“Mm,” Grey muses, nudging the camping lantern with one foot. “I know
who they are: my father’s A-team, essentially. And I have good news for
you: I have an idea of where they might be in the coming weeks.”
I look sharply in his direction, heart racing. Please don’t be bullshitting
me, I think, trying not to get too hopeful. I want to kill these men almost as
much as I want to be married to Beast. It’s that important to me.
 “You better not be shitting me right now,” I warn him, but he looks over
and gives an elegant shrug of one shoulder.
“Why would I lie about this? You want to kill them; I need them dead.
Even if I were able to get to my father tomorrow and run a blade across his
throat, what would it matter? These men would hunt me down like a traitor
and bury me in the same grave.” He looks at me in the shadowy darkness,
and I get this itchy, antsy sort of feeling, just like I did when I was in the
room with Beast.
The world is on pause right now, but we’re about to hit play and move this
shit forward—fast.
“So tell me,” I say, and Grey nods.
I’ll need all four men with me to get this done, that’s for sure.
I just need to hope that Sin and Grainger make speedy recoveries.
And not just because I need their help in this.
Because, even though it almost kills me to admit it, I need them.
I need all four of them.
Crown is waiting in the doorway to his—my—our—bedroom when I
descend from the attic, leaving Grey behind so that he can have a moment to
himself. Even when someone doesn’t love you, when someone isn’t the right
fit for you, it still hurts to be rejected.
“Did mafia brat pull his dick out of his own ass and realize you and him
were never going to be a thing?” Crown asks as I move past him into the
room, and he closes the door behind me.
“You heard all that, huh?” I ask, and Crown grunts. I ignore him,
sprawling out across the bed and frowning when I realize that this is a
different blanket than before. “You took the ketchup blanket away,” I
remark, but he ignores me.
“He’s no good, Gidge.”
“He’s our only chance to close this war with minimal casualties and walk
away with the losses we’ve already suffered as our only sorrow.”
“Hate to tell you this and ruin the illusion, but the war is already on. Three
more chapters of DBD are already on the way; the streets of this city are
going to run with blood.” Crown crosses his arms over his chest and leans
back against his dresser, watching me.
I can’t help but wonder what, exactly, he and Beast talked about yesterday.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I reiterate, sitting up and feeling my
brows draw together in annoyance. “You realize that if we pit the might of
the club against the might of the mafia, we all suffer?”
 Crown doesn’t say anything, but I can see in the way his mouth tightens
that he already knows that. He always seems to know what’s going to
happen before anyone else does. “There were six Daybreakers outside of
that house. And only then because Crown demanded it. Your father didn’t
think we needed anyone at all.” Sin told me that, referring to the day my
sisters were murdered.
This man is the voice of reason in the club; he knows I’m right, even if it’s
hard for him to admit it.
“Well, that’s the way things are heading, and neither of us can stop it by
wishing,” he tells me, releasing a heavy sigh. I notice that he keeps his
distance from me, as if he might break if he gets too close.
I want that. Even if I’m sore as fuck. I want Crown to break and screw me
on his pretty bed. I’m guessing he wants an answer from me first, about the
baby thing.
“If you want to turn the direction of the club, we have to take action. How
do we get access to the Don?” Crown is asking a question, but he’s also
musing on the thought, trying to puzzle it out for himself.
“Alvise is prepping his best men for a hit on Cat,” I tell Crown, and he
lifts a dark brow.
“Information from Grey, I’m guessing.” That’s not a question; he isn’t
asking. Just a statement of fact. “When? Where?”
“Grey says they figure they’re only going to get one chance. He doesn’t
know exactly when or where, but sometime in the next few weeks. The Don
wants this to end in total bloodshed as little as we do; he knows it’ll be bad.”
I cross my legs and sit up straight. “If we can get Grey out of here in one
piece, he can tell us where and when.”
“Sounds like a perfect way to catch us off-guard and get us killed.” Crown
has a point, but I can’t just say ‘I trust Grey’ and make it work.
“Why don’t we start with step one: getting Grey off the compound. Then
we’ll figure out where to go from there?” I suggest, and my pulse spikes
when Crown uncrosses his arms, like he’s gearing up to change the subject.
“I want you to help with the families that are on the compound. Finding
places for them to sleep. Procuring beds. Food. Helping make a schedule for
the showers.”
Oh.
Right.
Work.
 I resist the urge to sigh, and then give a sharp nod.
“How … bad was it?” I ask, trying hard not to think how the ripple effect
of my life has drowned so many in its wake. I know I can’t hold myself
responsible for the actions of others, but it’s impossible to ignore that the
catalyst for this shit was my rescue from the arms of the mafia.
Retaliation.
No, no, this goes much deeper. Beyond Kian and Queenie. To Gaz. To the
casino.
Chills take over me and I rub at my upper arms to ward off the cold in my
soul.
“René’s son and granddaughter were killed,” Crown says, his voice grave,
and my lips part in surprise. René is one of the old-timers, one of Cat’s most
loyal men, and the club’s official treasurer. We’re not exactly close, but he’s
always been nicer to me than my own father. When I was little, he’d give me
coloring books and boxes of fresh crayons to play with.
“Fuck.”
“Yep.” Crown stays where he is, pausing when he hears a creak in the hall
that signals that Grey has finally come down the ladder from the attic.
Without a word, Crown takes off and opens the door, and I scramble off the
bed to follow him into the hallway.
“Here,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out.
It’s the diamond engagement ring that Grey gave me. Crown moves over
to him and offers it up on the palm of his hand. Grey stares at it for a
moment before lifting his gaze to Crown’s.
“You might need this when you meet your own girl.”
Your own girl.
Ouch.
With a scowl that he can’t quite hide, Grey reaches out and snatches the
ring back, the expression fading from his face as he throws one, last look
back at me. It hurts to see him like that; I hate it. If I could, I’d take my
friend’s pain and drown it in the dark, endless sea that’s already inside of me.
But that’s not how life works.
We can help each other build boats, but we each own the entirety of our
melancholy ocean.
“I’ll be in my room—taking a nap.” Grey shoves the ring into the pocket
of his sweatpants and pads down the hall, slipping into the guestroom at the
end of it and slamming the door.
 Crown looks back at me, and my pulse spikes. Talk to me, I think, hoping,
dreaming, wanting. Say something.
“You should get dressed; we have a lot of work to do.”
He takes off down the stairs, and I kick the wall hard enough that my toes
throb, and I’m left with an all-day reminder that reacting in anger hurts me
more than it hurts anyone else.
Everything I do has to be calm, well-thought, and planned.
This war. My marriage. My love. Even my pregnancy.
I turn and head back into the bedroom, slamming and locking the door
behind me.

The task that Crown has given me isn’t an easy one.

I don’t think it was meant to be.
But by nine that evening—essentially a twelve-hour day for me that seems
endless—I find myself in Sin’s office in the clubhouse, sitting in his chair
with my elbows on the desk, fingers buried in my hair.
The compound was not meant to hold this many people.
None of this is obligatory, just precautionary.
But nobody else in the club wants their members to join the ranks of my
sisters or René’s son and granddaughter.
It’s a brilliant tactic, if you think about it. The mafia is terrifying the club’s
regular members, guys who do little more than distribute dope to dealers.
They don’t murder people like Beast does or arrange caravans of armed
soldiers to guard weapons deliveries like Sin. DBD is supposed to be blood
in, blood out, but imagine if a bunch of guys went rogue and fled with their
families?
We wouldn’t have the manpower to stop them or bring them back, not
right now.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and I lift my head just in time to see
Nellie open it.
She peeks in with a soft half-smile on her face, and guilt rushes through
me, making my eyes sting with tears, making my chest so tight that I can
barely breathe.
It was between me and Gaz, Mama. He had to choose between me and
Gaz, and I don’t understand it at all.
 “Mom,” I manage to choke out, keeping my eyes dry—I’ve had plenty of
practice at it—and making her cheeks flush with pleasure. She slips into the
room and closes the door behind her, blond hair curled gently, makeup
expertly applied, her leather pants offset by the pink blouse she’s wearing
with them.
“Hey honey,” she says, moving over to take the chair opposite me. I stare
at her across the surface of it, and the dynamic feels right to me. Nellie
belongs on that side of a desk. I belong here, my ass in the chair. “How are
you holding up?”
Holding up. Fuck. She isn’t talking about Gaz; she doesn’t know he’s dead.
She’s asking about the mountain of overwhelming and mundane but
necessary tasks ahead of you. That’s what.
“I, uh, it’s a lot.” I rest my hands on the surface of the desk. I’m doing
Sin’s work right now. I mean, none of this is exactly in his job description,
but if he were here, he’d be the one handling it. He’s good at that, organizing
things, making chaos make sense. “But I’m happy to do it.”
Nellie nods, looking past me toward the window behind me, her blue eyes
just a bit glassy, like she’s lost in memories. I know what she’s thinking
about because I spend a good portion of my time thinking about it, too. No
words need to be said in order for my sisters to be remembered.
“How’s married life?” Nellie inquires politely, turning her gaze back to
me. “I know it can be a bit overwhelming at first, but …”
“I grew up here; I don’t know any different.” And that’s true. This is my
reality.
“Yes, but you should be able to spend time with your new husband and not
worry about …” She gestures loosely around her to indicate the situation.
“All of this.”
I shrug and lean back in the chair.
How do I explain to Nellie that there’s something wrong with me? That I
like this, the high stakes, high adrenaline bullshit. How could I have ever
lived a normal life? I’m too used to excitement around every corner; I’d get
bored quick. I’d be one of those people who start a life in one place, as like a
baker in New York City. And then I’d move. I’d become a waitress
somewhere in South Dakota. Six weeks later, I’d be living in a youth hostel
in LA and trying to become an actress.
I’m addicted to the life.
 Well, I would like to be done with all of this administrative type shit. Put a
gun in my hand; put me in the field. This isn’t my forte. But I will, however,
excel at it, just to prove to the vice president that I can.
“I’d invite you and Beast over for dinner, but your father’s been … well,
this is a lot for him, too,” she says gently, but the way her eyes shift to the
side and her mouth thins, I get that Cat’s been weirder than usual. Sure, this
is a lot, but this isn’t the first time he’s fought a war with the Grey Wolfe
Mafia.
He’s reacting to Gaz’s death, whether he realizes he’s doing it or not.
“That’s fine. We’re still … figuring things out.” I drum my nails on the
table. They’re painted a solid matte black with coffin tips, but I kept them
relatively short. Not going to let my nails get in the way of holding a weapon
or driving a bike. No fucking way. “We wouldn’t have the time anyway.”
“You need to find time to spend together,” she tells me gently, and I quirk
a brow. I’m not exactly going to offer up that we spent about, uh, twenty
hours in his bedroom fucking. I just nod in acquiescence and wonder when
Crown’s going to come and get me so I can take a break.
I stopped exactly twice today to rest my feet, drink some water, and eat.
That’s literally it. I’m already feeling lightheaded. Maybe I should just call
him and tell him I’m done? I can’t go back to the farmhouse by myself, too
risky.
“Well, what I can say is—” Nellie starts, pausing at a knock on the door.
She waits as it opens and in walks Crown. Relief washes over me as his gaze
finds mine, flicking over me once as if to see that I’m okay before turning
back to Nellie again. “I was just talking about you,” she says, gesturing at
him and acting as if fifty-plus members of the club—essentially her extended
family—aren’t dead. I get that it’s a coping mechanism but watching her act
like nothing happened here three days ago is weird and dystopian as fuck.
“The girls are all excited to see you back on the market.”
Crown just stares at her before looking at me again.
I look right back at him, waiting. Give me something, you stupid prick.
Anything at all.
“Am I?” he asks after a few seconds. “On the market?”
“I don’t know, Calder,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning
back in the chair. “Are you?”
Nellie looks between the pair of us, supremely confused. Not that it
matters. She can go and gossip to whoever; she can even tell Cat. Because he
already knows. And he knows not just because of Gaz’s fat mouth, but
because I’m married to Beast and Crown was still willing to put a gun to his
president’s head to keep me safe.
“I don’t understand,” Nellie hazards with a nervous laugh.
“We’re working something out,” I explain, but she still doesn’t get it. She
won’t. A lot of people will be able to sit there and listen to us spell out
exactly what’s going on in our relationship and not understand. And that’s
okay. They don’t have to; it isn’t about them.
“You should’ve called it a day hours ago,” Crown warns me, getting that
annoying VP voice of his on. “I was watching to see if you’d self-regulate.
“I ate and drank; I rested.” Barely. “And I was about to call it.”
He stares at me like he doesn’t believe me, and Nellie nervous laughs
again.
“You’re a hard worker, Gidge, but you need to work smarter, too.” I
almost roll my eyes and just barely manage to keep it together. He’s
speaking to me not as Cat’s little girl, but like a soldier under his command; I
can respect that. I’m independent and strong-willed, not stupid. Well, not
usually. “Let’s go home.”
Nellie gives Crown an odd sort of look.
Home.
The word reverberates through me in the strangest of ways.
Home. I’d love to have a home again. A real home. And I don’t mean a
place with four walls and a door. I mean people. People are what makes a
place home.
“You never answered your own question,” I say, standing up from the
chair. “Are you on the market, Calder?”
He gives me another look and then glances down at my mom.
“Sorry, Nellie, but you can tell the girls that it was over a long, long time
ago. It’s Gidget for me.” He looks up at me with this forlorn, almost sad sort
of expression on his face. “It’s always been Gidget.”
“I’m sorry?” Nellie asks, but Crown is already slipping out the door and
I’m following after him. I hesitate briefly to dance back a few steps and
press a kiss to my mother’s cheek.
Likely the first time I’ve done that since I was nine years old. It weirds me
out just as much as it does her. But I don’t regret doing it. Because fuck, who
knows? Nellie might be the one lying dead tomorrow. I might be. Any of us
could.
 Besides, the last time I kissed her cheek, she reeked of alcohol and the
cologne of a man who most definitely wasn’t my father. This version of
Nellie, at least, is an improvement.
“Tell the girls that nobody’s back on the market just yet. And if I have my
way, none of them will be.” I stand up and head out before she can stop me,
jogging to catch up with Crown just outside the doors.
The part of the clubhouse that Gaz blew up is on the other side of the
building, but I went over earlier just to look at it. It seems that the explosives
were intentionally placed on the gift table.
That blast was meant for me and the boys, or at least for me and Beast.
That much I know for sure. I only wish Gaz was still around so we could
torture all the particulars out of him.
I wonder if that’s what Beast is doing now? Torturing Gaz’s lackeys for
information. Wouldn’t surprise me.
“Have you made a decision yet?” Crown asks me, pausing beside his bike
and toying with a helmet. I’m standing just behind it, watching him and
wearing Beast’s jacket on my shoulders, his ring on my finger.
I’ll admit, there’s a part of me that’s slave to this culture and its traditions
in a way that makes me wonder if this is the right path to take. Beast is my
husband now. He’s mine. I’m his. I shouldn’t be getting on Crown’s bike,
and I certainly shouldn’t be offering to carry a baby for him at any point in
my life.
“About?” I query politely, and he sighs, looking up at me like he’s
exasperated. But there’s a certain glint in his eyes that I believe he’s been
intentionally hiding from me all along; it’s a glint that says he likes me this
way, defiant and angry and annoying.
“About me,” he says with a low, masculine laugh, shaking his head.
Crown lifts his gaze over to mine. “I want a kid, Gidge. That’s it. Just one.”
“Is that what I’m worth to you?” I ask softly, my voice whisper quiet on
the wind. I’m not actually upset. I get it. He’s giving up everything else, so
why not just this one thing? But I can’t help it. I always have to push back. I
always have to try just a little harder. It never ceases to keep me out of
trouble, but it is what it is.
I want Crown to fall for me completely, irreversibly, just like I’ve fallen
for him.
Because I can’t possibly be the only fool in love between us.
 There’s a long stretch of silence there, another pause in the fabric of
reality, another moment where everything goes still and it’s just me and
Crown and the hush of the woods at the edges of the parking lot. Nothing
else matters but for this feeling between us, this invisible red thread of fate
that keeps pulling us back together even when we’re both running in
opposite directions.
That’s when it happens, in that contemplative quiet. He breaks, and I’m
there to catch all of his pieces and meld them with my own.
Crown lets out a sound and drops the helmet to the gravel beside his
motorcycle, leaning over and putting his palms on the seat of it.
“How much can you possibly carve out of me?” he chokes, like he’s in
physical pain. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he’s visibly shaking. “How
much, Gidget?”
“I don’t know what you mean—” I start, but Crown lets out such a sharp,
horrible laugh that I stop. I shouldn’t lie like that. I do know what he means.
I do.
“You always push, push, push,” he says, speaking so low that it’s almost
impossible to hear him. I take a step forward and he turns his head toward
me, green eyes ablaze. “I’ve tried so hard to stay away from you. But you
always chase. You come at me when I’m drunk or I’m low or I’m hating
myself so much that it hurts to breathe.”
He stands up and turns toward me, making me gasp when he snatches my
wrists in his hands. Those beautiful eyes search my face, looking for
something that I hope he can see as plain as day, even if our only light is
dusky and diffused, falling from one of the clubhouse windows.
“I give up my morals,” he whispers, eyes getting half-lidded, almost
dreamlike. “By fucking a sixteen-year-old girl and then pushing her aside
because I’m still trying. I’m telling myself that she needs to make her own
choices, that I can’t influence the things she does.” He slides his thumbs
along my pulse points, and I swallow hard. “I lie to my president and betray
my brothers.” He closes his eyes, and I see suddenly how hard this has all
really hit him.
It was no small thing for Crown to do what he did. He loves this club. He
even loves and respects Cat, is proud to call him president. And he’s given
all of that away for me. For me. And all he wants is a baby.
“I’ll—” I start, prepared to offer that up as easily as I breathe. But he cuts
me off with this punishing kiss that tastes like tears. They couldn’t possibly
be mine, right? But then I realize that they are and that’s okay.
Life is painful, and it doesn’t make you weak to feel alive, to hurt, to show
others how you feel. Connection is what makes it all worth it.
“I would’ve taken you far away from here,” Crown whispers against my
mouth, breathing heavily, struggling and fighting and yet, still falling. For
me. Hard and fast enough to break bones. Spiraling. “So you could live with
that boy.” He lets out a harsh laugh and releases me, turning away and raking
the fingers of both hands through his hair.
Seeing a man who’s usually so composed but is currently having a
breakdown … it’s devastating for me.
I look around, but it’s black as pitch out here, and there’s nobody nearby. I
can hear the heavy buzz of chatter from inside the overcrowded building, but
that feels like a whole universe away from this.
Crown turns back to me and holds his arms out to either side of him.
“And then I watch you walk down the aisle with someone else. I hate
myself for not speaking up.” He drops his arms by his sides and shakes his
head with a frustrated scoff. “I hate myself even more for that, I should say.”
“Crown, I’ll—” I try again, but he cuts me off by lifting his head and
looking at me so sharply that the words steal from my throat.
“No, Gidge. Shut up. For once, just shut the fuck up and let me talk.”
I blink at him, but I kind of deserve that, so I do what he asks and stay
quiet.
Crown stalks back over to me, his boots loud in the gravel, and then looks
down at me. Panting, but not touching. Just watching.
“And now you’re pregnant,” he hisses out, clenching his teeth. “It might
be mine. I don’t know. But do you know what fucking terrifies me?” He puts
his palm on his chest and leans down so that our mouths brush, but he isn’t
kissing me, and I’m dying on the inside. “I realized today that I don’t
fucking care. I don’t.” He stands back up again and laughs. It isn’t a pretty
laugh. Not even close. “Do you know what Beast said to me yesterday?” he
asks, almost absently, but that’s a farce. This is the crux of the whole
situation. “He told me that he didn’t give a fuck if it was my baby or not. It
was his, that’s what he told me. And it could be ours, but it would never be
mine.”
I swallow hard, digging my fingers into my thighs and watching as Crown
turns his gaze up toward the smoky sky. It smells like ash out here again, like
ruined cities and decimated forests and dead things. The moon is a bizarre
otherworldly yellow color, like it’s slathered in butter. It has the faintest
orange-red ring around the outside, the edges blurred with hazy clouds.
The fires are getting closer, hungry fingers licking their way toward the
valley where our once small but very quickly growing town lies nestled.
Wildfires like this can, have, and are currently burning straight through
entire towns.
It’s a real fear.
“He wanted me to choose him, but he doesn’t care if I also choose you,” I
explain, unsure why that is, why Beast would offer something like me. But
now, standing here with Crown, I figure it out. Because … if Beast told me
he needed to see other women in order to get over his jealousy, I’d … I’d do
it.
Because I want him to stay.
And that’s what he wants from me. To stay. He better not actually want
other women because, well, I’m a selfish alpha female bitch, but I don’t
think it’s anything I need to worry about.
Any woman who approaches my men will get her ass handed to her by
yours truly.
“So what else can you take from me, Gidge?” Crown continues, stalking
over to the helmet and picking it back up. He moves over to me and very
carefully places it over my head. “All of it. Take it all. Because the only time
I like who I am, is when I’m with you.”
Crown is good at grand romantic gestures, sweeping ones that redefine
entire universes. He’s also good at small ones, at one-liners that make my
knees quake and my pulse pound. What he just said to me is like a sword to
the chest, puncturing my heart and leaving it irreparably altered.
I love it.
I love him.
He turns away and swings his leg over his bike, waiting for me to climb
on behind him.
It’s no accident that there’s a cushy backrest for me to lean against. Why
would Crown get a bike suited comfortably for two? Not for anyone else. He
didn’t buy a farmhouse for anyone else. He didn’t save his aunt’s ring for
anyone else.
He kicks the bike to life as I wrap my arms around him, pressing my
cheek to his back and struggling to breathe. He did that too fast for me to
come up with a proper reply, to tell him that I’ll do it. We can have a baby
together someday. Fuck.
The ride back to the house is short but blissful.
We’re alone in the woods, and when we get far enough away from the
main portion of the compound, we’re immersed in that endless country
darkness that scares city people half to death.
The moon is covered in smoke and far too dim to penetrate the canopy.
The only light out here is Crown’s bike.
He takes me back to the farmhouse and parks beside the steps, shutting the
engine off. And then he just sits there for a moment. I sit back and take the
helmet off, holding it between our bodies like a shield.
“Does it hurt that bad to love me like that?” I ask him, but without
judgment. If it hurts, it hurts. Crown glances back and then stands up,
climbing off so that he can turn to look at me.
“Worse than anything I’ve ever experienced,” he admits, watching me
there with memories dancing in his eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of the
porch light. It’s a gas lamp which makes it flicker like real flame. That’s
what this man’s attention to detail is like. A regular porch light wasn’t
enough to bring his wife home to. “Like being eviscerated, crucified, and left
to rot in the hot sun.”
“I’ll do it,” I agree, staring down at the surface of the helmet instead of his
face. “Does that make it better?”
“Put that fucking helmet down and look at me when you say it,” he growls
out, so I chuck the helmet and turn, staring up at him with defiance.
“You’re saying you’ll be mine anyway, right? Whether we have kids or
not. So fine. Fuck you. Or rather, fuck me. Fuck me and come inside of me,
and give me a baby if that’s what you want. I don’t care.”
Crown grabs my face in two hands, kissing me with that devastating
tongue of his, the one that demands literally everything. He might be
reluctantly willing to share me with Beast, but that doesn’t mean I’m going
to be able to give Calder Reid one-fourth of anything.
He demands everything; he demands all of me.
“I need to fuck you,” he murmurs, undoing his jeans. “Right here. Now.”
I look down at his bike and memories come flooding back to me, of a
night that quite literally changed all of our lives. It was wicked and dark and
sinful and wonderful. It was also wrong. But I don’t give a shit about that.
 Everything about my life is wrong to so many, but all that matters is if it’s
right to me.
“Fuck me then,” I murmur, standing up and shedding Beast’s jacket. I toss
it to the ground as Crown strips off his own shirt, and then I climb off to
stand beside him, kicking my boots off and shoving my pants down. My
shirt and bra are next, falling on the ground to join the rest of my clothes.
We climb back onto the seat together, but with the backrest, it’s a tighter
fit. My back is to the handlebars while he faces me, gabbing my hips and
pulling me close so that he can grind our bodies together.
Crown reaches between us and guides himself to my entrance, yanking me
hard against him with the other hand so that my body is impaled on his. I’m
still sore, but it feels so damn good that I don’t care. My legs wrap around
his midsection, and we roll our pelvises together. It’s a team effort in this
position, to fit together this way, to look up and find each other’s gazes.
That first night, I can’t speak for the other guys, but Crown … he made
love to me.
That’s not a mistaken turn of phrase; it’s a fact.
“Oh God, Gidge,” he groans out, and he gets my name right which makes
me happy. “How can you still be this tight? The first time, I figured …” He
shakes his head and then leans down, kissing the side of my neck. My hands
grip his biceps, feeling the easy strength in them. “Fuck, you feel good.”
I love hearing him say that. I could listen to that every day and never get
tired of it.
“More,” I murmur, “keep talking.”
Crown’s arms wrap me up and pull me even closer, crushing our naked
chests together. His mouth tastes a bit like ash when we kiss, but I’m sure I
taste the same. The sky dictates the tastes and smells of this encounter.
Smoke. Burnt things. Fervor.
We’re rocking together in this frenzied, simple motion, but there’s so
much feeling in it that it might as well be the most interesting, most
incredible thing I’ve ever done.
And Crown is right: it hurts. It hurts so bad. I can never give him the
things he wants so he hurts which makes me hurt, and … it’s glorious pain.
Once upon a time, I was afraid to feel like this.
Because falling in love is just that—falling.
“Keep talking …” He trails off, sliding his palms along the outsides of my
thighs, skimming my scarred but still sensitive flesh with his heat. Crown
looks up and into my eyes, and my heart stutters. My arms twine around his
neck and I let my head fall back so that I can look up at that strange moon in
the sky. “I love you, Gidge.” He puts his mouth near the side of my neck and
whispers against my throat. “And I’ll keep loving you even if it kills me.”
I groan and push my hips into him, meeting his pelvis with my own, over
and over until Crown is moaning, these low incomprehensible sounds that
give me chills. There’s nothing human in that; it’s all animal pleasure and
raw nerves. He clings to me and holds me close as he comes inside of me,
panting and shivering in the smoky air.
“Shit.”
I put my head against his chest and close my eyes, listening to his heart
thundering away. Crown digs his fingers into my hair and strokes my scalp.
“Shit,” he says again, and there’s a measure of surrender in his voice. He’s
giving up; I’ve broken him down. A smile teases across my lips as I lift my
face up to look into his. “Every time I think there’s a line that can’t be
crossed, I …”
“Not black and white,” I tell him, taking his huge hands and putting them
on my breasts. He kneads the full mounds with my fingers still entwined
with his, and I moan so loudly that he actually curses again. The sound
echoes around us, ricocheting off into the shadows of night. “Shades of
gray.”
I reach between us and work my clit with my fingers as Crown plays with
my tits, hefting them into his warm, rough palms and pinching my nipples as
I pulse and squeeze around his body. He gets hard again relatively quickly,
and a sultry chuckle escapes me.
“You really are a brat,” he growls, yanking me against him again and
bouncing me on his lap, spearing his cock all the way inside of me as I
whimper and writhe against him, digging my nails into his shoulders. “A
terrible fucking brat who doesn’t listen to shit.”
Crown lifts us both up suddenly, and a small sound escapes me. He carries
me up the porch steps and lays me on his stupid outdoor rug that’s spread out
in front of a pair of rocking chairs. And then he fucks me while looking into
my eyes. When I try to turn my face away, he snatches my chin in rough
fingers and makes me look at him while I come.
I try to close my eyes, and he squeezes my chin harder until I’m forced to
open them, staring at him as my body milks his with hard, strong pulses. And
that’s exactly what got us all into trouble before, isn’t it? I think, panting
there underneath him.
He waits until I’m nothing but a messy puddle, and then fucks into me
until he comes again, digging his nails into the rug on either side of my head.
And then Crown collapses on top of me, his heavy weight a pleasant warmth
on a relatively cool evening.
“I love you, too,” I murmur finally. “I’ve been in love with you since I
was fifteen. Maybe longer than that.”
“No, don’t say that,” he whispers, but he doesn’t move from where he is.
Of them all, Crown is the one that’s been here the longest, the one that I’ve
known the longest. He lifts up slightly, bracing himself on his forearms so
that he can stare down at me. “Please stop.”
“You want me to lie?” I offer up, and he groans, pushing himself up into a
sitting position, naked and gorgeous in the flickering flames of the porch
light. I sit up, too, squeezing my thighs together and apologizing to the poor
rug. I pick at the fibers with my fingernails. “You’re a very easy man to have
a crush on.”
He almost smiles at that, but then, he wouldn’t be Crown if he didn’t
throw an imperious look in my direction.
“You shouldn’t have worked so hard today,” he says, and I narrow my
eyes.
Oh boy, here we go.
“Why?” I ask as he shoves up to his feet, heading down the front steps to
gather our clothes. He comes back with the items in his arms and then gives
the front door a scathing sort of scowl.
“You know why,” he says, his voice relatively calm, even if his expression
is hideous. The scowl isn’t for me; it’s for our houseguests. Crown chucks
the clothes onto one of the chairs, removing our phones and his gun and then
offering me my Magnum.
I stand up and take it, giving him an odd look.
He types the code for the house in, and the lock makes a mechanical
swishing sound as it unlocks.
“If anyone’s in here, clear out,” he calls after he opens it, and then he
looks back at me, nodding in the direction of the front hall. “I didn’t buy and
renovate this place to wear clothes in it; this is my house.”
I take the Magnum with me as Crown moves into the front hall, waiting
for me to join him before he closes and locks the door behind him. The way
he looks in the shadows of that hallway, I know that this is it.
No more games.
No more games …
“This is my house,” I correct him, and he sighs.
“Get upstairs. Now.”
I move past him and up the steps, cursing as his cum drips hot down my
inner thighs. We make it safely into the bedroom without encountering either
Reba or Grey. Never in a million years would Reba want to see two naked
bikers carrying handguns. Pretty sure Grey would rather claw his own eyes
out than look at me with one of my lovers right now.
I set my weapon on the bathroom counter and start the shower, admiring
the old claw-foot tub, and its fresh, white glaze.
Crown pauses behind me, leaning against the counter with his arms
crossed. Neither of us has bothered to turn any lights on.
“You did good today, Gidge,” he tells me, and while he doesn’t necessarily
sound surprised, there’s a thread of pride in his voice that makes me smile.
I’m not looking at him, so it doesn’t matter. Otherwise, I might try to hide it.
“You up for more work tomorrow?”
“As long as you don’t treat me like an invalid for being pregnant,” I
suggest, testing the water and finding it nice and hot and steaming. I
should’ve realized there was something wrong with me a long time ago.
I like when the water burns; I like when it scalds me.
I love the pain.
I glance over my shoulder to find Crown’s face in the dark. He stares right
back at me and shakes his head.
“You can break me down on some things, but not on this. You’re pregnant.
I will treat you like a treasure whether you like it or not.”
I scowl at him and throw the curtain closed in his face.
He leaves me alone, but only for a second. A fucking second. And then
the curtain is being wrenched back and he’s climbing in right beside me,
grabbing me and kissing me in the hot, steamy spray.
If I thought it was bad before, when Crown was just my father’s righthand
man, that was nothing.
I am in so much more trouble now with this man than I ever was before.
So, so, so much more.
Crown actually sleeps beside me in his big four-poster bed, one arm around
my waist, my body tucked up against his. Or … at least, I think he sleeps? I
don’t. I lie there and stare at the reading nook on the wall opposite me,
barely visible in the darkness.
I like it here.
No, no, I love it here.
In this house, tucked up against Crown, in his bed.
And I don’t ever get anything that I want without paying a hefty price in
return.
I must doze off eventually because when I wake up, Crown is gone, and
annoyingly bright sunshine is streaming through the slats in the wood blinds.
With a grumble, I shove up from the bed and open the blinds, just so I can
look outside and see how bad the sky is today.
It’s hazy with smoke, worse than yesterday.
That’d be just my luck, to finally break Crown’s resolve down, get him to
admit that this really is my house, and then watch as it burns to the fucking
ground. With a sigh, I look around for my phone and find it on the
nightstand.
The emergency alert is still at level one. That’s good, right? It hasn’t been
rescinded or downgraded but staying stagnant works okay for me.
I dress myself in jeans and a black tank top with a huge skull on the front
of it, slipping downstairs to find Beast in the kitchen. His jacket is draped
over the chair on his right. I wonder if he retrieved it from the pile outside.
God, I hope not.
I do my best to creep into the kitchen without him noticing, but at the last
minute, he explodes out of the chair and grabs me by the wrists, slamming
me into the wall just hard enough to teach me a lesson but without actually
hurting me.
“It’s not just about the creak o’ the floor or the crush of leaves beneath
your feet,” he explains as I struggle to catch my breath, as disturbed by the
intensity of my attraction toward him as I am about getting caught. “You
need to control your own body as well.”
Beast runs his tongue over his lip, studying my mouth before lifting that
blue-eyed gaze to my face.
“Bend both knees, keep a low point of gravity for stability. When you start
to walk, put all your weight on one foot then step forward slowly with the
other. Put the outer part o’ the ball of your foot down first, rollin’ it down to
the inner portion. Then come down with your heel.”
“What was I doing?” I whisper back, wishing that he would just say good
morning, wife and kiss me already.
Beast snorts and rubs his stubble against my cheek, making me groan.
You’d think I would’ve had enough, right? But somehow, I always want
more.
“Well,” he starts, his drawl particularly pronounced at the moment, like
he’s suffering from extreme exhaustion. I bet he didn’t sleep at all in the last
twenty-four hours. And then before that, we fucked more than we slept. I
can’t let him kill himself like this. “You were trompin’ around like a hound
dog in a forest of dry kindlin’.”
“Technically speaking,” I hiss back as Beast pulls away from me, this
sparkle in his gaze that says he’s very much enjoying this.
“You clearly weren’t bendin’ your knees enough. Pretty sure you were
walkin’ on the outside edges of your feet without ever putting your heel
down. No stability like that, darlin’. And it isn’t just silence you’re lookin’
for—you need to be able to take a surprise hit.”
He moves away from me again and sits back down in the chair.
“Do it again, and if you impress me, I’ll kiss ya good mornin’.”
I scowl at him and shake my arms out, but I do as he asked, retreating to
the edge of the room, and trying again. He must just want me to kiss him
because this time, he lets me slide my arms around his neck and lean my
body against his from behind.
“Much better,” he grunts, pulling me into his lap and kissing me with this
needy passion that can’t possibly have been born from a single day apart.
No, this is deeper than that, isn’t it? Beast samples my mouth like he’s at a
banquet, and I’m a delicacy he only meant to try, but has now decided to
consume in its entirety …
He pulls back with a bit of a curse, studying me as I reach up to tease at
the stubble on his cheeks with my fingers.
“Everything okay?” I ask as he gives me a searching sort of look. I
wonder if he’s curious about what happened between me and Crown. If he
asks, I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him anyway, just not right this second unless
specifically requested.
“Okay being relative,” he starts, and then gives a loose shrug of his broad
shoulders. “It’s alright. I took care of some business. Seems your little friend
was right: we need to get ahold of that team before they get to Cat.” Beast
reaches around me for his coffee, and I realize that Crown must’ve filled him
in on everything; I haven’t had the chance to and yet, he already knows what
Grey told me about his father’s tactical unit.
He also seems to know just a little bit more than that.
“You tortured someone yesterday?” I guess as Beast takes a sip of his
coffee, eyes watching me over the rim, waiting to make sure I really want to
know the answer to my own question.
“We found some mafia scum lurking around the electric fence on the north
side of the compound.” Beast takes another sip of coffee and lets out a low,
acidic laugh. “Morons.”
Crown sweeps into the kitchen next, pausing when he catches sight of me
in Beast’s lap. He blinks past a rush of dark jealousy and turns away, busying
himself at the coffeepot.
“So there really is an official hit out on Cat,” I murmur contemplatively,
and Beast gives me a look.
“Not just on Cat; they’re after you, too.” Beast glances over at Crown, and
their eyes meet. He turns back to me. “The mafia is demanding that we give
you up.”
I raise both brows.
Oh.
Another demand.
 With the attack Gaz leveled inside our own walls, the deaths of René’s
family, and the tense situation with families bunking on the compound, that’s
all pressure on the club to submit, to relent, to give something ‘simple’ up to
restore order.
Me.
Just me.
“And?” I suggest as Crown moves over to take the seat on Beast’s left.
“What do you think?” Crown asks, posing the question like it’s part of an
exam. I reluctantly stand up from Beast’s lap—it’s far too distracting, and
he’s already hard—and go to get myself a cup of coffee.
Both men stand up immediately, and I roll my eyes.
“I am capable of pouring myself coffee,” I say with a laugh, and Crown
gives me a look. “Oh, and don’t worry: I looked it up.” I give them both a
palms out, I’m surrendering sort of look. “As long as I keep the caffeine
under two-hundred milligrams, it’s a-okay.”
Crown doesn’t look happy, but he sits down with a sigh, taking a drink
from his own mug. Beast stays standing for another minute and then does the
same.
I join them after adding cream and sugar, leaning back in my chair with
the warm mug clutched between my palms. Looking down at my drink, I
can’t help but think of Grainger. I like the way he makes coffee. I like when
he makes me coffee. The gesture of it. The familiarity. The normalcy.
I see that both Crown and Beast drink their coffee black—little surprise
there.
But what about Sin? I wonder how he takes his.
“The club would never give into a demand like that,” I say finally, lifting
my gaze up to meet Crown’s. It’s impossible to look at him and not think
about the conversation that we had last night. The sex. More so, the
cuddling.
I exhale.
He almost smiles but tries to hide it when he takes another sip of his drink.
“Never,” Beast agrees as he looks over at me. “More than that, you know
your daddy would never sell you out like that.”
“Not even after …” I don’t want to say it. I hate the way it sounds. I hate
it. “Finding out that I’m a traitor.” I make myself drink the coffee, staring at
the surface of the table and hurting in ways that I cannot explain, that I don’t
want to explain.
 I miss Gaz, even though I hated him, even though he was a threat to my
safety. Shit, he was a threat to everyone’s safety. Those fifty-plus lives the
club lost? Those are on his conscience. I wouldn’t be surprised if, depending
on your religious persuasion, he was burning in the fiery pits of hell or if
maybe he got reborn as like, a slug who gets salt poured all over its back and
shrivels up. Equally fitting punishments.
And yet I can’t help it.
I can’t help missing him.
I can’t help missing … something else, too.
Cat hates me. Cat told me we were alike. Cat … trusted me.
My father trusted me.
Something I’d always wanted, always dreamed of, even if I was far too
cynical to admit it to myself let alone out loud. And I ruined that. I ruined all
of that.
“Not even,” Crown agrees with a long sigh, tapping his fingers against the
sides of his mug. “We don’t give up anyone: wives or daughters or even
prospects; we close ranks.” He sounds proud when he says that and, I have
to admit, that’s one of the main draws of the club, isn’t it?
Loyalty and community.
And that first one, we have trashed to hell and back.
I want to make it right. The urge rages within me, makes me burn and
ache and want. I want to bring Cat bodies. I want to deliver heads. I want to
prove to him that I was never out to destroy Death by Daybreak in the first
place.
Yet, he still needs to be punished. I have a mental list of people who have
to pay for my sisters’ deaths, and his is on it. He even holds blame for my
brother’s death—and I don’t mean because he did what was needed and
pulled the trigger. Cat raised Gaz; he made that monster.
“What’s the mood amongst the guys like?” I ask, wondering how the
wedding day attack was explained away. There were bodies on our side, but
no mafia bodies. Did the other club members assume Grey Wolfe Mafia took
their dead with them? It happens. “Are people putting pressure on Cat to
give me up?”
Crown shakes his head as Beast remains quiet and stoic, as usual.
“Nobody believes we’ll have peace either way, not even if they promise
not to target anymore club families in exchange.”
 My skin crawls with goose bumps. If that were possible, if that were even
remotely true … but it isn’t. There’s no way to guarantee that. I’m not sure
I’m that self-sacrificial anyway, but if I were so inclined, it wouldn’t matter.
Once the mafia had me, there’d be nothing to keep them from breaking their
word.
Never bargain with outlaws, whether they’re the silk tie or snakeskin type.
Doesn’t matter either way. Never trust someone who spends their days
dressed in blood.
“Sin is being released from the hospital soon,” Crown offers up
eventually, setting his mug down and meeting my eyes. “Once he’s back, and
Grainger is back, the five of us need to talk.”
Beast chuckles, but doesn’t look at either of us, his gaze focused out the
window where the sun is cresting in the distance. It’s that disgusting orange
color again, tainted with wildfire.
I glance over at my husband, and his eyes finally swing over to meet mine.
“We do need to talk,” I agree, looking back at Crown. “But that won’t
change anything between us. Between me and Beast. Me and you.” I finish
my coffee and set the mug down with a sigh. “I haven’t decided what to do
about … this.” I gesture at my stomach. “But I’ll tell you one thing: if I do
keep this pregnancy, I’m not getting a DNA test, and you assholes are just
going to have to get over that.”
I stand up and leave the room, the sound of Beast’s low laughter trailing
along behind me.

The work I do for the next few days is tedious and relentless. I meet more
club wives and children than I could ever possibly remember. Everybody
knows who I am though.
I am infamous, it seems.
Crown and Beast take turns watching over me. They keep their distance
during the day, doing their own work while I deal with mine. At night, it
depends on who’s there when I get ready to fall asleep.
For the last couple nights, it’s been Beast. Just me and my new husband
shacking up and sharing a bed. It’s hard to remember that this is all new for
me. Staying the night with a man, sleeping next to him, waking up with him
by my side.
 On the day Sin is supposed to be released, I sit down and try to remember
when I last had my period. Tapping my phone’s stylus against the side of my
head, I stare down at the calendar in thought.
Have I had a period at all since I got back from the mafia compound? No.
Wow.
Things have been so hectic, so crazy, that I never even gave it much
thought. Besides, stress can cause a missed period, so even if I had taken
note, it might not have been an immediate red flag. I definitely remember
getting my period when I was with the mafia, however. Grey had to request
tampons be brought to our room. A servant delivered them with Ivan Wolfe
trailing behind.
Gross.
I make a huge red X on the calendar, marking off my wedding day. Well,
my first wedding day, the one to Grey.
Was that really only six weeks ago? It feels like years have passed.
I make a few more marks, coloring in the spots where I had sex with
Grainger again, with Crown, with Sin. They’re all so close together that my
mouth twitches. The only way I’ll be able to figure out who the father is
would be to do a DNA test. But I’m not doing that. If they don’t like it, fuck
them. I don’t care.
At least I figure that I’m about … eight weeks pregnant. Shit.
Seems weird, I know, but the first two weeks of pregnancy, you’re not
even pregnant at all. Doctors generally ‘backdate’ a pregnancy to the first
day of a woman’s last period. If I wanted to get an abortion, I’d take a pill
and that would be it. Rather, it would be two pills forty-eight hours apart
followed by a heavy period.
I stick the stylus back into my phone and lean back on the sun-warmed
deck outside the clubhouse. It’s so smoky out here that it’s actively
unpleasant. I’m the only bitch crazy enough to brave the air willingly.
There’s actually an air quality warning today strongly encouraging Ashbury,
Oregon residents to stay indoors.
It isn’t healthy for me to be out here, but I just needed a minute alone to
process.
How do I get an appointment somewhere to get checked out? I wonder,
considering our current situation. Just to see Sin and Grainger at the hospital
was a whole thing.
 A raucous near the front gate draws my attention, and I turn my head to
watch as an SUV rumbles up, pausing so that the on-duty guards can check
out the occupants before sending it on its way.
The SUV parks in the main lot, and the back door opens from the inside.
Out steps Sin, his blue hair catching the strange light and making it look
almost purple, the color it was the night we first had sex. I sucked his dick
right here on this very deck.
As if he can sense me thinking about him, he turns his head and sees me
sitting there.
Holy shit. There’s this indescribable zing that passes between us, this
excruciating pang of relief and desire. It’s like we’re drawn to one another
over and over again, moths to flame. It doesn’t even matter if our wings
burn. It doesn’t matter if we turn to so much dust on the wind.
My heart skips a beat and I sit up, crossing my legs in front of me. Sin is
able to take maybe one step before he’s surrounded immediately by well-
wishers, his brothers clapping him on the back, their distant words
impossible to make out but clearly congratulatory in nature.
I stay where I am, watching and waiting. It takes a while, but eventually,
he’s able to peel away, and makes his way directly to me.
I stand up, clenching and unclenching my hands in nervousness. Not a
normal emotion from me, certainly. But it’s been, what, three days since
we’ve seen each other?
“Hey Gidge,” he murmurs, tucking his hands into his front pockets, face
resolute and with much better color than the last time I saw it. Some of his
usual bronze glow has returned.
“Hey Gidge?” I imitate, and then offer up a little laugh. “That’s all I get?”
I step forward before he can reply, putting my arms around his neck. Sin
stiffens up, but I put my lips to his ear and whisper, “relax, Colton” just
before my mouth finds his.
There’s always been this strange thing between Sin and me when it comes
to kissing. It’s where we connect the hardest, where our souls resonate the
loudest. So it was the day he kissed me against a tree at my sister’s funeral.
When he broke from years of shunning to kiss me in the kitchen and make
me drop my sandwich. To the kiss we shared at the hospital that reorganized
the stars in my sky.
He groans with relief against my mouth, dropping his hands to my waist
and kissing me back with all the wild furor of a young couple long parted.
There’s an urgency there, a need. I press harder against him, encouraging his
tongue to seek mine out. His hands slide down my back, feeling me up,
taking me in.
“I don’t want this to be a secret,” I whisper when our mouths part and,
because my luck is that good, I happen to glance over and find Nellie staring
at me. She seems surprised, even though she heard that conversation
between me and Crown the other day.
Sin glances her way, but he doesn’t release me; he then puts that sharp
mouth of his very near my ear and makes me shiver. “Of course not. I just
didn’t want to tongue-fuck your pretty mouth until I was sure you were
ready.”
“Gidget, can I talk to you for a minute?” Nellie offers up, but I don’t feel
particularly inclined to give Sin up just yet. I lower my arms from his neck,
but I don’t move.
“We can talk here,” I reply, even if the grit in the air is starting to get to
me.
“I’d rather …” Nellie starts, and then she gives Sin a look. “I’m so glad
you’re safe, Colton,” she tells him, and he smiles back at her with a genuine
warmth in his eyes. Not surprising. Sin practically grew up here, didn’t he?
He was, what, sixteen when he started hanging around the clubhouse?
He’s known Nellie a long, long time.
“You can say whatever you need to say,” he tells her, and even though he
looks strong, there’s a bandage on his neck that reminds me to take it easy
with him. Not that I won’t ride him hard tonight, just that I’ll be nice about
it. Well, niceish.
I return my attention to my mother’s face.
With a sigh, she straightens out her jacket—Cat’s jacket, to be technical
about it—and stares the pair of us down.
“Lord knows I’ve never been a saint, and that your father and I had our
fun, but you don’t do this sort of thing out in the sunlight.” Nellie lowers her
voice and steps closer when a pair of women walk out and pass by the three
of us with gossipy sidelong glances. I resist the urge to flip them off and
focus on Nellie instead. “You and Beast can make your own arrangements,
but they should be private.”
As if her exploits were ever private. But I know what she means. She’s
saying, sure, fuck other guys, but do it in the dark, in the clubhouse, during a
party with sex and drugs and cigarette smoke and half-dressed groupies
everywhere.
It isn’t the sex part of my relationship to these men that bothers her, it’s
everything else: the romance, the living together, the family aspect.
“Mom,” I say, because I’ve been practicing that, calling Nellie by her title
instead of her name. Every time the word comes out, it hurts a little. But I’m
learning to try to heal the hate in my heart. Some of it was real, certainly, but
it isn’t serving me anymore. At this point, I need to either eliminate those
sorts of people from my life or try to move on. And by eliminate, that could
mean simply ceasing communication or … you know, blowing their goddam
brains out. Giulia Wolfe, your clock is ticking. “Have you looked around at
the world we live in?” I gesture with my left arm toward, well, everything.
The fire-tainted sky, the compound overflowing with families and outlaws,
the invisible but no less deadly pressure of the Grey Wolfe Mafia. “Life is
short. It’s hideous. We find beauty where we can.”
I look back at Sin to find him watching me with eyes that are very truly
the color of melancholy. He embodies it with that silver gaze of his, like the
moonlight when the sky isn’t cursed.
“I’m your beauty?” he queries, with a cocky, little smile. “I’ve never heard
that line before.”
I snort at him and look back at Nellie.
“Beast knows, and he doesn’t care. Let us run our marriage the way we
want to.” I’m not entirely sure how this is going to work long-term, but we’ll
figure it out. He told me to go for it. Three men only. Three men I could
fuck. Three men he trusts with not only his life but also mine.
“You’re going to make a fool out of your husband,” Nellie whispers
urgently, as if I should care so much about Beast’s supposed reputation that I
commit myself and the three other men I love to living in shadows forever,
just for the sake of it.
“I doubt that. What moron in this club would dare call him a fool?” I
query, and then I grab Sin’s hand, dragging him away from Nellie even as I
know I haven’t heard the end of this.
“Wow,” Sin says finally, pausing just out of hearing distance as I turn back
to study him. That nervous feeling that came over me when he first stepped
out of the SUV isn’t gone. If anything, it’s amped up a little. I feel anxious.
Almost … well, shy isn’t exactly a word in my vocabulary, but something
like it. What if it’s Sin’s baby? I wonder, going over different scenarios in my
head. It could be, couldn’t it? “Can I just say that I like it when you stand up
for me?”
“I will always stand up for you,” I assure him, but even as he reaches for
me, I make sure to add, “but I’ll call you out, too. Don’t forget that.”
“Oh, trust me,” he says, pulling me close again and putting his hands on
my hips. I tease the bald eagle tattoo on his arm with a fingernail. “You
wouldn’t let me forget that if I tried.”
“Let’s go back to the farmhouse,” I suggest, and Sin exhales raggedly.
“Shit, I’d love that,” he whispers, stroking my hair back. “But I’m not sure
how useful I’ll be. I’m still pretty sore.”
“I’ll take care of you,” I promise him, glancing over at the white Indian
Chieftain parked near the clubhouse steps. It wasn’t there yesterday, so one
of the guys must’ve moved it for Sin. “Can you ride?”
“I could ride half-dead, blind, and with a missing arm. Come on.” He
moves over to the motorcycle and exhales, running his palm along the side
of it. “It’s been too long, my friend,” he murmurs, swinging one leg over and
then groaning. “Fuck. Remind me not to do that again.”
Sin pauses for a moment and then glances over at me.
“I’ll be careful holding onto you,” I promise, but he shakes his head,
reaching up and ruffling up that gorgeous blue faux-hawk of his. He’s
always gotten shit from the other Daybreakers about his hairstyles and
colors. I’m glad it hasn’t been enough to break him of his spirit. He did
shave that kick-ass purple Mohawk off once, but I guess that was enough of
a lesson to tell him to give zero fucks about what other people think.
“It’s not that. I just wanted you to know that if I could let you drive my
bike right now, I would.” He gives me one of those crooked smiles that I
love so much, and then turns to face the woods. I don’t quite know how to
respond to that, but my throat closes up, and I climb on behind him, gingerly
putting my arms around his waist until he lets out a bemused snort and
reaches down, pressing my hands against the tautness of his lower belly.
My own body responds, and I scoot forward, rubbing against him.
Sin curses at me, his hands squeezing even more tightly around my own.
“You’re going to break my resolve if you keep doing that,” he warns me,
and then he kickstarts the engine and off we go.
I think about what he said, about me driving a bike. It’ll never happen
within the confines of the club. Never. Because I could change the vice
president’s mind maybe. I could change the enforcer’s, the sergeant-at-arms’,
the road captain’s. Hell, I could even work with all the local members.
But what about the other thirty-three chapters of Death by Daybreak?
I could, however, leave the compound and go riding with my men on my
own. That could happen for me.
It doesn’t occur to me until we’re actually at the house that I forgot to let
Crown know that I was leaving. As soon as Sin shuts the engine off, I’m
sliding my phone from my pocket.
“Fuck, that felt good,” he breathes, shuddering like a trapped animal just
let loose from its cage. He rubs both hands over his face as I smile and turn
my phone screen on to see that Crown has taken the initiative and texted me.
Always let your commanding officer know about a change in plans,
regardless of how small or inconsequential they seem.
He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean I have to like him being right.
I shoot back a quick ‘kk’ which I’m sure annoys the shit out of him, but
too bad. I have other things to do right now. I’m up and off the bike before
Sin even gathers it together enough to join me.
I study him as he sits there, taking in the farmhouse with a wary sort of
look on his face.
“Is Crown really okay with all of us staying here?” he asks absently,
turning to look at me.
“Didn’t he say as much to you himself?” I ask, because even though I
haven’t been allowed off the compound again—only because it was so
urgent was I ever taken at all—but Crown and Beast have been checking in
for me. Plus, there’s such a thing as video chat. While we haven’t had much
time to talk over the last few days, Sin did call to say good night to me once
or twice.
Radio silence from Grainger, unfortunately.
“He did,” Sin admits, almost reluctantly. “But he won’t want us here
forever.”
How can we raise children together if not in the same house? I think, but
that’s later Gidget’s problem.
“Don’t worry about that right now.” I reach out a hand as his silver eyes
drop to take in my palm before lifting up to my face. “We have other issues
to focus on.”
Sin accepts my hand, even if he doesn’t need it, and follows me into the
house.
 It isn’t until I’m inside and passing by the kitchen that I realize that Grey
and Sin have never met.
I’m still yanking Sin toward the staircase when he plants his feet and just
stops, making me come to an abrupt halt. I glance over my shoulder to see
what he’s looking at, and then notice that he and Grey are staring at each
other.
“Holy fuck,” Sin says, releasing my hand and stepping into the kitchen. “I
mean, I knew you were here, but it’s one thing to be told about it and another
to see it.”
“Am I everything you dreamed I would be?” Grey asks, a book open on
the table in front of him. It looks old, and it has tiny print, so of course it
would be something he’s interested in. Grey loves history and dry, forgotten
things.
Sin steps into the room before noticing Reba in her usual spot, Fem curled
up on the floor at her feet. Reba, at least, is offered a smile. Feminist
grumbles and curls his lip, but Sin ignores him.
“Hey Reba,” Sin says, and she smiles back before flicking her eyes to me.
I know she wants to talk about the pregnancy, but I keep skirting the subject;
it’s driving her nuts, I’m sure.
I did this once when we were thirteen, when I stole an expensive bra from
a boutique, and she tried to subtly bring up for weeks after. I avoided the
subject until she exploded, snatched the damn thing from my bedroom floor,
and walked it back to the store herself.
I smile at the memory but cover it up with my hand over my mouth.
“Colton,” she greets, but the use of his real name doesn’t bother Sin nearly
as much as it does some of the other men.
Sin turns back to Grey again, studying him like he wasn’t sure what he
was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“More … prim than I thought,” Sin says with a small shrug, his eyes
darkening slightly. I wonder what he’s thinking about. Me fucking him
outside of the cabin to get his keys with the sole purpose of saving this boy
in mind? Or is he remembering that glorious wedding dress and how I wore
it for Grey?
“Cultured might be the word you’re looking for,” Grey says, letting that
odd mix of playboy asshole that he used to be before I met him twist
together with this new version of himself. The version, specifically, that
believes he can run a sophisticated crime syndicate at age eighteen.
 “Prim is exactly the word I was looking for,” Sin adds with a playboy
laugh of his own. “Fuck, you and Gidget would’ve had the worst sex life.”
He shakes his head as Reba makes a sound, and then he turns back to me,
stalking over to whisper near my ear. “You wouldn’t have been able to get
wet for someone like this. Not in a million fucking years. You’re too
addicted to the pain, Gidge.”
Grey grits his teeth as I offer up a shrug of semi-apology.
Sin continues past me and then sweeps up the stairs two at a time, like he’s
just so goddamn excited to get away from the confines of the hospital that
he’s willing to risk reinjuring himself. Alas, as soon as he gets to the top of
the stairs, he pauses to take a breath, panting a little as he leans over the
newel post.
“Don’t overdo it,” I warn him, standing behind him on the landing and
putting a hand to his lower back. My heart aches seeing him in pain, but then
he cants a look back at me, a sly expression appearing on his face before he’s
turning and gathering me into his arms.
“Gotcha, Gidge,” he murmurs, kissing the side of my neck and sliding his
hand down my belly toward the waistband of my jeans. My breath catches,
but I don’t stop Sin when he pops the button and slips his fingers beneath my
panties.
He finds me wet and wanting for it, so bad that I can’t quite keep a moan
back, even though I know Grey and Reba can hear me.
“How the hell was I able to ignore you for two years?” Sin wonders aloud,
his gray eyes half-lidded as he drags me against him, stroking along my slick
folds as I bite my lower lip to stifle the noises I so desperately want to make.
“I could ask myself that same question,” I murmur, letting him wrap his
left arm around my waist as he slips a single finger in with a sharp hiss, like
it’d be impossible to wait to get into the bedroom to see if I’m tight and hot
and ready for him. “Once you let yourself give into an obsession, it’s like a
dark curse: there is no escape.”
“Your voice …” Sin breathes back at me, pushing a second finger in and
drinking in my expression with a devilish one of his own. He brings life to
this house in a way that Crown and Beast don’t. They’re both so goddamn
serious. This is nice. With Sin, I want to play. With Sin, I feel like I might
actually still be eighteen in a few ways that matter. “So husky, so beautiful.”
I want him to sing to me so damn bad, but I’m too prideful to ask.
 Having just seen him after so many days apart, things feel new and weird
again. Maybe because of that fucking kiss. There’s just something about
Sin’s mouth that’s always managed to get me into trouble.
And those fingers … the idle hands of the devil.
“You’re too good at this,” I murmur, pushing at his wrist. He refuses to
budge, keeping his gaze on my face, the scar on the right side of his lip
pulling at his mouth and granting me that crooked smile I love so much. “It
pisses me off, thinking about how you might’ve gained this skill.”
“Consider it balance: I had to sleep with girls I didn’t love, so that you
could sleep with three other men you do love.” He shrugs one shoulder
loosely, turning us and encouraging me to lean against the wall as he fucks
me nice and slow with his inked hand, my fingers curled over his shoulders
as he keeps me standing and soaks my panties with desire. “You’re a married
woman now. Somehow, I always knew I’d fall in love with a married
woman.”
“Seems like your jam,” I whisper back, but the sensation of his fingers,
stroking and petting and coaxing, are too much. It’s hard to be coy when I’m
being played like an instrument.
Sin lets out a sharp laugh, releasing me suddenly and sliding his hand
from my pants. He lifts his glossy fingers to his mouth as I give him a look.
Our eyes lock as he slides both between his lips, sucking my heat off and
groaning like he loves the taste of me.
“You’re sick,” I growl at him, slamming my palm into his shoulder. He
grunts in pain, and my eyes widen. “Fuck, I’m an idiot. I didn’t hit you in the
gunshot, did I?”
“In the gunshot,” Sin says with a small half-smile and a sigh. “No, but you
were close.” The smiles fades as quickly as it came, and then Sin is putting
his hands on my shoulders and searching my face with desperation. “All of it
was close, Gidge.”
I slap his hand away with a frown.
“Don’t forget that I know where those fingers just were. Don’t touch me.”
I try to push him off, but he holds me there, that intense gaze boring into me
the way it always does. Somehow, Sin knows how to find pockets of sadness
and melancholy; he knows how to pop them and watch them bleed.
I feel myself shifting uncomfortably beneath his stare, and he releases me,
standing up straight and running a hand over that blue hair of his. I’m happy
to see that the myriad silver hoops in his right ear are back. He just wouldn’t
be Colton Young without a little pizzazz.
“You’re sure this is what you want?” he asks, his right hand scratching at
the back of his head in thought.
“This?” I query, looking back at him and trying to ignore the throbbing
between my thighs.
“Life on this compound is going to get so much worse before it gets
better,” he promises me, frowning hard. “But it’s not too late to run.”
“I thought we had this conversation?” I ask, trying to subtly move us
toward his bedroom. He notices and quirks a cocky smile at me.
“You don’t have to try so damn hard, Gidge.” He leans in, putting one
hand on the newel post and then running his tongue up the side of my face in
a way that makes me shudder. “I’m a sure thing.”
“Well, Mr. Sure Thing, can we just move this along then?” I snap, and Sin
gives me a look.
“Things are different now that Cat knows. You understand that, right? For
now, with the Grey Wolfe Mafia on our asses, he’s busy. But what happens
when he isn’t? What happens after all of this is over?”
“What are you suggesting? That we start over somewhere else?” I ask,
considering it for a moment. We could, if we really wanted to. The five of us
… We could take Reba and Fem along for the ride; Grey might even
consider joining us. Leave this place behind and start fresh somewhere new,
somewhere without the club, without Cat, without death threats and bullshit
…
But then I think about my father, and how he chose me over Gaz. I think
about Nellie. I think about all the families that are staying on the compound
because it’s too dangerous to leave.
Sin could walk away from this and start a new life. Beast, too. But Crown
and Grainger are so deep into the club; I’m not sure that they would want to
leave. Would they help me go? Sure. But they might not come with.
There’s all of that, and then there’s me.
I don’t want to run from the club; I want to take the reins of it.
Like father, like daughter.
“We’re not leaving,” I say after a moment, when Sin doesn’t answer my
previous question. Instead, he waits there and lets me think about it. “We’re
staying.”
 Sin nods, like that’s the answer he expected, but he gives me a look that
speaks volumes.
“Cat came to see me today before I left the hospital. I don’t think he was
there just for me, in particular. He had other business to deal with, but let’s
just say that he wasn’t especially happy to see me.”
“Did he threaten you?” I ask, but Sin just shakes his head.
“Not exactly. Mostly, he wanted to know about you.”
“Me?” I ask, trying to decide what, exactly, Cat might want to know. He’s
only seen me once since the wedding. Just once. If he’s been on the
compound while I was working in the clubhouse then he made sure to stay
way the hell away from me.
“You,” Sin confirms, looking uncomfortable as fuck as he stands there and
crosses his arms over his chest. I find my gaze drawn to his tattoos instead of
his face. I’ve always wondered why he’d ink himself with old-school
Americana, but now that I know him a little better, it makes sense. Carrying
around that sense of forgotten nostalgia on his skin is just the sort of thing
he’d do, wishing for a time period he never saw, that he’ll never live. He’s a
romantic and, I realize, as I stand there and stare at him, so am I. A big one.
Huge. I’m almost disgusted with myself. “He asked me all sorts of
questions.”
“Like?” I query, and Sin sighs, reaching up to scratch at his temple.
“When we first fucked.” He looks me dead in the face. “What I knew
about you and Grey and Crown’s bike.”
“What did you say to him?” I ask, alarm making my chest tight. Even as
I’m beginning to understand Cat, I don’t fear him any less or trust him any
more. He’s terrifying. And if he’s digging into the situation like this, it’s not
because he’s curious about his one and only surviving child. It’s because he’s
looking to dig up dirt on me.
“I told him the truth about the night we slept together,” Sin admits, and I
exhale, crossing my arms under my breasts. It’s best to tell as much of the
truth as possible, whenever possible, just so it’s harder for people to catch
the lies. But the second half of that equation … “As far as the rest of it, we
agreed that it’s best if Cat doesn’t know the full story. Crown and Beast have
taken responsibility for the whole of it—even if we all admitted to sleeping
with you.” He pauses and reconsiders his words for a moment. “To still be
sleeping with you.”
 I try to make myself breathe, but it’s difficult. I end up letting out a
whoosh of air as Sin studies my reaction. He could say that he warned me,
that he tried to save me from all of this, that I should’ve married him and let
him transfer the two of us to a chapter in another state, away from the mafia
and the bullshit. Instead, he waits for me to process that.
Sin and Grainger are not necessarily off the hook, but this story helps. It
helps because if Cat decides to exact punishment on his officers, it’ll be
Crown first that heads to the guillotine and Beast second. It was impossible
to hide Crown’s involvement, obviously. And then Beast agreeing to marry
me, letting me stay in Crown’s house, fuck Crown … Anyway, Crown
would’ve needed help cleaning up my mess; it was clear he didn’t work
alone.
“Cat won’t believe that,” I say, but Sin just shrugs.
“Maybe not, but that’s the story. There’s no proof to the contrary anyway.”
I narrow my eyes on him and turn away, casting a disparaging look over
my shoulder.
“You sure do know how to make a girl wet … and then also dry her up,
don’t you?” I turn away and continue on toward Sin’s bedroom, knowing
full-well that at least half of that statement was a lie.
Sin follows along behind me—yes, physically as well as metaphorically—
and flings his bedroom door closed behind us. Before I can even decide
where I’m going to sit or what I’m going to do, he’s wrapping an arm around
my waist and pushing the front of my thighs up against the edge of the bed.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said that you and Grey would’ve had a terrible
sex life,” he murmurs, and then he pushes me forward and my palms hit the
mattress. Sin’s right hand glides back into my pants and those deft fingers of
his slide into my soaking wet heat, drawing my own slick out and using it as
lube to rub the hardened nub of my clit. “You don’t want someone prim and
proper, someone who sits with a straight spine and reads old books that
nobody gives a shit about.”
I suck in a sharp breath as Sin’s body envelops mine. He’s leaned over me,
his left arm curled around my waist, keeping me pinned tight between him
and the bed while his right hand works my aching body into a frenzy.
“I don’t?” I whisper back, struggling to find my voice in the face of
unrelenting pleasure. Sin squeezes my clit between two fingers, teasing the
hood back and then stroking the bare nerve endings with the tip of another
finger. “What do I want, Sin? Tell me.”
 “Me.” That’s what he says, the cocky fuck, just before he drives three
fingers into me this time, fucking me with his hand as I moan and push my
ass against him, craving his cock, wanting him to strip down so I can see that
lean, inked body of his, so that I can feel him inside of me and reassure
myself that he’s still here. When he shoved me aside to face Gaz on his own,
I wondered if that wasn’t going to be the last time we ever laid eyes on one
another. “Come for me, Gidge,” he purrs, the melodic quality of his voice
nearly driving me to my knees. If he wasn’t holding me so tightly, I might
actually have collapsed onto the mattress. “I want you to clamp down hard
on my fingers; I want to feel your liquid heat all over my hand.”
I let out this dark, mournful sort of sound, like I’m coming apart on the
inside, and with my palms braced on the mattress, I ride Sin’s hand, eking
out every last scrap of pleasure that I can get. It feels so good. I know I’m
going to come before he even puts his cock in me.
“I have a confession to make,” Sin tells me, his breathing harsh and
ragged, almost desperate. But still, he doesn’t replace his hand with his dick.
Not yet. “I need to tell you something.”
I’m past the point of caring about whatever it is. I just want more. I bite
my lip and work my hips, grinding down against Sin’s knuckles.
“I’m addicted to making girls come,” he whispers against my ear, and I
almost laugh. Because, like, what a line. It’s a good one, I’ll admit, but it’s a
line, nonetheless.
“You’re nothing but a dirty heathen,” I murmur, my own voice thick with
carnal poison. If Sin is an incubus then I’m a succubus, and we’re just two
demons who were always meant to fuck. I should’ve just screwed him
against the tree at my sisters’ funeral. Because he’s right. I do want him. And
he’s also right that Grey never could’ve gotten me off this way. He isn’t
gritty and dark and cloaked in leather and ready to brawl. He doesn’t capture
chrome stallions between his strong thighs. He doesn’t know me the way
these men do, with an intimate knowledge of my life and my history and my
family. I need and want all of those things. Desperately.
“Maybe. But it’s true. I like to make girls come, and then I like to shove
my cock inside of them while their muscles are clamping and pulsing and
squeezing. I love forcing my way in through their pleasure and taking some
for myself.”
His words are what do me in, making me shudder and gasp as my body
releases all of that coiled tension like a whip, striking me in my core and
making me collapse forward. Sin lets me fall toward the bed, removing his
hand while I’m still in the process of coming, and yanking my pants over the
round curve of my ass.
Just as he promised—or threatened, I’m not sure—he’s shoving his cock
into me while my inner muscles pulse fruitlessly against themselves. It
almost makes me sob when he shoves inside of me, but only in relief.
Because I needed that. I need something to clamp down on, something to
milk.
I imagine as Sin begins to fuck me that he’s the one who got me pregnant.
It feels right somehow. He’s the youngest, right? He must have the best
seed.
You’re such a dirty pervert, Gidge, I tell myself, but I also don’t give a
shit.
In this moment, I can’t decide if I’m in heaven or hell, and that’s exactly
the way I like it.
Dirty, messy, dark. I need that. I crave it. Because I’m as fucked up as
anyone else on this goddamn compound.
Sin takes hold of my hips and pounds into me, rutting against my ass with
reckless abandon. I’d worry about him—he nearly bled to death—but my
mind is too far gone, and his body inside of mine feels so fucking good that I
can’t breathe.
I remember briefly that he did this very same thing to me on the couch
that day, when the guys took turns, one after the other. I loved that, too. I
want to do it again. I want to see what happens if I take all four of them at
the same time, claim all four of their cocks as my property.
I wish they could all wear leather jackets with my name on the back.
Oh, I’d love that …
I’m a possessive alpha bitch, what can I say?
Sin slides his hand underneath me, searching for the aching hardness of
my clit. He finds what he’s looking for with a desperate, ragged groan,
squeezing and pinching me in such a way that it’s like he’s jacking me off,
like I’m a dude and he’s pulling my foreskin back. Over and over and over
again, he pulls on the hooded folds around my clit, never slowing or
stopping the pace of his body.
“Come for me, Gidge,” he breathes, and I realize as he does that he’s not
just asking, he’s demanding. Colton is a bit of a wildcard; I wasn’t expecting
this. “I want to feel you drench my balls with your heat. Soak me and tell me
that you’re married and that this is wrong.”
I can’t even fucking breathe with the way he’s talking. He’s tearing me
apart with every word, and I realize that I’m just as much his venom as he is
mine; we’re poisoning each other as we fuck, and we both love it. We crave
it. We’d never be happy without this sort of pain in our lives. Never.
“I belong to someone else,” I tell him, my breath a huffing, panting mess.
“I’m married to someone else; I gave him my heart.” It’s all true, what I’m
saying, but what I don’t need to say, what we both know, is that I gave it to
Sin, too. I decided unequivocally the day I woke up in my grandmother’s old
bedroom—Sin’s bedroom, I guess—that I was going to keep all four of these
men. In exchange, I have to give up something. So, the endless darkness of
my heart spreads out like a pair of leathery, black wings, blotting out the sun,
inviting them into the shadows of my soul.
“Now,” Sin grinds out, bracing himself with his left hand while he jacks
me off with his right, “tell me what it’s like to be married to someone else
and carrying my baby. I don’t care if it’s true. Just tell me.”
“It’s wrong,” I murmur, and Sin moans, thrusting harder, faster, deeper
than I even imagined possible. How is he not passed the fuck out right now?
I decide to come first, worry about that later. “It’s so wrong.”
“It’s wrong that I got you pregnant in that dirty basement with your wrists
strapped together behind your back, isn’t it?” he growls, and that’s it. I’m
coming again. He’s reaming me with his cock, and I’m constricting around
him with these almost violent contractions.
“Fuck.” The way he moans the word, like he’s coming apart inside of me,
that kills me. I go completely boneless as he releases my clit in an effort to
hold himself up, his hips slamming into me as he fills me up, emptying his
balls into my body before he sags against me. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Sin pulls out of me and then barely manages to drag the pair of us onto the
bed before he collapses into the pillows. When I close my eyes, I can smell
the musty scent of sweat and sex mixed with that particular spice and citrus
scent of his. It’s like a drug; I inhale it, my eyes closed as I press my cheek
to Sin’s chest, listening to the violent thumping of his heart.
He wraps me up in his arms and keeps me close as he struggles to catch
his breath. I give him as much time as he needs, pushing his shirt up and
stroking a finger across his lower abs. Lazy, drifting motions that slow and
then still as I start to fall asleep.
 I’m not sure how long we lay there together, but time ceases to have
meaning. In here, together like this, it doesn’t matter. I’m alive because of
moments like this, these soft, in-between lulls that reek of familiarly and
comfort. This is what’s saved my eternal soul.
Sin clears his throat, exhales, and then swallows several times before he
manages to get himself together enough to talk.
“Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know,” he breathes, sighing
softly. His breath stirs my hair and the fingers of my left hand curl into his
sweat-soaked shirt. I want it off. I want his bare chest against my face, but
I’m too tired to move right now. Instead, I stay where I am, listening to his
heartbeat and letting the rhythmic quality of it soothe my frazzled nerves.
I think for a moment before answering.
“I never slept with Ryan,” I tell him, and I don’t have to explain who that
is or remind him of that conversation. He knows. He knows because it’s been
bothering the shit out of him the way it bothers me when I remember that
time I caught him screwing a groupie on the hood of Gaz’s sportscar.
Gaz.
I make myself think about anything else besides my dead brother.
“You never slept with Ryan?” he clarifies, and then he laughs, this throaty
male chuckle that makes me squirm a bit. “How many guys have you slept
with?”
It sounds like a simple question; it’s anything but.
I consider how I want to answer that, but there really is only one way: the
truth. There can only be truth between the five of us now.
“Four,” I respond, and Sin goes completely still and completely stiff.
“Four,” he repeats, almost like he feels sorry for me. But then he repeats
the number, and I can see that he isn’t. He isn’t sorry at all: he’s pleased.
“Four.”
Sin strokes a hand over my hair before rolling us over and stripping off
my clothes. He slips out of bed and returns with the handcuffs—guess he
packed those up to bring over here with this specific situation in mind—and
something else altogether.
“Turn over,” he tells me, and his voice is darker than I’ve ever heard it.
The sound makes my skin ripple with chills as I do as he asked, waiting on
all fours as he shackles my wrists to the headboard in such a way that I can
brace my weight on the chain of the handcuffs, keeping my upper half lifted.
 That’s when I come to find out what it is, exactly, that he has in his other
hand.
Sin turns the vibrator on and then slips it beneath me, easing it against the
aching mound of flesh at the apex of my pussy. The buzzing sensation
ricochets through my already sensitive body, and I groan, wiggling against it,
unsure if I’m trying to get closer or further away.
Doesn’t matter either way because Sin is braced above me, one of his
hands flat on the bed for stability, the other manipulating the vibrator,
finding that perfect spot that makes my heart jump and my body buck in
pleasurable defiance.
“That’s it, Gidge,” he purrs, rubbing against me as my body quivers and
shakes, and I wonder if I’ll even be able to go through with this. It’s almost
too much, all of that sensation bombarding me at once. I can’t take it; I can
barely breathe.
The orgasm is like a tear inside my soul, ripping me in half, stealing my
breath away. Sin grunts with satisfaction, keeping the vibrator where it is
with his left hand and using his right to angle himself against my opening.
He drives into me yet again as I’m mid-climax, and the feeling is impossible
to describe.
Did I say I was being torn asunder before? It was nothing compared to
this. I think I even cry; I might scream. Sin keeps the vibrator where it is,
thrusting through my contractions, finding my core, and then releasing his
hot seed inside of me. I’m pulsing so violently that I can feel his cum being
pushed out around his dick, dripping to the bed beneath us as he finally turns
off the vibrator and then shoves it aside.
“If you weren’t already pregnant,” Sin murmurs against my ear, kissing
the side of my face with that sharp mouth of his. It cuts; it bleeds. And I
don’t even care. I would bleed forever, just for the privilege of kissing this
man’s horrible mouth. “You would be now.”
He’s addicted to making girls come, is he?
I can learn to live with that.
Oh, fuck.
Grainger is home.
Nobody told me he was coming. Instead, I head downstairs in the morning
only to run right into him in the front hall. Not sure he was expecting to see
me either. The look of sheer horror on his face is fucking priceless.
“Gidge,” he says, almost suspiciously. He looks a little shaky, a little less
like the asshole who once told me I needed a leash than I feel he should. The
sight of him shouldn’t make me weak in the knees, shouldn’t make me
tremble, shouldn’t make me burn.
But it does. Oh fuck it does. My body and heart ache for Grainger in a
way that’s criminal, in a way that makes me ashamed even as it makes me
feel whole. It doesn’t make any sense, but then, we never have, me and him.
It doesn’t make sense that he wanted me to be his before he even knew who
he was finger-fucking in that dirty clubhouse bathroom. It doesn’t make
sense that I should be so attached to someone I hate.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt, and he shakes his head at me, giving
an awful smirk before meeting my brown eyes with his own. Mine are more
of a red-brown than his, but close enough.
“What am I doing here? What, I’m not welcome in your little harem?” He
gives me a dark look, like he really wants to tell me something but is holding
himself back. I know what that look is for, however. He’s looking at me like
he wants to talk about the pregnancy.
 Not sure if he knows that I know or …
“I meant, what are you doing out of the hospital. Sin just got back
yesterday, and you …” Almost died. Flatlined on the table next to me. Got
chest compressions while I stood and watched with a detached stoicism that
scared me.
“I’m not going to die, Gidge,” he says, as nicely, I think, as someone like
him is able to be. He removes his hand from where it was resting against the
wall and moves closer to me. Can he sense how fast my heart is beating? Is
he reacting to me in the same way or am I the only crazy person in this room
right now? “That was a onetime thing; they got me all fixed up.”
I just look up at him, but I’m not sure what to say, what to do. He’s always
been the most difficult man to be around, to fall in love with. My mind strays
to other things, to the memory of losing my virginity to this man, to letting
him take my ass, to the way his hot seed filled my palm inside the storage
room of Reba’s church.
Shit.
“Can you get the hell out of my way so that I can sit the fuck down?” he
growls, exasperated as he pushes past me. As if we haven’t been separated
for too long. As if he didn’t almost die. As if things are the way they’ve
always been.
He moves into the living room and sits down heavy on the couch, letting
out a long exhale.
“I’m still sore all over,” he tells me, letting his head fall back as I linger in
the doorway. His dark gaze slides to me, and a look of pure annoyance
flashes across his handsome face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he
snaps finally, and both my brows go up. “You’re just going to stand there
and fucking stare at me?!”
He sounds enraged, but I can’t figure out why. What have I done now?
“What’s your goddamn problem?” I growl right back, storming into the
room and planting my hands on my hips. “You’re home for two seconds and
yelling at me already?” I splay the fingers of one hand against my chest,
glaring down at him with every ounce of emotion that I’ve felt in the last
week. My melancholy. My love. My fear.
I almost lost you, you dipshit. Forever. We were almost separated forever.
“I’m excited to see you, you fucking piece of shit, worthless, cocksucking
asshole.” The words explode out of me, and Grainger frowns hard, blinking
back in surprise before he’s scowling all over again. “Excited, Cade. Do you
hear me? Goddamn it.” I shake out my hair as I stare down at him, and the
edge of his mouth quirks.
“That’s better. I was wondering if someone had stolen your fire,
sweetheart.”
My turn to scowl back at him. He knows I hate that, being called
sweetheart. And yet, I almost like the way he says it. Because I’m that
screwed up. And he’s that screwed up, and this is just us. We tell each other
that we hate one another when what we really mean is I fucking love you so
much that it hurts me, kills me, rips me apart. It’s hell to love you, and I want
to burn forever in your flames.
“My fire is a part of me; it can’t be stolen, borrowed, or bargained for,” I
tell him, licking my lower lip as a pleased flush takes over me. It feels
suddenly like there’s too much space separating us, so I move around the
table and take a seat on the coffee table. “Just because I don’t try to rip your
balls off when you come in the front door doesn’t mean—”
“You’re pregnant,” Grainger tells me, the words grating past his lips in a
rush. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to tell you that for days …” He trails off, swiping
his hand over his face as he studies me to gauge my reaction.
Crown didn’t tell Cade that he told me … that fucker.
I look down at my lap for a moment before lifting my gaze back to his.
“It’s mine.” He says it like it’s pure fact.
I let out a scoff, intending to stand up and move away when Grainger
reaches out and snatches my wrist, yanking me off the table and onto his lap.
He groans right away, like he’s in pain, cursing up a storm as I sit there and
cock a brow.
“Idiot,” I murmur, but it’s said with affection, my hands sliding over his
shoulders. That draws that intense focus of his right back to me.
“Why are you not freaking the fuck out right now?” he demands as I roll
my hips against him, just to see his reaction. He grits his teeth, clamping his
hands down on my pelvis with an ironclad grip. “Look at me, Gidge.”
“You don’t know that it’s yours,” I repeat for the hundredth time, and he
laughs at me. I wish he wouldn’t. He needs to take it easy, but knowing
Cade, that’s unlikely to happen. “It could easily—”
“It’s mine.” He stares back at me with this confident surety that makes me
want to scream. I could strangle this man. “We made a baby when we fucked
in that church; it’s probably the anti-Christ,” he jokes, reaching into the
pocket of my jacket like he’s looking for something. Cigarettes, probably.
 “Pregnant women can’t smoke,” I say dryly, and Grainger scowls at me.
“You seem awfully calm about this. Makes me suspicious as hell.”
“Crown told me already,” I say, before this conversation goes too far to
come back from. Grainger goes very, very still, and I can see that wild anger
in him rising to the surface like a storm.
“He did what?” Cade hisses, pausing at the sound of the front door
opening and angry footsteps pounding down the hall. Crown appears a
moment later, staring down at his sergeant-at-arms like he might take care of
the strangling for me.
“What the fuck, Grainger?” he snaps, eyes flicking to me again before
returning back to his fellow Daybreaker.
“What the fuck is right,” Grainge grinds out, pushing me aside and
standing up to face off against his VP, as if he could actually take him in the
state he’s in. “You told her. You fucking told her when you knew that I
wanted to do it. You son of a bitch.”
Crown looks at him impassively for a moment before turning back to me.
“He wasn’t supposed to leave the hospital for four more days; he checked
himself out.”
I stand up, fury overwhelming me.
“Cade,” I warn, but he barely looks at me. Instead, he moves toward
Crown like he wants to put a knife in him.
“How dare you take that moment away from me,” he hisses out, and I see
this getting bad—and fast. All of those times that Crown warned me off
Grainger, that was jealousy brewing hot and violent between them. For some
reason, it’s these two that seem to clash the most out of any other
combination between the four men.
“Gidget and I had our own shit to work out,” Crown says, but like the
words are being pulled from him like teeth.
Grainger tosses me a look that I return with a furious one of my own.
“You checked yourself out of the hospital? Why would you do that?” I’m
so frustrated right now that I could spit.
“I wanted to be here,” he says, turning to look at me with an almost empty
expression. “My place is here.”
With you.
I wish he would say that. I don’t know why. I guess I’m just fucking nuts.
That’s not something Cade Grainger would ever say. But it’s implied, right?
 “What good does that do any of us if you’re dead?” I say, trying and
failing to keep my voice that of an ice princess who doesn’t care about
anything.
For years, that’s exactly who I’ve made myself be. This cold, cynical bitch
that hates everyone and everything. But it’s been a lie all along. All one need
do is peek into my memories from two years ago to see that I clearly
suffered a mental break and shut my emotional side down.
I hated Cat, and I hated Nellie. I hated Gaz. I hated Crown and Beast, Sin
and Grainger. I hated everyone—including myself.
But none of that was true, was it? I mean, partially in certain cases. I did
and do hate Gaz, but I was still carrying around this tiny, stupid spark of
hope that somehow things could change, that somehow, he could change. I
never allowed myself to admit that until after it was too late, and he was
lying facedown with his brains leaking onto the floor.
Cat … I do hate Cat. But I also love him. I love my horrible piece of shit
father even though I don’t want to. Even as I know that he shot my dog, I
know why he did it. I do. I almost died at that church camp. I could’ve easily
been Carol Briggs. I could just as easily have been carted off and gang-raped
and murdered by the mafia.
Cat was teaching me to stay put, to stay safe. Was it right what he did? Of
course not.
If he ever hurts my dog again, I will kill him right then and there,
consequences be damned.
But I’m starting to realize something that scares the shit out of me: all
those years ago, when the guys agreed to take a step back from me because I
was too young, too naïve … they were right.
Goddamn, they were right.
All that time that I thought I was worldly and hardened and experienced, it
was bullshit. I thought I was just a hot fuck, some conquest that these men
used and tossed aside. In reality, it was the opposite. I thought Cat hated me.
He doesn’t. He loves me in the best way he knows how.
He killed Gaz for me, I think, and then I start to panic a little.
Cat chose me over Gaz.
He chose me because he loves me. Because he had two kids accusing one
another of being traitors, and he could only keep one, could only protect one.
He picked me. He fucking picked me.
 I turn away suddenly, caught in the middle of an emotional firestorm that
makes my chest tight. I get dizzy, and I actually stumble a bit, falling to my
knees beside the coffee table as both men swoop in to catch me.
They both manage to grab an arm before I actually hit the floor, slowing
my descent.
“Gidge,” Crown whispers as Grainger’s grip tightens and I glance his way,
meeting those dark, impossible eyes.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, but I don’t sound okay. I sound lightheaded and a
little panicky. I let them lower me to the floor, but when Crown tries to pick
me up, I wave him off. “I’m okay—physically speaking. I’m just having … I
don’t know, an emotional breakdown or something.”
Grainger crouches down beside me and looks me dead in the face.
“Over me?” he asks, but I just shake my head and then nod, shake my
head.
“I don’t know. Yes. No. Everything.” I feel like I’m waking up after years
of suffering through an emotional coma. Could be the pregnancy hormones.
Could be years of trauma finally catching up to me; it’s hard to say.
“The hell is going on in here?” Beast asks, his voice a low, dark growl
from the direction of the other hallway. “I try to give y’all a moment of
peace and you put my wife on her knees?”
“I’m okay,” I promise again, using the coffee table to stand up. Crown and
Grainger both assist me, even though I don’t need it, and I shake them off.
We all pause at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, preceding Sin as he stops
in the archway between the living room and the front hall.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice tight. It takes him a second to
realize that Grainger is here when he’s not supposed to be. “Man, what the
fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing that a few more days of sleep and sex won’t fix,” Grainger
declares, lifting up his shirt to reveal a sea of bandages. “I’m exactly where I
need to be.”
I stand there in the center of these men, and I let myself feel the gravity of
it all.
There’s a weight to their combined presence that presses down on me,
makes me feel heavy, but in a grounded sort of way. In a way that I like, that
I need.
“I’m processing a lot of shit,” I explain, holding up both hands. “That’s it.
I’m …” I almost choke on the next words I want to say, but they have to be
said. I have to say them. I can’t let my intimacy issues get in the way or this
won’t work the way I need it to. “I’m glad you’re all here. I’m glad we’re
together.”
Grainger tosses me a sharp look again, like he isn’t sure what to make of
that statement. Or maybe because he’s as weirded out when I’m nice to him
as I am when he’s nice to me.
“We’re … the five of us are having a baby together, so you guys better get
your shit together—and quick. I won’t tolerate bullshit.” I turn and storm
past Crown, past Beast, using their collective shock to put some space
between us before I start to question myself any further.
I head into the room at the end of the hall, the one that’s supposed to be
Grainger’s, and then I sit on the bed with my elbows on my knees, my face
in my hands.
Why did I say that? What am I even doing?
Grainger appears a moment later, stepping inside and slamming the door
closed behind him. I don’t look up. I just sit there, and he moves over to sit
beside me.
“We don’t have to have a baby if you don’t want,” he growls out, as if he
thinks I don’t know that already. I look up to find him watching me with an
inscrutable expression. And I need that. I need him to be scrutable.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” I reply, sitting up and leaning back on the
bed. “But I don’t think it’s a bad idea. I’m here, right? I have a home. I have
a husband.” Grainger shifts uncomfortably beside me, and I can see that he
really doesn’t like that statement or whatever it is that he feels it implies. “I
have you.”
“Me.” He snorts and shakes his head, looking over at me with narrowed
eyes. “I warned you. I told you that if you got pregnant with my baby, I was
never letting you go.”
“And I told you,” I growl back at him. “That I hate you saying that. It’s
like you would let me go without a kid. It makes me not want to have a baby
with you at all.”
“I know this baby is mine,” he tells me with all the confidence of the
cocky. “It is. And I want it.”
“I’m not leaving Beast. Or Sin. Or Crown. Even if it is your baby.
Anyway, that doesn’t change a fucking thing about any of this.” He smirks at
me, but I can read the possessive surety in his face like it’s tattooed on.
“What if it isn’t your kid, what then? I need you to answer that question.”
 He looks over at me and we stare into each other’s eyes.
“It’s over, Gidge. I’m tired of running from this. You’re mine; you were
always meant to be mine. I explained that to you.” He sighs like I’m an idiot
and scoots up the bed so that he can lean into the pillows with an agonized
groan, like this conversation has drained the life out of him.
This pregnancy thing is … I shouldn’t say unexpected because how stupid
is that? Gee, I had unprotected sex, I wonder how I got knocked-up? But
still, I wasn’t thinking when the club burst onto the scene and Grainger
appeared like a ghost in the night.
How could I have ever imagined that I’d get from there to this?
Assuming, again, that the baby is Grainger’s. I started my pills again as
soon as I got home, but there’s about a seven-day delay in effectiveness. The
mystery is still up in the air.
“Is this a monumental fucking disaster for you?” Grainger asks, and while
the words are something I might expect him to say, the tone is completely
different. He’s posing a legitimate question, not trying to insult me.
“No,” I reply honestly, turning and crawling up the bed toward him. He
looks down at me just in time to see me on all fours, and he curses with a
viciousness that I didn’t expect. I pause beside him, sitting back on my
calves and watching the way his gaze rakes over me with desperate hunger.
“It’s been too long, Gidge. I need it.”
“You almost died,” I repeat, and he stares at me like I’ve lost my fucking
mind.
“What’s your point? That I deserve pussy now more than I ever did
before? I swear to God if you don’t ride my dick right now, I’ll turn over and
fuck this mattress so hard that I’ll tear all of my stitches out.”
“Don’t you dare threaten me,” I warn him, but still, I can’t get his words
in the cathedral out of my mind. I missed you so much; I hate you so much. I
could masturbate to those words alone and get myself off a thousand times
on the darkness in his voice. The need. The sick desperation. He wanted me
so bad that he couldn’t wait. That’s how much he wants me now. Maybe
more.
“Threaten you? Sweetheart, that’s a promise.” Grainger reaches down to
undo his pants, and I watch in fascination as his thick cock springs free, a
bead of pearly pre-ejac resting on the tip like an invitation. I force my eyes
back to his face as he fists his cock in his hand, stroking himself as he stares
at me in challenge.
 I’m still sore from fucking Sin, but I also can’t seem to resist Grainger
either.
I’ve missed him. If he’d died … All I can think about is the quiet,
restrained chatter in that room, the feel of his limp hand in mine, the tears
that ran hot and salty down my face.
I’m wearing an oversized t-shirt now along with a pair of Sin’s boxers,
that’s it. I’ll admit, when I woke up this morning with a bizarre craving for
orange juice (is this pregnancy shit or something?), I found myself
entertaining a strange thrill at the idea of digging through Colton’s dresser
drawers as he slept.
I’ve never had the opportunity to wear a boy’s clothes before. Well, okay,
man’s clothes, but Sin is the closest thing I will ever have to that giddy,
champagne-bubbles-in-the-chest feeling that I’ve heard other high school
girls talk about.
The thing is, I could never get that feeling from a high school boy. Even
now, thinking about Trevone Hundley kissing me in the cold waters at the
church camp, I feel nothing. Less than nothing. Blank.
I don’t want a boy; I want a man.
And Grainger, dickhead that he is, is most definitely a man in every way
that matters. He’s big and hard—in more ways than one—with a chiseled
jaw and dark stubble, his rust-red hair a similar color to my eyes.
He offers me my own version of those champagne bubbles, like fluttering
bats in my belly instead of butterflies. It’s the sort of dark, morbid love that
can only be built on a foundation of tragedy. It’s the only thing a girl like me
can really dig into.
I swing my leg over his lap, spreading my thighs and hovering above the
thick heat of his erection. The boxers are easy enough to push aside, so I
don’t bother to remove them. I like the idea of fucking Grainger while
wearing Sin’s clothes anyway.
My hands come up to touch either side of Cade’s face, digging my fingers
into his hair and searching for the edge of that sun and moon tattoo that rests
partially beneath his hairline. The first time we had sex—first time ever for
me—he had the sides of his head shaved, and this tattoo was highly visible.
Now, it’s hidden, almost private.
I brush my thumb across that ink, feathering his hair, and he quite literally
growls at me, reaching up to snatch my wrist in strong fingers.
 “What are you doing?” he asks, voice accusatory. I scoot back, brushing
my hips over the straining length of his cock until it’s pinned between me
and his rock-hard stomach. Keeping most of my weight on my thighs, I rock
against the underside of his shaft and make him curse so violently that a
smile rises to my lips.
“Grainger,” I say, giving him a look that he returns with a fierce one of his
own, the fingers of his left hand burning as they hold my wrist in a punishing
grip. “Don’t fight this.”
“Fight what?” he asks with a harsh laugh. “Sex? Because you know I want
to fuck you, Gidge. I’ve wanted that for years. Unfettered. Unrestrained. I
thought maybe there was something about that, about you being off-limits
and taboo as fuck.” He shakes his head as I lean over, brushing my mouth
against his, but just barely.
He’s still recovering; I’m in complete control right now.
It’s a rare opportunity, to have Cade Grainger this vulnerable. I don’t
imagine anyone has ever seen him like this. If I have my way, nobody else
ever will. This is for me and me alone, and so I’ll give him something that he
can have all to himself.
I rock my hips against his cock again, already regretting keeping the
boxers on. The material is thin enough that I can feel his heat, that I know
I’m soaking through the fabric with my own arousal, but I want—no, I need
—his skin to touch mine.
Using the wrist he’s still holding, I move his hand to my chest and place
my left one over the top of his, pushing his palm against my beating heart.
“That night … if you’d fought just a little harder, it might’ve been just you
and me.”
The words fall between us like stars, winking in a distant sky. The light is
there, but it takes eons for it to reach the eyes. That’s what my words are
like, just hanging there, waiting to be perceived, flickering and dancing and
burning.
Cade looks at our entwined hands on my chest and not at my face. He’s
breathing hard; I can feel him underneath me. Oddly enough, I feel like I can
sense his heartbeat in his cock. I push my hips down harder, pinning that
impossibly rigid shaft between our bodies. He grits his teeth and finally lifts
his eyes to mine.
“If you’d asked me, just one more time …” he trails off, and I see that not
only are my words like stars, but that we are also like stars, shooting stars.
Passing comets in the night. We came so close to being wrapped up in one
another inextricably, forever. “I would’ve stayed.” He actually finishes the
thought, rather than leaving it hanging the way he usually does, unspoken
but implied.
I don’t want implications anymore; I want the bold, honest truth.
He slides his palm down my chest, and I let him, watching as he pushes up
Sin’s t-shirt so that he can lay his bare skin against my belly. I know what
he’s thinking as he looks at me, wetting his lips, lifting his eyes to mine.
“Before anything else, I always make sure that I have a condom,” he says,
almost absently, but with such a gravity to his words that I know this is the
most honest and the most real that Cade Grainger has ever been. “Every time
I fuck someone, that’s the first thing that comes to mind. If I don’t have one,
it doesn’t happen. I don’t trust anyone.” He wets his lips and caresses his
hand over my stomach, and I can see that even while he parades around with
this macho male excitement at the idea of being the one to actually get me
pregnant, he wants more than that.
He wants something that feels impossible to put a name to.
“Except with you. Only with you has my need obliterated everything else.
When I saw you in that cathedral, wearing that dress, there was this moment,
just after you picked up the gun …” He trails off and his nostrils flare, lifting
those dark eyes from my belly to my face. I press my hips down harder and
thrust along his length, making him curse again. “You weren’t sure which
side you were going to be on and damn it, I knew that if you started firing on
the club, I wouldn’t be able to do it. To kill you.” He exhales and then
reaches over to the nightstand, opening the drawer and pulling out a knife.
I watch in abject fascination as he slides the blade through the waistband
of the boxer shorts, chucks the weapon aside, and then reaches down to grab
both halves of the garment. With a bunching of his coiled arm muscles, he
rips, and the fabric rends apart, baring my cunt to him.
He grabs my hips and pushes me down, and I can’t help it, I drag my
slickness along the length of him, spreading my arousal across his hot skin.
The sounds that slip past his lips are wild, unchained things, things left to
carouse in the darkness alone before my demons joined them.
I put my hands on his shoulders for better leverage, but he pushes them
aside so that he can take his shirt off. Once the fabric lies pooled on the
floor, he takes my hands and puts them back on his shoulders. I see now all
the bandages on his chest, and I wonder how lucky we both are to have
survived what we did.
Our eyes meet.
“While I was gone, how many women did you fuck thinking of me?” I
ask, expecting a cocky answer and a violent smirk, some absurdly high
number thrown in my face that’ll make me both jealous and horny all at the
same time. “For those three months, how many?”
He squeezes my hips even harder, forcing me to grind down against him
in a way that I thought might be painful but that he seems to love.
“Do you know how fuckin’ pissed off I am right now?” Grainger grinds
out, letting that familiar rage of his climb to the surface. He pushes me down
even harder and we both groan. I end up leaning farther forward, reaching
past him to grip the headboard so that I can increase my pace without putting
too much pressure on his healing body.
It’s so wet between us, and it turns me on because there’s nothing but my
arousal and his pre-ejac to lube us up. Just us. Just our bodies. We don’t need
anything else. The motion and angle of my hips causes the head of his cock
to bump against the almost painful nub of my clit, and I know I’m not going
to last much longer before I’m sliding down the length of him.
“How pissed?” I ask, unsure where this is going but finding myself almost
past the point of caring. I want Grainger; he wants me. Whatever else there
is, it doesn’t matter half as much as that. This is basic, primal. That’s how we
are, me and him. A man and a woman who just fucking want each other,
who can’t get enough of one another’s bodies. “How pissed, Cade?”
He jerks my hips forward, angling himself at my opening, and then pulls
me violently down the length of his cock, slamming my pelvis into his and
filling me completely. I gasp at the delicious torture of the invasion, wanting
more, needing more, but unsure if I can even handle this much. My lower
belly muscles ache as I suck in a huge breath, my eyes meeting Grainger’s.
“You actually think I would fuck some random bitch while you were with
the mafia? Gidget, I couldn’t eat. I barely slept. I was a goddamn wreck.” He
moves my hand from the headboard back to his shoulder and gives me this
imperious look that makes me hot all over in so many different ways. “Ride
me. Now.”
It’s a command that I want to obey, but my body seems frozen; my heart
has stilled.
 “You waited for me,” I whisper, but he’s shaking his head and letting out a
harsh, angry laugh.
“Waited? Gidge, I fought like hell. I spent every spare moment I had
helping to organize that fucking raid.” He narrows his eyes on me, and I hate
that he can look so tough, so badass, when he just nearly died. There’s so
much fire in him; it calls to the fire inside of me, too.
We are both as wild, as unpredictable as those wildfires eating away at the
Oregon landscape.
“Thank you,” I tell him, and the words seem to surprise the shit out of
him. He opens his mouth like he’s about to respond, but like, he’s fucking
Grainger, so I don’t want to hear whatever else he has to say, just in case he
ruins this moment.
I rise up on my knees, dragging my silken pussy up his shaft. The
delicious friction between us burns like a fresh spark on dry tinder. Only …
there’s nothing dry about this. It’s so slippery and wet between my legs, I
might be worried that I started my period if I weren’t … I exhale and reach
down, grabbing the hem of Sin’s shirt and yanking it over my head. I toss it
aside as Grainger makes this low, dark sound in the back of his throat,
reaching out and running his palms up my sides to cup my breasts.
He isn’t gentle, kneading and caressing them with every ounce of strength
in those powerful fingers. His grip is insane, those corded forearms of his
bunching with each movement of his hand as he palms my breasts and lifts
the heavy weights.
I drop my hips again, sliding back down his length and making his breath
hiss out in a rush.
“Faster,” he snarls, digging his fingertips into my milky skin. I’ve still got
a few marbled bruises here and there from the bomb blast, but it’s nothing
compared to the ones on Grainger’s chest and arms, barely visible in the dim
lighting of the room. All we have is the vague dimness of a night-light that
leaks under the door from the hall, and the effused light of early morning as
it brightens up on the other side of the wood blinds.
“No, Cade,” I tell him, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m not letting you
push yourself past your limit.” I lift up again and then slowly, to the point
that it’s almost agonizing for me, slide back down him again. My eyes drift
to the space between us, where it’s clear even in this low light that our
bodies are joined together. There’s no mistaking the sounds of it either, the
wet slide, the moans, the heaving panting. Up and down, over and over and
over again.
I can feel him beneath me, his strong thigh muscles quivering as he tries to
hold himself back from the edge.
“Fuck this,” he growls out and then I’m being flipped onto my back and
Grainger’s on top of me.
“Grainger,” I murmur, even as he drives his hips deep and hard against
mine, grinding his pelvis into me. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Shut up,” he grinds out, dropping his head to lick and kiss the edge of my
mouth, refusing to allow full contact between our lips and tongue. He’s
teasing me, and I love it. I also hate it.
He powers into me hard and fast, and I spread my legs wide, welcoming
him in, bringing my thighs toward my chest. My hands grip his ass cheeks,
digging my coffin-tipped nails into his skin as he moves with a ferocity that I
didn’t quite expect.
“I hate you so much,” he tells me again, and then he puts his lips right up
against the side of my throat and bites me hard enough that I cry out. “I love
you so much.”
And there it is.
The words hit me like a punch to the heart, and I’m groaning and writhing
and thrusting up to meet him. I’m thinking about that moment in the
resuscitation room where I almost lost him, and then I’m reveling in the raw,
masculine strength of him above me, driving into me, claiming me.
He pulls out at the last moment, and then comes hard, his cock pulsing and
throbbing as white ropes of cum spatter my lower belly and the dark patch of
hair above my aching clit. Grainger grinds the head of his dick against that
raw, needy flesh before he collapses facedown beside me with a groan,
panting and shaking from exertion.
“You idiot,” I murmur, rolling over and straddling his bare ass.
“The hell are you doing?” he grinds out, but he’s in no state to move.
What the moron needs now is rest, rest, and more rest. Not wild,
uncontrolled sex. I straddle that firm ass of his and then grind my hips
against him, like I’m fucking him from behind. I’m not sure that he likes it,
but he’s also exhausted and missing me, so he lets me do it, use his body to
get myself off.
My hand sneaks between my legs, and I ride my own fingers as I thrust
against his ass. The orgasm hits me soon enough, and I close my eyes,
enjoying the feel of my own body as it works hard to pleasure my fingers
with its contractions.
When I curl up beside him, he surprises me by wrapping an arm around
my waist and pulling me close. This’ll be our first time having sex and then
actually sleeping in the same bed together,
It feels monumental somehow.
He curls his body around mine and bites me in the side of the neck again,
making me shiver.
“Everything about this makes sense but for one thing,” he whispers, his
voice as dark as the fading shadows at the edges of the room. If we’re going
to sleep through part of the day—it seems like that might be a regular thing
for these guys—then we’ll need curtains in here. It’s already starting to get
too light.
“But for what?” I whisper back, almost too afraid to move, to break this
moment apart and realize what I’ve feared all along: that life is dark and
bloody and thick with bullshit, and that moments of beauty are too few and
far between for it to be worth it. I’ve been rethinking that lately, but I’m
scared. I don’t want it to be true. Please, prove me wrong, I beg, but I’m not
sure who it is that I’m asking. If Reba were here with me now, she’d suggest
asking God.
Personally, I think I’m asking myself that question.
If I make the right choices, if I fight with everything I’ve got, can I make a
beautiful life amongst all of these shadows, all of this ugliness?
“Sharing you,” Grainger adds, drawing me so close that there’s no saying
where exactly his naked skin ends and mine begins. “You should be mine
and mine alone. I’ll regret the mistakes I made that night for the rest of my
life.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I don’t say anything at all.
We don’t always get everything we want, but if we try really fucking hard,
sometimes we might just end up with what we need.
And I need him. I need all of them.
I just hope they need me enough to stick this out.
However this ends up, whether we sink or swim, we’ll do it one way and
one way only—together.
All four men are seated at the breakfast table when I walk in, Fem trotting at
my heels. He pauses at the sight of so many male humans in one place,
grumbles, and then curls up in the far corner with his head on his single paw,
glaring daggers at them.
I pause in the doorway to the kitchen as four sets of eyes swing my way.
There’s a difference in the atmosphere when they’re all together; it’s a
seismic shift in temperature. It’s hot and sticky and strange.
I shake off the feeling, toss my hair, and move over to the coffeepot.
“One cup,” Crown says, because he just has to be an asshole like that.
Sin scoffs at him.
“Really?” He looks my way. “Has he been this bossy all week?”
“Pretty much,” I agree, realizing that my declaration last night is about to
make things just that much more difficult for all of us. Pretty sure the guys
were waiting in a sort of limbo, wanting to see if I’d actually keep this
pregnancy or not. If they were betting men, I think they all would’ve bet on
the wrong horse.
“Don’t treat her like a child,” Sin warns Crown, the VP’s voice of reason
the way Crown’s always been the voice of reason for Cat. “It’s off-putting.”
“My mother drowned herself in caffeine when she was pregnant with me,”
Grainger offers up, and it could very well be the most personal thing he’s
ever told me about himself. Raelynn Grainger. I’d love to know more about
that woman, and why the hospital staff thought she might show up.
 “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Crown asks dryly, giving his
sergeant-at-arms a sharp stare. “Look how you turned out.”
“Right. A young officer in a powerful club. With a gorgeous girl and a
baby on the way. I’m a total fuck-up.” Cade leans back in his seat and
threads his fingers together behind his head. He’s still in pain, that much was
obvious from having sex with him last night, but he hides it well. He lets his
dark gaze trail over to Beast who, of course, has yet to say a word on the
subject.
If it bothers him that he knows for sure that this isn’t his baby, he doesn’t
let on. He’s such an honest person, he’d likely say something if it did.
There’s reassurance in that for me, in knowing that I have someone around
that I never have to worry about. If Beast is upset, he’ll just tell me. If he
doesn’t like something, he’ll voice his concerns.
“So we’re really doing this then?” Grainger adds, when nobody interrupts
him or corrects the ‘gorgeous girl’ part of his statement. “Fucking Christ.”
My lips twitch as I turn around and hold out the mug with a sad moue.
“I like it best when you make it,” I tell Cade, giving him a look that makes
him scowl and scoff.
“Hell woman,” he snarls, shoving up from his chair with a slight grimace.
He manages to walk the pain off, coming over to me and snatching the mug
from my hand. “Sit down.”
I grin because, shit, this should be fun. I’ll let them baby and pamper me
all they want indoors. Just so long as they don’t think I’ll stay here for the
remainder of this stupid war.
This won’t be over until I spill blood with my own hands.
I take Grainger’s seat, looking up just in time to see Grey step into the
room.
He goes completely still, like a wolf who’s just stumbled on a cave full of
grizzly bears. His silver eyes dart around the room before landing on
Grainger’s back, on the patch with the black moon eclipsing the devil’s grin
of a bloodred sun.
My most ornery lover turns back in time to see that he’s being watched. I
remember that the two of them met before, and that it didn’t exactly go well.
“What the fuck is this piece of shit still doing here?” he snarls out, and I
see the fingers of his left hand twitching against the pistol on his belt. Grey’s
eyes snap down to the movement, and I see that intelligent gaze of his
working out a solution, an escape.
 I must be that escape because his gaze swings over to mine and locks on.
“Cade,” I warn, but he just scoffs and moves over to the table, slamming
the mug down so hard that some of the liquid sloshes over the side. Fem
snarls from his position on the far side of the room, hackles raised at the
smell of violence.
“This is an invitation for trouble,” Grainger says, directing his words at his
vice president and not me. He points his right hand at Grey. “Dashcam
footage that was clearly obtained from a mafia car—god Gaz was a moron—
isn’t much of a smoking gun, Crown. Whatever you think Cat knows, it’s
nothing compared to this. If he finds this boy here, he will hang the five of
us and smile while he does it.”
A shiver traces over my skin because Grainger’s probably right.
Cat knows I’m a traitor, that I saved Grey, and that his officers helped me
cover it up. But he doesn’t know that I’ve been communicating with the
don’s last, living heir. He certainly isn’t aware that the boy’s been living
here. Or that I plan on helping him ascend the Grey Wolfe throne.
“As of yesterday, we’re still checking everyone who goes in and out—and
not on my orders,” Crown offers up, giving Grainger a sidelong look. “Cat
doesn’t trust us anymore, remember? He expects deflection.”
“We need to prove ourselves to him,” I say, and the room goes quiet, as if
every word that leaves my mouth is somehow precious. I don’t know when
that happened or how, or if I’m just imagining it, but … “We need to bring
him the bodies of the men who killed my sisters.”
“I need to get off the compound,” Grey agrees, nodding but keeping his
attention fixed primarily on Cade. Big mistake and one that I know my
father’s exploited to his benefit. If you put Beast and Cade in a room with
people who aren’t aware of their reputations, eyes always go to Grainger.
He’s wildly unpredictable and holds onto this raw anger that crackles deep
inside the depths of his soul.
Gazes always go to him in worry, wondering what he might do, what
violence he might inflict.
But really, it’s Beast that Grey should be worried about. If anyone were
going to kill him, it’d be my husband. He’d sneak up on Grey in the hallway,
grab him from behind, and snap his neck like a twig.
I almost smile at that, hiding the expression in my mug.
God, my life is fucked-up. What sort of maniac smiles at something like
that anyway?
 Fem trots up to the doorway, side-eying Grey with a curl of his lips. I give
a small whistle, and the dog ducks beneath the table, ignoring the men to
take up a position by my side. When Crown looks down at him, Feminist
curls his lips back from his teeth and lets out a rumbling growl.
I stroke my hand over his head, and he puts his one remaining front leg in
my lap.
“I have an idea,” I say, my stomach churning at the thought of what I’m
about to suggest. “Why don’t we ask Cat to meet us at the house so I can get
my stuff? Like … to clean out my room. Maybe we can get a read on him
that way. Maybe I could even, I don’t know, talk to him for a minute.”
The thought makes me sad in a way that I can’t explain. For so long, I’ve
wanted out of that horrible house with its horrible memories. And yet, now
that I actually have an escape route, the prospect of never sleeping in that
room again makes me sick.
I can’t explain it.
“That doesn’t solve the problem,” Crown offers up as Cade leans against
the counter.
“If you want to get your things,” Beast offers up finally, “we can take
you.”
We he says, because even he isn’t enough to keep me safe if the mafia
decides to roll up while we’re in that house. That infamous motherfucking
house.
“Gidget,” Crown tells me, turning his face to mine in what’s very clearly a
warning. “Cat isn’t going to be in the mood to talk to you. We can … move
you in here, sure.” He pauses to put his hand to his forehead, like he’s in the
middle of adjusting to the idea, and rubs at his sun-kissed skin for a moment.
“But you’re not going to get anything out of Cat. If we want to get Mafia
Brat off the compound, we need a different idea.”
I nod, but I still want to do this.
Move my things in.
Talk to Cat.
Because I really think I am a sadist and a masochist both, all wrapped up
into one.

Seeing my bedroom again after all this time makes me feel things that I
don’t want to feel, memories bombarding me from all sides, choking me up.
I can barely force myself through the doorway and inside, pausing in the
center of the room with an empty box in my hand. As I look around, I
wonder if I even want anything from this place at all.
“You want me to start packing anything in particular?” Sin asks, putting
his forearms up on either side of the doorjamb, his body leaning over me
from behind. His comforting scent—cinnamon and tobacco and cloves with
that kiss of blood mandarin—wafts around me, making me shiver.
“I … don’t know,” I offer up, looking down at the bed where I had my
first time with Grainger, and my second time with Sin, all within the span of
an hour. I’ve sat on this bed and had conversations with Reba. I’ve taken a
pregnancy test under Beast’s watchful eyes. I’ve applied eyeliner while
talking to Crown about his hopes and dreams.
I … sat on this very bed while Posey leaned in my doorway and Queenie
sat on the edge of my mattress, smiling over at me.
I’ve had my ass beaten by Gaz in this room.
I’ve had my father put a gun to my head and pull the trigger just before
dumping my bloody dog in my lap.
My hands start to shake, but I make myself move forward, tossing the box
on the bed as I fight the feelings, pushing them back to the edges of my
consciousness. Sin moves into the room beside me, as connected to this
place as I am.
He helped me move these very boxes in after Cat bought this place,
upgrading us from the shithole we grew up in. Sin watched over me and my
sisters here. He rejected the opportunity to be our head of security, thinking
that he was doing the right thing and then coming to find out it was a regret
he’d have to live with forever.
The first thing I do is pull Queenie’s cookbook out from between my
mattress and my box spring. After Gaz hit me, and it got knocked under the
fridge, I retrieved it the first chance I got and stashed it here.
Flipping it open, I stare at Queenie’s signature handwriting, the flowers on
the tails of the Q’s, blooming on the dots of the I’s. My hands begin to
tremble again, so I throw the stupid fucking thing in the box and try not to
think how this is the end of an era.
It’s like, my life started the day my sisters died. Does that make sense?
Everything else prior to that was just filler, just backstory. Now, I’m
preparing myself to close the final page on this chapter. It makes me feel
odd, like I’m sitting in front of a computer, a blank page in front of me,
desperately trying to figure out what words I should use to start my new
story.
“Hey,” Sin says, drawing my attention around. He’s got a framed picture
of my sisters in his hand. His silver eyes are dark and as distant as my heart.
He looks up to meet my gaze before passing the picture over. I very carefully
place that in the box beside the cookbook. “We don’t have to do this right
now if you don’t want to. In fact, I could come over here by myself and pack
it all up on a different day.”
“No,” I say, resolute in my determination. I have to do this. I need this. I
cannot heal if I don’t open up some of those old wounds; they have to drain.
They have to leak. It isn’t pretty. Actually, it’s as disgusting as it sounds,
feeling those hideous scars torn asunder just so that I can bleed all over
again. “I can do this.”
I open my nightstand drawer, reaching in to grab Queenie’s sonogram.
I stare at that for a moment before putting it in the box. Another item,
another memory, a different time. Sin watches me for a moment before
opening my dresser drawers and frowning at the emptiness inside. Right.
Because Cat took all of my clothes before I left. I’m sure he burned them all.
Doesn’t matter.
I have Posey’s old clothes, and our styles weren’t completely at odds. I’m
a bit more ‘goth girl’ and she tended toward ‘girly-girl’ but we both like
things a bit … revealing, a little slutty.
I’m not surprised when Nellie knocks softly on the doorjamb before
coming in. Her face is a mask of pain, and her eyes are shiny with unshed
tears. Looking at her now, I know that Cat made the right decision, keeping
her from learning about Gaz’s death. She might not survive it. Everyone has
a breaking point, and if it wasn’t the death of her daughters, it could very
well be the death of her only son.
“Thought you could use a hand,” she offers up, and even though my throat
gets tight, and I want to say no, I make myself nod. I’m not sure I could talk
right now if I tried. My mother moves into the room, setting another empty
box on the desk beside Sin’s and helping empty the drawers.
We’ve decided to leave the furniture behind. I don’t know what, exactly,
our sleeping arrangements are going to be like at the farmhouse. Sin and
Grainger just now got back, and we haven’t exactly had the chance to iron
out details like that.
 But I know that I don’t need any of this. There’s furniture in every room
of that house, and I could buy myself a whole new set with the guys’ money
if I wanted. A smile almost quirks my lips, but then I hear Nellie let out a
small sound.
I whip around to look at her and find her with her hand pressed tight
across her mouth. She has one palm braced on the surface of the desk, her
body shaking with sobs.
“Mom?” I ask as Sin steps aside so that I can take his place. It almost
hurts to reach out and put my hand on Nellie’s shoulder. When I say that
we’ve never had a normal mother-daughter relationship, I mean that. We
don’t touch casually; we don’t hug; we don’t have heart-to-heart chats.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, removing her hand from her mouth and placing
it palm down on the desk for more support. She looks ridiculously unstable
right now. “This is just … it’s a lot for me.” She looks over at me, and I see
that her makeup is already streaked from the hot tears dripping down her
face. “Your father and I bought this house with you kids in mind, to give you
a better life. To give you things we never had for ourselves. This was
supposed to be a place of healing for all of us.” She turns away from me, as
if she can’t bear to look at me while she talks.
“I’ll be right outside,” Sin whispers, giving my wrist a small squeeze as he
passes by, stepping out to wait in the hallway. Just like old times, he leaves
the door open so that he can keep an eye on me.
“Instead, my last child is leaving and I …” She trails off, her blue eyes
glossy and distant. When she sways slightly, I grab onto her arm, and she
turns to look at me with a sense of urgency in her face. “I knew you’d all
leave eventually, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
I choke on the pain, on the remembered sight of Gaz’s blood splattered
across the wall of our father’s office. The lie lodges in my throat like a knife,
and I feel suddenly like I’m the one that’s bleeding to death, soaking the
floor in crimson. My knees get weak, but through sheer force of will, I keep
myself standing.
“What am I going to do now?” Nellie asks me. No, more like pleads with
me. She’s still beautiful; she’ll always be beautiful. But neither of us are
fools. Well, I might be a fool in love, but I’m experienced enough to know
what the world thinks when it looks at my mother.
An aging beauty. A mother of four with only one living child left. A
husband who’s fifteen years her senior and lives a hard life. Eventually,
Nellie will be all alone, and I’ll be the only one left to comfort her.
“I …” I start, but I don’t feel equipped to handle this situation. What do I
do? How do I soothe her, knowing that I’m holding onto a lie? Gaz is dead,
Mom. He’s gone, too. He’s gone, and if you knew that, you’d fall apart. “I’m
pregnant,” I manage to choke out, watching as her blue eyes widen slightly,
and a surprised smile takes over her mouth. Some mothers might be upset to
hear that their eighteen-year-old daughter was pregnant. Normal mothers.
Healthy mothers.
“Already?” she asks, and then pauses, pairing that information with what
she already knows. “Oh. Beast is …”
“Don’t worry about that part,” I tell her, grabbing items off the surface of
the desk, including that wooden husky carving that Reba got for me, the one
that I once chucked at Grainger.
“Are you happy?” Nellie asks, and I can hear in her voice that she is, but
that she’s trying not to get too excited.
I consider that question as I pile items into the box, determined not to let
the sadness of this moment overwhelm me.
My whole family is dead, I think, feeling this emptiness inside of me that I
so desperately want to fill. That’s why I’m doing this, I realize, why I so
suddenly and surely know that I can do this. I can have a kid, and I can do
everything right that was done wrong to me.
I don’t want to be the only one left in this godforsaken family, the only
Kesselring, the only club daughter. People have children for all sorts of
reasons. Most of them are, if you really think about it, selfish as hell.
Nobody brings a child into the world out of kindness because we all know
how cruel and dark it really is.
So if I want a baby for myself, what does it matter?
“I’m happy,” I say, but when the words come out, they’re dripping with
myriad emotions. I look over at Nellie, overwhelmed with empathy for a
woman that I told myself I hated. For years. God, I really was young and
stupid, wasn’t I? For once in my life, I admit to myself that I actually don’t
know the answer to everything. I actually don’t understand everyone and
everything. My cynicism is a defense mechanism, and my hatred is a shield.
“Or I will be. I know that I will be. Because I won’t allow myself to be
otherwise. If you’re not happy, you have to search yourself and ask why.
And then you have to fight to change the things you don’t like.”
 Nellie stares at me like I’ve had a brain transplant, even more so when I
step forward and put my arms around her. She stiffens up at first, but then
she lets out this happy sigh and curls her arms around me right back.
“It’s okay, baby,” she soothes, stroking my hair back. “I’ll help you
through this.”
I almost laugh at that, but it wouldn’t be right. Mom, it’s not you that’s
holding me right now. I’m the one holding you. I’ve got you, Nellie. Even if
you did me wrong in the past, I have your back. I will always have your
back.
We separate after a moment, and I excuse myself, slipping past Sin and
down the stairs. Grainger is waiting on the sofa; Crown is out front; Beast is
prowling the perimeter. I decide that I’m most likely to get some space in the
backyard, heading out the door only to find Cat sitting on a chair beside the
pool.
My heart stops.
He turns back to look at me and our eyes meet with a clash of struggle and
pain. I feel myself falter, my palms sweat, my head swim.
Cat returns his attention to the pool, and I wonder if he’s thinking about
Posey. I know I always do, when I come out here.
“Sit down,” he commands me, his voice a dark song that I dare not defy.
I’ll dance to the tune of it, or bad things will happen to me. At least, I’ve
always thought that. It’s been true in so many ways. He’s hit me on more
occasions that I can count. He’s done horrible things to me in the name of
love and protection, but yet, here I find myself walking forward to take a
seat on the chair beside him.
I mimic his pose, looking out at the surface of the pool.
“I’m worried about Nellie,” I tell him, because it’s a relatively safe
subject. As fucked-up as my father is, as ruthless as he can be, I know that he
loves his wife.
He snorts at me.
“Since when have you ever given a fuck about your mother?” he asks me,
getting out a pack of cigarettes and lighting up. He offers the pack to me, but
I just stare at it before lifting my gaze up to his face. “What? You’re a
married woman now, so you’ve become a saint? You’re not fooling anyone,
Gidget.” He looks back at the pool as he tucks the pack into his pocket again,
using his other hand to pull the cig from between his lips. Gray smoke
billows out to join the stink of wildfire. “You’re a monster. Just like me.
Always have been, always will be.”
I decide not to respond to that. Nellie will tell Cat about the baby
eventually if I don’t. Even if she doesn’t, it’ll be obvious at some point
anyway.
“If Nellie learns about Gaz,” I start, and Cat reacts so suddenly that I don’t
have time to respond to the threat. He grabs me by the arm and yanks me up,
his cigarette tumbling down to the pavement. He turns me toward him and
shakes me so hard that my teeth clack together painfully.
“She will never hear about Gaz. You understand me, girl?” Cat snarls,
turning and slamming me into the wall of the house. One of his hands finds
my throat just as the back door opens and Cade stalks out like he’s on a
SWAT mission, weapon trained on his president.
“Get your hands off of her,” he growls out, the hands holding his gun
steady and strong, despite the fact that he’s still recovering from his injuries.
“You too, huh?” Cat asks, squeezing just hard enough that it hurts, but not
enough to actually cut off my air supply. He turns back to me, and I glare at
him in defiance. My father clucks his tongue as he studies me. I can tell he’s
already decided to let me go, even before Beast appears over the top of the
stone wall that surrounds the pool area, leaping down on silent feet and
moving toward us so quickly that I worry he’ll have his president’s neck
snapped before he can think better of that decision.
My father releases me, and I suck in a huge breath, putting my hand on the
wall to steady myself.
Cat scowls at Beast as he passes him, and then Sin and Crown both are
outside, and we’re all together for the first time since my father found out.
“Wait,” I say as Cat continues walking away. Sin grabs my arm as I pass,
but I yank out of his grip, determined to make Cat talk to me at least once.
Just one open, honest conversation between us, and I can die happy. That’s
all I ask. “If you just stop walking and let me talk, maybe you’d
understand!”
I scream this last part at him, but although he pauses and turns back to me,
I can see that he isn’t open to conversation of any kind. Not now. Maybe not
ever.
“Don’t think that this is over,” Cat tells me, and his voice is a warning
meant for more than just my ears. “Once this mafia shit is buried deep where
it belongs …” He trails off with a dangerous laugh. “We’ll all be having that
talk you want so badly. But I wouldn’t be eager for it if I were you, Gidge.”
“It’s Gidget,” I snap, and Cat raises his arm like he’s about to hit me. He
doesn’t, but I’m not sure if it’s because of the officers surrounding us, ready
to kill their own president if necessary. Or if it’s because my father and I
have an impossible connection, one that I’ve felt my whole life but never
understood. “Cat!” I grab his arm and he throws me off so hard that I
stumble and end up slipping backwards into the pool.
Water goes up my nose, but I bounce back quick, fingers curling around
the edge of the pool and dragging myself up. Strong arms yank me the rest
of the way, and I find myself in Sin’s embrace, soaking wet and looking over
to see Beast with his hand around my father’s throat.
“Do it,” Cat tells his enforcer. “Show me your true colors, Catcher.”
“Beast, don’t,” I warn him, and his blue eyes snap over to me. “I’m okay.
Don’t hurt him.”
Cat laughs as he shoves his enforcer’s arm away and continues on toward
the gate that leads to the front yard, disappearing out of it and letting it slam
behind him.
I push away from Sin and, in a fit of rage, I grab one of the chairs and
chuck it into the swimming pool with a scream of frustration. The men keep
their distance from me for a moment as I pace the edge of the pool and reach
up to shake my fingers through my wet hair.
I don’t know what I expected out of Cat, what I keep expecting. But I
know without a doubt that I’m at least stupid enough to try one more time.
One more, that’s it. And then … I don’t know.
I just don’t fucking know.
“Gidge,” Sin whispers, drawing my attention back to him. I look over to
see the four of them watching me. He offers me up a pool towel that he
must’ve gotten from the piece of furniture near the back door. I take it in a
shaking hand and wrap it around myself.
“I think at this point,” Crown offers up from behind me, “it’s best if you
don’t go near Cat at all.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Grainger sets a pile of folded black clothes, a pair of bolt cutters, and a
flashlight on the table in front of Grey.
“Alright,” Cade says, putting his palms down flat on the table and looking
Grey dead in the face. “That’s it. Time for you to go.”
Grey stares at the items as I look over at Grainger, trying to interpret this
seemingly sudden move.
He stands up straight, a frown carved onto that handsome face, and
glances over at me.
“What? Don’t fucking look at me like that. We’re running out of time
here. You think Cat won’t sweep this compound just to be sure we’re not
screwing around up here?” The look he gives me begs me to make the jump,
to figure this out.
But I already have.
I already know.
One thing that hit me when I was standing in my bedroom with Nellie is
this: I am a selfish fucking asshole.
Cat’s grace—however it is that I managed to get it—does not extend to his
officers. If he catches them with Grey in this house, he will kill each and
every single one of them. Getting Grey Wolfe off this compound without
implicating any of my men is imperative. I might be protected by some
fucked-up version of fatherly love, but Sin, Crown, Beast, and Grainger are
not.
 “What’s the plan?” I ask, and Grainger narrows his eyes at me like he
expected an argument instead of a simple question. “How do we get Grey
out of here without getting caught?”
I’m sitting in my usual spot at the table with Grey across from me. It was
just us when I came in here, but we weren’t talking, just sipping coffee
together like old times. It’s dark outside, but I enjoy a nightly cup of coffee
just as much as a morning one (don’t tell the boys that it’s my second mug of
the day).
Yesterday was fucking hard on me.
I had no idea how I’d feel, moving my shit from that horrible house up
here. On the one hand, there was joy which, knowing myself the way I do, I
didn’t trust it. Joy isn’t something that’s blessed to a person like me without
the universe wrenching something away in return.
Then, of course, there was my moment with Nellie. With Cat. That was
the flip side of my fragile joy: Nellie’s pain and loneliness … and Cat’s
hatred. I’m leaving my parents alone in a big, empty house that’s stained
with blood.
I’m the only child of theirs that managed to escape.
I exhale and set my mug down heavily on the surface of the table.
“The plan is this: Mafia Brat dresses himself in those clothes, takes that
flashlight, those bolt cutters, and a prayer, and he heads for the fence on the
southern side of the compound.” Grainger turns back to Grey, but he isn’t
looking at my asshole lover. Instead, he’s watching me.
“I’m assuming we know the guard rotation?” I ask, but Grainger shakes
his head.
“Nope. You think Cat wants any of us in charge of that shit right now?”
Cade grits his teeth and looks away like he’s ashamed of himself. Maybe he
is? We haven’t really talked about it because Cade Grainger isn’t a guy
who’s big on feelings but losing his president’s trust can’t be an easy pill to
swallow.
Sin appears in the doorway, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
“We might not know exact details, but I can take a guess. If I were Cat, I’d
have men combing the woods in groups. That means less chance of getting
caught, but a higher likelihood of death if you are caught.” He turns to look
at Grey and finally, Grey breaks his unrelenting stare to glance up at Sin.
“When am I leaving?” Grey asks, his voice mild enough that if I didn’t
know him as well as I did, I might think he was completely unperturbed by
the plan.
“Now.” Grainger points at the pile before sliding his phone from his
pocket to check the time. I still feel like he’s overdoing it, that he should be
in bed resting, but you try telling this motherfucker to lie down and take it
easy.
“I’ll go with him,” I say, because if I’m caught wandering around on the
compound, so what? But the looks I get from both Sin and Grainger tell me
that this is going to be a fight.
“No, you damn well will not,” Grainger tells me, looking me over with a
bit of a scowl.
I rise to my feet, ready to make a stand, but then Grey speaks up, breaking
the tension.
“It’s probably best if you don’t,” he says with a long sigh. He takes the
pile in front of him and gathers it into his arms. “You didn’t go to all that
trouble to save my life only to die now.”
Grey takes off, careful to keep a wide berth around both Grainger and Sin
before he disappears into the downstairs bathroom to change.
“So if he says it, then it’s sure thing?” Grainger asks dryly, shaking his
head. “You’re the most infuriating fucking baby mama.”
I narrow my eyes on him.
“Did I say sure thing? He shouldn’t be out there alone. If I go with him
and we run into someone, I can create a distraction so that Grey can escape.
There are a million reasons I could be out there by myself that aren’t
immediately suspicious.”
“The answer is no,” Cade snaps as Sin offers up a more sympathetic but
no more agreeable look.
“He’s right, you know. Cat gave you a pass once. He won’t do it again. He
certainly won’t do it if he finds out you’ve been harboring his enemy’s heir
on the compound. Don’t test fate, Gidge.”
My initial response is to fight back, just like I always do. Instead, I close
my eyes and take in a deep breath, pushing aside that white-hot rage while I
think this through. If I’m caught out there, I can probably distract whoever
we come across long enough for Grey to get away. But what happens if I’m
caught red-handed? I’m dragged in front of my father and executed?
It’s a distinct possibility.
In the past, I’ve played hard and fast with my own life. Because it was just
mine and nobody else’s. Now that I’ve committed to these men, I feel like I
have … gag … responsibilities. If I get caught, not only is there the chance it
could come back on them, but I’m not sure how they’d all fare after losing
me.
In the end, I decide that they’re right and open my eyes.
“Really?” Grainger asks, moving over to grab my face in his hand so that
he can peer down at me through narrowed eyes. “You’re not freaking out?”
“I am capable of character growth, you know,” I retort, reaching up to
grab his wrist so that I can shove his hand away. He squeezes his fingers
even tighter on my chin and resists the movement.
“Well, fuck.” He lets go suddenly, but he’s still watching me, like he
expects me to sneak out anyway. It’s absolutely something I’d have done in
the past, but if I didn’t learn any kind of lesson when Carol Briggs died then
I’d be a moron. There was a reason I was told not to leave the house that day.
In the end, Cat was right.
That’s not an easy thing for me to admit.
We wait in silence for Grey to come out of the bathroom. Before he does,
the front door opens and both Crown and Beast return from their shifts
looking exhausted.
“Wife,” Beast greets, and then he’s grabbing me in his strong arms and
kissing me with a hard, possessiveness that makes Grainger turn away with a
curse. Sin leans back against the wall to watch, but Crown … He’s waiting,
too, but for something else entirely.
As soon as Beast releases me, he’s reaching out a hand and grabbing mine.
He pulls me against him and puts his arms around me as my heart thunders
wildly. And then, with the taste of Beast still lingering on my lips, he kisses
me, too. Like he’s my husband just as much as Beast is.
Oh. This is nice. I like this.
I could get used to this. As long as the men do their best to get along, I can
handle some jealousy and posturing, some alpha male displays of
possessiveness. Actually, it turns me on.
Crown pulls back and looks down at me, his eyes flicking up to Beast’s, as
if he’s testing the other man, seeing if he’ll actually stick to his word.
“Welcome home, Vice Prez,” I quip, and the asshole almost smiles at me.
But then, this is Crown, so he’s a bit of a hard-ass. He can be playful if he
wants; I’ve seen it. It’s hard-won though, something I’ll have to chip away
at.
 When Crown releases me, I glance back over at Beast, but he looks the
way he always does, contemplative and dark, like he’s planning sex and
violence both inside that pretty head of his.
“What’s going on?” Crown asks, and I realize that this is a Sin/Grainger
thing, and not an all-the-boys sort of deal.
“We’re sending Grey on his way,” Grainger announces, looking over at his
vice president. “I have a bad feeling, Crown. If I were Cat, I would sweep
this compound, and I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you, me, or anybody else. We
need this kid gone—now.”
Crown contemplates that before looking down at me.
“What do you think?” he asks, which thrills me to no end. He said before
that he believed in me. That’s a big thing, coming from a man like this who
rarely gives praise of any kind. When he does, it’s as real as it gets.
“If Grainger thinks this is best, then I agree,” I say, even though I’m
already missing Grey. I liked having him here. If I could keep him and Reba,
I would. We could all live in this yellow farmhouse like one, big extended
happy family. But that’s not how life works, and we don’t always get
everything we want.
It’s time for Grey to go.
Soon enough, it’ll be time for Reba to go, too.
It’ll be, and these men, and … eventually, a baby? Oh my God. What have
I committed myself to doing here? I must be crazy. It’s not too late to change
your mind, I tell myself, but I know that I won’t. What did Beast say that Cat
was referring to me as? New blood? Yeah, we need some of that around
here. We need a celebration, a birth instead of yet another fucking funeral.
Although Gaz won’t ever get a funeral, will he? I think, and somehow, that
makes me sad as hell.
Grey steps out of the bathroom, dressed head to toe in a black sweater,
cargo pants, and boots. They must be Sin’s. He’s the closest in size to Grey.
He’s got the bolt cutters hanging from his right hand, the flashlight tucked
in his pocket.
“I suppose it’d be too much if I asked for a gun?”
“Not happening,” Crown agrees as Grey approaches me, and my throat
gets tight, my heart beating wildly in fear. If he dies out there tonight … then
I’ll have set this entire thing into motion for nothing.
That, and I’ll lose that part of myself that I gave to Grey the day that I
chose his life over mine.
 “Gidge,” he says, and I can feel all four of the men stiffen up at the sound
of their enemy using my nickname. He steps close to me and sets the bolt
cutters down on one of the bottom steps. When Grey reaches out to put his
palms on either side of my face, I let him, lifting my own hands up to press
them over his.
Grainger makes a sound that’s awfully close to a growl, and I can feel four
sets of eyes locked onto this interaction. They hate this. They don’t
understand it. But they don’t have to.
“Grey,” I repeat, remembering that last night we spent together in his bed,
cuddled up for comfort in a world that offered none, that raised us both in
the image of shadows, and then punished us for embracing them. We were
all each other had for those few months, just me and the mafia brat.
“No matter what happens after I leave here, I want you to know this.” He’s
breathing hard, and he closes those heather gray eyes of his, like this is
almost too much, like it’d be so much easier to just walk out the front door
without a goodbye. “You changed me.”
I exhale and press my fingers into his as our foreheads come together. I
realize this is an incredibly intimate position to be in and, to be quite honest,
I’m surprised none of the men are stepping in to interrupt it. I close my eyes,
too, so that I don’t have to look at any of them.
“You changed me, too,” I tell him, because it’s the truth. Pretty sure the
day I walked into that cabin transformed us both in unimaginable ways. I
was willing to die to prove a point, to uphold my own version of right and
wrong.
“You’ve also given me something that my father’s never had: a hard line.”
I can somehow sense that he’s opened his eyes, so I open mine, too, and we
stare at each other. “You are my hard line, something that can never be
crossed. I have a benchmark for morality, Gidge. You are my benchmark, and
I will never hurt you.”
I squeeze his hands with my own, and I believe every word that’s coming
out of his mouth—whether I should or not.
Because if I’m Grey’s hard line, then he’s mine, too.
I have to have it, because if I don’t, I’ll end up just like my father. It isn’t
just our hair color or our eyes that we share, it’s that ruthless need for power
and control. “We’ve always been so alike, you know?” Those weren’t just
empty words that Cat spoke to me; it was an admission.
I am Cat’s prodigy in every way that matters.
 “When I said that I had your back before, I meant it,” I tell him,
swallowing hard. “I was prepared to marry you and rule, Grey. I had
accepted that.”
“I know,” he chokes out, and I can see that he, at least, still believes that
he loves me. I’m breaking his fucking heart here, and even if he might not
believe it, it hurts me as much as it hurts him.
But we can’t have everything we want, not even close. The world only
gives up happiness in bits and pieces. Bittersweet is the best we can ask for.
A little dark chocolate with our sugar.
“If we don’t figure this out, our families will slaughter each other,” I
whisper, but he’s already nodding and pulling back.
“I know.”
I allow Grey to drop his hands, mine still wrapped around them. A creak
at the top of the stairs draws both of our attention.
It’s Reba.
“What’s going on down here?” she asks, Fem posed behind her like a
fluffy black and white bodyguard. She starts down the steps, her right hand
squeaking against the shiny wood of the banister. Knowing Crown the way I
do, I bet he polishes it regularly.
“Grey is leaving,” I tell her, and then quickly add, “but you can’t go with
him just yet. He has to leave in … an unconventional sort of way.”
Reba’s already got tears in her green eyes, as if she’s aware that this could
be the last time we ever see Grey Wolfe.
Because even if he makes it to the perimeter of the compound, even if he
gets out and finds his way back to the mafia, then what?
They came for him once, sure. Because what else was that roadblock other
than the mafia’s attempt to rescue their heir? But I’ve met Alvise and Giulia
Wolfe, and I can tell you this right now: between Grey and me, I am the
luckier of the two.
Cat loves me in his own way, enough to choose me over his son.
Grey’s parents don’t feel about him the same way mine do about me.
They might kill him, even if the club doesn’t.
Reba throws her arms around Grey’s neck, and I’m forced to release his
hands. I end up stepping back and bumping into Crown. He puts a
possessive hand on my shoulder and squeezes as Reba and Grey hug each
other tight, holding on for so long that Grainger actually makes a sound of
annoyance, and they pull apart.
 “Don’t cry for me, little nun,” Grey says, and she gives a weepy laugh.
“Don’t you dare die out there,” she warns him, and he smiles. It’s a non-
answer if I’ve ever seen one. Grey reaches down to pick up the bolt cutters
and turns back to me and my men.
“How do I get out of here without being seen? There must be eyes all over
this place,” he says, and Beast nods, stepping forward.
“Come with me. I’ll get you into the woods. From there, take as straight a
path as you can until you reach the chain-link fence. Cut the smallest hole
that you can and crawl though. Make sure you take the fucking bolt cutters
with you.” Beast gives him a long, hard look. “Once you get out, I’d stick to
the woods for a while. Just because you’re off the compound doesn’t mean
you’re safe.”
“Understood,” Grey says, looking down at the tool in his hand before he
looks back up at me. “I’ll contact you as soon as I can.”
I nod, but I can’t speak. My throat is far too tight with emotion as I watch
Grey follow Beast through the living room and down the hall. There’s a back
door to the farmhouse that’s almost directly across from the door to Beast’s
bedroom.
My husband slips out first and then, after a moment, he motions for Grey
to follow him.
“God, please let him be okay,” Reba murmurs, clasping her hands together
in prayer and lowering her chin, eyes closed. “Please get him home safely.”
Now … I don’t know if I believe in God, but I sure as hell believe in the
devil; I’ve seen him.
Stay safe, Grey, I think, twisting my hands together in the fabric of my
shirt.
I wait in silent anticipation for Beast to return.
When he does, I breathe a small sigh of relief. Getting Grey out of here
without being seen by any of my father’s spies, that’s not an easy task.
“He’s on his own now,” Beast tells me as he pauses in front of me.
“Whatever happens next is up to him.”
“Thank you,” I say, the words a bit breathless. I glance over at the other
three men. “All of you.”
Grainger looks furious, Crown frustrated, Sin annoyed. As always, Beast
is stoic and silent.
“I’m asking a lot,” I start as Grainger raises a brow.
 “You sure as hell are,” he says, shaking his head. “Are you fucking
positive that you’re not in love with that fucker?” He grits his teeth as he
asks the question, but it’s a fair one. Especially after what he just saw.
“I’m positive,” I say, looking up at my husband’s face. “I love Grey, but
I’m not in love with him; there’s a difference.” Reba stands silently behind
me, listening in on the conversation with a conflicted expression on her face.
Second-guessing her decision to become a nun? Or is what I’m saying
making it an even easier choice?
“It’s a lot,” Beast agrees finally, working his jaw as he looks down at me,
but then he reaches up and cups the side of my face in a huge, warm hand.
“But you’re worth it.” He slides his thumb over my lips and then moves
around me to head toward the kitchen.
The other three watch me in silence, but nobody argues with that.
“Get some sleep,” Crown tells me finally, pushing up off the wall.
“You’ve got work to do tomorrow.”
“I’ll tag along,” Sin suggests, receiving a harsh look from his VP. “What?
I can handle office work at the very least.”
“You,” Crown says, pointing at Grainger. “Get your ass back in bed.”
“I’ll go if Gidge goes with,” he offers up, but I’m already shaking my
head.
“You can’t be trusted,” I tell him, giving him a look that clearly says I’m
thinking of the night before last. He meets my eyes, frowning hard. “Take it
easy, so that when the call comes in, we can tackle this together.”
“You think you’re leaving this compound before the war is over? Fat
chance. I’m not taking a pregnant woman into the field.”
I stare at Grainger as Sin makes a low, dark laugh and shakes his head,
reaching out to slap a hand over his brother’s shoulder.
“Dude, have you met Gidget? You should feel lucky that she even wants to
continue with this pregnancy. Don’t push it.” Sin offers me up a wink and
moves up the stairs two at a time just to prove that he isn’t an invalid that
needs coddling.
Cade, on the other hand …
“You can’t keep me like a doll on a shelf, Cade. If you try that, I will
leave.” I look him dead in the face so that he can understand how serious I
am about this. “Grey offered me something I never thought I’d get: a chance
at being a fair and equal partner. I could’ve been the queen of the mafia with
him by my side.”
 Grainger clenches his jaw, like he’s about to launch into a frustrated tirade,
but I cut him off by stepping forward and putting my arms around his neck.
“I chose to be here: don’t make me regret that.”
“You’re pregnant, Gidge,” he reiterates, as if that should be reason enough
for me to sit on my ass and do nothing.
“So what?” I retort, feeling my skin get hot and tight and achy with
annoyance. “I’m not going to waddle around with my Magnum at like, eight
months along or some shit. But right now? I’m fine, Cade.”
“Fine—until you get shot. Until you get the shit kicked out of you. Until
you’re dead,” he hisses, reaching down to push my arms away. He storms off
down the hall toward his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Whether he left to regroup and get his thoughts together or because he’s
given up, I’m not sure.
I look back at Crown.
He’s frowning, too, but I think he’s starting to figure this out.
They are not in charge: I am.
I love the four of them so much that when I think too hard about it, it
scares the shit out of me. Like I said, I loved like this once before. I loved
my sisters more than my own life, and I lost them.
But even though I care for these men, I know that I have to love myself
just as much. I know what will and will not make me happy.
Sitting around with the other club wives is not a future that I want; I swore
to myself that I would never let myself become my mother, a brute’s bride
and nothing more.
“Do you want to argue with me, too?” I ask, but Crown just gives a slow,
easy shake of his head.
“You know how I feel about this.” He reaches out to touch the side of my
face as I wet my lips. “If I could, I’d keep you locked up in here and safe
from the world. But that would only make me happy.” Crown drops his hand
and offers up a bit of a smirk. “Besides, if this baby isn’t biologically mine,
we’ll be having another one in the future. Which means …” He steps close
to me again, but he doesn’t touch me this time. There’s a pain in that, each of
us holding back. It creates this tension that I just know will be all the more
satisfying later when it snaps, and we give into our wants and needs. “That
once we’re ready for that, I’ll get you all to myself. Bareback fucking with
me and me alone. However long it takes to get you pregnant, you’ll be in my
bed, satisfying your end of the deal.”
 I go to slam my palm into his chest, but he snatches my wrist before I can
make contact, twisting my arm and turning me around so that he can pull my
back to his front.
“Beast might be the hand-to-hand combat expert, but I’m not bad either.”
Crown licks the side of my neck and makes me squirm. “Fuck, I’ve been
waiting years to do this. Touch you freely. Hold you whenever I wanted.”
Crown shudders and squeezes me even more tightly against him.
“I know you didn’t get everything you were hoping for—” I start, but he
just laughs, his breath stirring my hair. I look over to see that Reba’s
disappeared. Probably mourning Grey. I should go find her, see if she needs
to talk things out before I climb into bed.
“I’ve been thinking about it anyway,” Crown says, his voice taking on a
hint of wretchedness. “This life is hard. It’s dangerous. I figure if one of us
dies, at least you won’t be alone.” And with that beautiful gem, he releases
me suddenly and turns that VP look on me. “Go to bed,” he repeats. “It’s
getting late and your ass is going to be up at the crack of dawn.”
He heads outside before I can stop him, and I curse up a bit of a storm as I
ascend the stairs, pausing when I find Reba waiting for me at the top.
“I want to help,” she declares, standing in front of me and taking in a deep
breath, her hands curled into fists at her sides. “This is my calling: to help
women and children.”
I can’t help it. Even though the moment is a bit dark—I really hope this
isn’t the last time I ever see Grey—I smile at her and let out a bit of a laugh.
“You want to see the club in action, huh?” I ask, and then shrug. “Okay
then, let’s do it.”
Reba stops me by putting a hand on my arm.
“You’re … going to have the baby?” she asks, and I realize that I haven’t
had a chance to sit down and talk this over with her yet. The decision came
on me pretty suddenly.
I guess realizing that most of my family was dead made me want to try
something new.
I know exactly how to be a good parent: be the antonym of Cat and Nellie.
That’s how.
“Yeah, why not?” I say nonchalantly, but this is anything but a nonchalant
decision.
I didn’t decide this because I have a problem with abortion (I don’t) or
because I feel guilty; I didn’t decide this because it’s obviously what all four
men want. I decided this because it’s something that I want to do.
Reba squeals and throws her arms around my neck, kissing my cheek and
making me laugh.
“Oh, I’m so excited,” she says, and then pauses, pulling back slightly to
give me a look. “You are going to get your GED, right?”
I give her a look right back.
“Are you?” I query. Reba nods, but her stern expression doesn’t fade. “I
am. I will. I promise.” I make an X over my chest, crossing my heart and
hoping to … well, not to die. Been there, done that. I’m clearly not ready to
die yet. Surprised myself with that one, but there it is.
Reba releases me.
“Good,” she says, smoothing her palms down the pretty white blouse with
the daisies on it that I have distinct memories of my eldest sister wearing. It
makes me happy to see the garment given new life.
I’ve got this, Queenie, I think, offering Reba another smile before slipping
into Crown’s room to change into pj’s.
My sister gave her life to protect me.
In return, I’ve decided that I’m going to live a damn good one.
And I will spill as much blood as I need to in order to make sure that
happens.
Grainger was right.
He seems to be right a lot of the time which is annoying as fuck.
When I get back to the house the following afternoon, I see a horde of
bikes waiting out front and my heart leaps in my throat. I climb off of Sin’s
bike as he curses and follows after me.
“Careful, Gidge,” he warns me, grabbing my wrist before I can start up the
front steps. I glance back at him and see that there’s a very real fear in his
eyes. He’s debating whether or not to let me go inside. Debating whether or
not to run.
But if Cat didn’t shoot me when he had the chance, he isn’t going to do so
now—not without reason.
“We have nothing to hide,” I tell Sin, and he exhales sharply.
We need to show Cat that we’re not against the club, not by any means.
I’ve been wondering lately why I feel so strongly about that, why I feel
this almost blinding desperation to make things right. It’s not for myself, not
necessarily. Well, okay, maybe it is a little about me. Mostly, it’s because my
men deserve to have that respect back from Cat.
This is their life, their club.
I want to restore what they willingly gave up in order to save me.
“If things go south, you fucking run and you take my bike.” Sin points at
it, giving me a dark look that says I better damn well obey. I agreed to it, to
defer them as if I were a prospect or something.
 Heaving a sigh, I nod, and Sin takes that reluctant acquiescence as good
enough, moving ahead of me to lead the way into the house.
We open the door to see the kitchen and sitting room being torn apart.
Crown stands in the center of the sitting room, arms crossed over his
chest, face set in a resolute frown. Cat waits nearby, hands locked together in
front of him like a bodyguard or something. He turns his rust-red eyes my
way as I move up beside him, planting my hands on my hips.
“What the fuck are you doing to my house?” I demand, and Cat raises
both brows in my direction.
“Far as I’m concerned, this is the vice president’s house,” he tells me, but
I refuse to stand down, even when some of the men in the room with us
snicker. But I won’t be made a fool of. And I won’t allow my men to be
made fools of either.
“Yes, well, it’s okay to be mistaken sometimes. The important part is that
you can admit when you’re wrong.”
“Girl,” Cat says, gritting his teeth as he gives me a dark look. If I were
still ‘just’ his daughter and not Beast’s wife, I have a feeling that he’d have
popped me in the mouth for that one. “Don’t make me call your husband to
get you under control.”
I laugh at that.
The room goes mostly silent.
I can feel Sin stiffen up behind me. He puts a hand on my shoulder, but I
ignore him. I ignore Crown’s look of pleading, too. No amount of
admonishment from my men will keep me quiet right now. I can’t allow Cat
to hate me forever.
“This is my house,” I repeat, my voice ringing with authority. “I know you
don’t give a shit who I’m fucking or what I’m doing on my own time. I feel
the same about you.” I point at the mess that the Daybreakers have already
made of the room. “You can search this house top to bottom if you want—
every nook and cranny. Hell, open up the walls if you need to, but when
you’re done, I want it all put back. That’s my right.”
My father’s face is synonymous with thunder, a quiet rumbling that
precedes a lightning strike.
I am really testing him right now.
But I’m also not out of line and he knows it. As a club wife, my house is
my own. I have every right to demand this sort of thing. It’s written into our
culture: the household is the woman’s domain. I’m staking claim here.
 “If you were Crown’s wife, I might consider it,” Cat says, sneering down
at me. “Since you’re not, I suggest you get the fuck out of my sight before
my goodwill disappears.”
I stare my father down, unafraid even though I should be.
He killed his son. If necessary, he will kill me, too.
“This is my house,” I repeat, and I don’t care if I’ve said it a thousand
times. I’ll keep repeating it until everyone around me understands.
Footsteps behind me bring both Beast and Grainger into the room.
Grainger stays beside Sin while Beast moves up beside me.
“Bring your old lady to heel before I do it for you,” Cat suggests, looking
at Beast and acting as if I don’t even exist anymore. It’s enough to put me
into a quiet fury.
“If you touch her …” Beast begins, and I feel the tension in the room
ratchet up a notch.
“This is her house,” Crown declares, before any gauntlets can be thrown.
Cat looks back at him, along with several of the other men in the room. The
VP isn’t looking at any of them though, just me. His moss green eyes find
mine, dark with conviction. “Respectfully, Boss, what do you care if Beast
and I want to share an old lady?”
My father turns a look on the man who used to be his righthand. If he
were smart about it, he’d keep Crown closer still. There isn’t another person
in the entire club who cares for Cat the way Crown does. He truly respects
and loves the man.
“Announcing that you’re neutered to the entire club, eh?” Cat asks,
turning back to look at Sin and Grainger. The expression on his face darkens
even further, sending chills down my spine. Grainger is right (again): if my
father gets a chance to catch his officers in a lie and kill them, he will.
I’ll lose all four of my men in one go.
“You two want to add to that?” Cat asks, baiting his road captain and his
sergeant-at-arms, trying to break down their respect amongst the other club
members. This could get bad. It could get really, really bad. I can’t have the
Daybreakers turning on their officers or disrespecting them.
“We have an arrangement,” Sin offers up, shrugging his shoulders as he
drops his hand from mine. “The four of us and Gidget.”
“Couldn’t resist a hot piece of ass like that,” Grainger adds, moving up on
my other side. “I mean, look at her.” He glances down at me with a
dismissive expression that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But that’s okay. I’m
the only one in here that’ll be able to read into that. “If Beast wants to share
his wife, I’m game. Best fuck I’ve ever had.”
He moves past me and then grabs the sofa against the far wall, flipping it
over by himself and probably putting unnecessary strain on his still-healing
body. He takes a knife out and cuts the protective covering on the bottom of
the couch, even as Crown’s eye twitches. I’m discovering that my asshole
lover is actually quite particular about his things.
“Nothing here,” Grainger announces, shoving the couch back into place
and putting the cushions back. “It’s that easy to clean up after yourselves.
Hurry up. We have other buildings to sweep.” He snaps into sergeant-at-
arms mode, moving out of the room while the other men hesitate just briefly,
waiting to see if Cat will defy his officer’s order. When he doesn’t, they
resume their sweep but in a much more respectful sort of way.
The rest of the men exit the room to continue their perusal of the property
while I wait with Beast, Sin, Crown, and Cat.
My father’s eyes bore into me, shimmering with violence.
“You little cunt,” he hisses out, but he can’t make a move on me without
making a move on his officers in front of the other men. Crown was right
when he said that maintaining secrecy was a brilliant political move. There
are men in the club who will defer to the officers in the event of a coup. Cat
can’t risk that. He also can’t risk losing his best strategists and his best
fighters all in one go.
Even though he won’t admit it, he doesn’t want to lose me either.
Killing these men will alienate me forever.
“Whatever you think of me,” I say, wishing we were alone, wishing he’d
let me talk to him without grabbing me by the fucking throat or throwing me
into a swimming pool, “just know that I’m on your side in this.”
Cat moves up next to me and leans down, making Beast tense up.
“One wrong step from any of you, and I’ll have your fucking heads.” He
tries to move away, but I grab his arm, and he moves like he might just
punch me, my lovers be damned.
“She’s pregnant,” Sin says, grabbing his president’s arm before he can
sucker-punch me.
I wondered if Nellie hadn’t already told him … but based on Cat’s
expression, I’m guessing not. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and he
stares at me like he’s never seen me before. I stare right back, but I wish that
he would reconsider beating the fuck out of me for me, and not because of
this.
“You’re going to be a grandfather,” I tell him, looking him dead in the
face and trying to get some sort of emotional response from the man. He just
looks at me and then laughs. It’s an ugly laugh. A hideous one.
“Is it the mafia boy’s?” he asks, surprising me, and I blink back at him.
“You and your fucking idiot sister,” he murmurs, and I wonder if that’s what
he thinks is going on.
“Queenie loved Kian,” I say, challenging him. “You knew that. I know
that. But I’ll tell you this: I’m not carrying Grey’s baby.” I keep my voice
low, just as he does. There’s no way to survive this if news of my connection
to Grey spreads through the rest of the Daybreakers. “This is a club baby.”
I make myself stand still and straight as Cat studies me.
“You don’t even know who the father is, do you?” he asks, turning a look
on the other men. “Fuckin’ Christ, Gidge.”
I don’t correct him—even though I really want to. It’s Gidget, goddamn it.
My mouth twitches.
“We kill people and bury them out back of Gram’s house. What does it
matter if I fuck four guys?” I wait there, hands curled into fists at my sides,
but Cat just scoffs at me and moves away, leaving me to stand there
trembling with a mix of rage and frustration.
I turn to watch him go. He heads out the front door, slamming it shut
behind him. A few seconds later, I hear him start his bike and take off.
Not sure what reaction I was expecting from him, but I’m disappointed
anyway.
“I’m sorry,” Sin offers up as soon as he’s sure that Cat is gone. “I didn’t
mean to spill your secret.”
I offer up a sad half-smile in response.
“Hey, at least he might not beat the shit out of me for a while,” I murmur
as Beast gives me a harsh look.
“He won’t touch you again,” he promises, and I get the chills. “If he does,
it’ll be the last thing he ever does.”
“Don’t say that,” Sin hisses at him, but the club’s enforcer moves away
from us like he needs a minute. I decide to follow after him, knowing full
well what I’m getting myself into.
I find Beast waiting in his bedroom for me. He’s leaned up against the
wall next to the door, reaching out to slam it closed as soon as I step inside.
Without a word, he reaches for me and lifts me up. My legs go around him,
and he lets out a growl as he thrusts his hard cock against my heat.
“What did I fuckin’ say about pants?” he grumbles, turning and then
laying me down on the bed. Beast grabs a pair of scissors from the
nightstand drawer as I blurt a protest.
“These are real leather—” I start, but it’s too late. He slides the scissors
under the waistband, cutting through the fabric easily enough that I actually
wonder what the fuck those scissors were made for. Like, are they meat
shears or something? They cut through the leather like a hot knife through
butter.
Beast cuts right down the center of the pants and over the crotch, splitting
them in two.
And then he chucks the scissors aside and reaches down, ripping the pants
apart and baring my already wet cunt. He opens up his own pants and then
pauses at the sound of a knock on the door.
“Sir, we need to search this room,” one of the other Daybreakers says, his
voice carefully neutral.
Yeah, like I said, Nellie was wrong.
No matter what the other men think about my arrangement with Beast,
they will keep their fucking mouths shut.
The Daybreakers might consider themselves shadows in the night, but my
husband is the shadow that hunts the other shadows. And they all know it.
“Piss off,” Beast growls out, his voice a dark, rumbling demon.
He mounts me then, hard and fast, and even though I know there are men
outside that can probably hear us, I don’t care. In fact, I want them to hear. I
want them to know that Beast can fuck me so good that I scream and mewl; I
want them to hear the headboard slamming into the wall. I want them to hear
the mattress springs squeaking.
My husband pins my wrists to the bed and ruts me with all of that quiet
rage, his stare so intense that I’d look away if I could. But if I try, he’ll turn
my face back to him. I know it, so I don’t bother. Instead, I moan and lift my
hips to meet each one of his thrusts, bringing us as close together as I can.
The noises I make are loud and boisterous, but entirely genuine. Beast is
so big and thick that he fills me up completely, working every inch of my
pussy with his cock. His balls slap my ass in a steady rhythm, speeding up as
he brings himself to climax, a reluctant groan scraping past his lips as he
slams into me so hard that I might have a bruised pelvis come morning.
 Doesn’t matter. I love the way his muscles harden as he drives deep,
pushing into me so that his hot seed finds my core.
Beast releases my wrists, planting his palms on either side of me as he
brings his breathing under control.
“You’re just gonna keep on chasin’ me, eh, suge?” he asks as I wrap my
arms around his neck and bring him down for a deep, prurient kiss. He ends
up growling at me again and pulling away before we end up in round two.
Beast sits up and gives my severed pants a look.
“Get dressed. I won’t have anyone seeing my wife in this state.”
Even though I snort at the command, I get up and change my pants,
yanking open the door and holding out a hand for the pair of Daybreakers
waiting in the hall. They barely look at me. Probably for the best considering
Beast might kill them if they blink the wrong way in my direction.
“Gentlemen,” I say, slipping out the door with Beast just behind me.
Let them tear this house apart: there’s nothing to find.
But I’ll give them something soon enough.
It’s just a matter of time.
The call from Grey comes much sooner than I expected.
I’m lying next to Sin in the dark. We’re both awake, but he sits up just as
quickly as I do at the sound of my phone going off. I roll over and snatch it
off his nightstand, pulling up the most recent text.
I’ll be calling from a new number. Answer, please.
I sit up and glance over at Sin.
“Grey?” he asks, and I nod.
I’ve been waiting for this.
Not only to have proof that he’s still alive, but also because it’s time to
make some moves of our own. Cat is clearly looking for something with
which to pin the boys to the wall. I won’t let him do that. I’m going to prove
to him that we’re all in this together.
As soon as the call comes in, I pick up, a tight smile on my face as I greet
Grey through the screen.
“You’re alive,” I say, not bothering to hide the relief in my voice. “Any
trouble?”
He shakes his head slightly.
“My father knows that Gaz is dead. Not sure how, but he does. That
means you’ve got at least one more rat on the compound.” Grey exhales.
“Now that I’m out of that house, I suppose this might be a good time to tell
you that I wasn’t just on the compound to bring the antidote. I was supposed
to be leading a team in to search for you in the aftermath.”
 I raise a brow, and he smiles tightly at me.
“They were all killed, by the way. My team. Not an accident on my part
either, but we ran into a group of guards near the western wall of the
compound.” Grey shrugs his shoulders, and I shake my head. He said that
Kian was ruthless? Looks like it runs in the family. He isn’t afraid to get his
hands dirty to achieve his goals, whatever the cost. “Your father should
either have left the compound recently or be on his way out.”
“How would you know that?” I ask, throwing a glance in Sin’s direction.
He’s got one knee up, his elbow resting against it as he watches me. He’ll
listen to whatever Grey wants to say, but he won’t trust any of it. None of
them will. Not that I blame them. If Grey did want to fuck me over, this
would be a good time to do it.
“Because the hit is supposed to take place tonight. Your father’s little FBI
plant? He isn’t working for DBD anymore: he’s working for us. And trust
me, he’s as loyal as they come. He has no choice, considering we’ve got his
brother.” Grey pauses and glances to one side, like he’s listening for
something. He turns his attention back to me. “He’s supposed to meet with
Cat tonight to discuss the investigation into those bad drugs you doled out.”
“Your bad drugs,” I clarify, and Grey smiles tightly. On the inside,
however, I’m freaking out. I’m panicking. As dangerous as Cat is, as much
as I’d like to see him punished for his role in my sisters’ deaths, I don’t want
him to die tonight at the hands of the mafia.
He isn’t allowed to die before we get a chance to talk. To really fucking
talk. I need that. Even if he doesn’t talk back to me, I want a chance to give
voice to all the dark things inside of me. My father owes me that much at
least.
“Cat’s supposed to be meeting his informant inside the Ashbury police
station.”
Mm. Sounds like something Cat would do. Protects both him and his
informant. It’s hard to carry out an execution inside a public building full of
cops. Not to say it’s impossible, especially considering the number of
officers my father has in his pocket.
But it definitely complicates things.
“I don’t know where my father’s tactical team is meant to be assembling,
only that they’ll be there.” Grey raises a hand, lifting five fingers and ticking
them off. “All five men were present when your sisters died. There were
more of them there that day, but it’d be impossible for me to know what
grunts were sent in. But if you want to know who pulled the trigger on
Queenie and who raped Posey, that man will be amongst these five. There’s
no way they would’ve let one of the lower-ranking men take a turn on the
club president’s daughter; they’d want that moment for themselves. Mostly,
I’d keep my eye out for the team’s leader: Cosimo Balotelli. I’ll send all of
their pictures over to you.”
Bile rises in my throat, and I let that hot anger sweep over me. There’s a
time and place for it, and this is it.
This is fucking it.
“I’m going to kill every single one of them,” I hiss, and Grey’s face
softens slightly.
“Be careful, Gidge. I’d love it if you could—it’d sure help me out a fuck
of a lot—but try not to die out there.”
“Call me if you learn anything else,” I say, and then I’m hanging up and
throwing my feet over the side of the bed. Sin’s hand latches onto my arm,
fingers squeezing hard.
“We are not just rushing our asses down there; this could be a bait and
switch, Gidge.” Sin’s making sense—Crown said much the same before—
but I’m also not willing to wait this one out. Cat is a very difficult man to
kill; he’ll expect betrayal. After his own son, how could he not? He’ll expect
snipers. He’ll except assassination attempts.
But that doesn’t mean he’ll automatically escape this unscathed.
“I know,” I say, leveling a look on Sin. “I know. I trust Grey, but it makes
sense that you don’t. Let’s figure this out.”
My answer seems to satisfy Sin just enough that he releases me, and I take
off, opening Crown’s door and waking him up from a light sleep. I notice
that he’s already got a weapon in hand.
“Gidge?” he asks, blinking back sleep. He throws the blankets aside, and I
see that he’s naked. Oh. I like that. Stuck-up Boy Scout Crown sleeps in the
nude? Yes, please.
“We gotta go,” I tell him, loving the way my voice rings with authority.
“The hit on Cat is supposed to happen tonight. Now.” I take off before
waiting for his reply, checking the time on my phone as I go. It’s not even
that late—just about ten after ten—but everyone in this house is on a hard-
knock schedule. Beast and Crown regularly stay up for twenty-four hours or
more at a time; I imagine Sin and Grainger generally keep the same schedule
when they’re not, you know, recovering from almost dying.
 I pound down the stairs as quick as I can, making a beeline for Grainger’s
room.
I hesitate briefly before reaching for the handle on his door. Do I wake
him up or let him sleep? Maybe he should sit this one out?
But then his door opens without my even having touched it, and there he
is.
“Gidge,” he says carefully, his voice low and dangerous. Sure, he spent
the night in the same room as me plenty of times before—at Cat’s house, at
my Gram’s house. This seems different somehow. I mean, it is, right? We’re
fucking living together.
I don’t know what our future living situation will be like, but for now, this
is all of our house.
“The hit on Cat is happening tonight. Get dressed.” I start to turn away
when Grainger reaches out to grab my arm. I figure if he shouldn’t be going
tonight, the other men will stand in his way. Crown, in particular, has
authority over the other three as their vice president. Even if the guys were
willing to throw tradition to the wind in order to save me, they still believe in
the way the club works; they’ll defer to him if necessary.
“Why do you insist on putting yourself—as well as our baby—in danger?”
he snaps, yanking me closer to him. Somehow, thinking that I’m pregnant
with his kid—maybe, maybe not—has turned on something inside of
Grainger that I’m not sure I’d have seen otherwise. The possessiveness has
been there all along, but the rest of it? This … sort of caring that I see in his
eyes, that is brand-spanking-new.
“You heard me earlier, didn’t you?” I tell him, looking directly into his
eyes. “I’m not going to sit by the sidelines and watch the world go by. I
certainly am not going to let decisions be made for me the way they’ve been
in the past. I have a right to dictate my own future.”
“What if,” Grainger starts, grabbing my wrists and pushing me back until I
hit the wall. He presses me against it with his body weight. “I tied you to my
bed and left you here. Then what?”
His eyes search my face, and I see that he’s completely and utterly serious
right now.
“Then I’d start to look at you the way I look at my father,” I tell him with
all due seriousness. Our eyes meet, and I feel that kick inside of me, that jolt,
the electrifying crash of Cade’s energy butting up against mine. It makes my
heart race, looking at him like this, bathed in the shadows of the hallway. I
almost lost him, and I will never forget that feeling for as long as I live. The
helplessness. The despair. The million and one things I wished I’d said to the
asshole before he died. “I love you. Don’t turn that love into resentment the
way Cat has done.”
Grainger releases me like he’s got whiplash, turning away with a pained
expression on his face.
“Fuck.” That’s the response I get before he heads back into his room and
starts tearing clothes from his duffel bag. The remainder of his clothes lie
strewn across the floor. He’s managed to open one dresser drawer, and there
are clothes in there, too, but I can’t tell if they’re clean or dirty. They drape
over the side and spill out across the furniture’s glossy wood top.
Not only do Grainger and I like our coffee the same way; we also keep a
similarly tidied bedroom.
Crown is going to hate us both soon enough for it.
Satisfied that Grainger’s getting himself ready, I pull up Beast’s number
on my phone and give it a call.
“Tell me you’re safe,” is how he answers it, his voice gruff with
trepidation.
“I’m safe, but the hit on Cat is planned for tonight. Where are you?”
There’s a bit of a pause there, as if Beast is considering my words
carefully. When he replies, terror lances through me, sharp and hot, and I
know that we need to move quick or this whole night is going to end in
tragedy.
“I’m with Cat,” he replies, “inside the police station.”

Not a single one of my men is happy to see me head into the field, dressed in
Beast’s leather jacket, my wedding ring, a pair of dark jeans, motorcycle
boots, and a high ponytail. I’ve got my Magnum, the very same one I dug
out of the rice bag the day Queenie died, as well as the knife she gave me,
and a spare pistol provided by Crown.
Since Beast isn’t present, there’s a bit of hesitation on my part when we
head outside, and the three men approach their bikes without a second
thought. It’s in that moment that I feel it. I want my own ride so goddamn
bad. I bite my lower lip as I push back the urge.
I’ve made a lot of strides since I returned from the mafia’s stronghold.
 Things have changed—and they’ve changed quickly. I don’t want to push
my luck any further at the moment.
“Ride with me,” Crown commands, as easily as he breathes. He was born
to tell people what to do. I narrow my eyes on him, but I do as he said. Out
here, he isn’t my lover: he’s my boss. I can deal with that. Also, Sin and
Grainger are both still recovering; they don’t need me clinging to their
healing bodies while they ride.
I slide onto the seat behind Crown, wrapping him up in my arms and
smelling suede and violets and leather. He kickstarts the engine, and his
chrome stallion roars to life, the voice of a demon in the night.
Hell, what am I even saying? We’re all demons, just a dark cloud of gray
morals and gray ideals, the fiery eyes of the bikes cutting through the
shadows of the woods. We head to the front gate and then pause, taking off
our helmets so that the night guards can get a good look at our faces.
Yeah, sending Grey off the way we did was smart. I owe Grainger a
reluctant ‘you were right’, don’t I?
There’s a cadre of men already waiting outside for us. Crown’s called in
reinforcements. Somehow, I expected this to be like, a private mission for us,
something to prove our worth to Cat.
Then again, I should’ve known better: the club is a hydra with many
heads.
And Cat? Well, he’s the neck. He can turn all those heads in any way he
wants. Which, apparently, is exactly what he’s done.
We ride past the group of men, but they don’t join us.
Crown pauses at the stop sign down the road. Coincidentally, it’s the same
stop sign I paused at and had a brief conversation with Grey about what I
was planning on doing with him. In the end, I agreed to take him with me to
the airport, give him some money, and leave him there.
“What the fuck?” Crown asks after slipping his helmet off. He holds it
under one arm and pulls his phone out with the other. He makes a quick call
as the other two boys pause behind us and shut off their engines. There’s
nobody out here to be bothered by us blocking the empty T-intersection. Just
woods, woods, and more woods. There are a few houses nearby, but each
one has its own twenty-plus acres to go with it. Eventually, they’ll probably
all be absorbed into the club’s compound the way Crown’s farmhouse and its
land was. “Why are you not following orders?” Crown snaps, and his voice
sends chills down my spine for two different reasons.
 Firstly, if I were the man on the other end of that phone call, I’d be scared
shitless.
Second, all I can think right now is yes, sir, I’ll be a good girl. Ugh. I
guess Crown was right: when it comes to bedroom games, I do like being
bossed around by him.
“I see,” Crown says, pausing for a moment. He hangs up the phone and
slips it into his pocket.
“What’s going on?” I ask, taking my own helmet off so we can talk more
easily. Crown hazards a glance over his shoulder at me as he slips his phone
back into the pocket of his jeans, resting his hands on the grips of his
handlebars.
“Cat’s overridden my orders; he says he doesn’t need an escort for simple
business.” Crown grits his teeth so tight that I can see a muscle in his jaw
tick. “Fuck.”
“You told him about the hit?” I ask, because I just assumed that Crown
would call my father to tell him …
“How?” he asks, splaying his left hand open in suggestion. “Without
revealing where that information came from, my hands are tied.”
“So what do we do now?” I ask, panic tightening my chest. If Cat wants to
get himself killed, well, shit, I can’t stop him. But I sure as fuck am not
leaving Beast out there to be mowed down alongside my idiot father.
Sin and Grainger appear on either side of us, sans helmets.
“What the fuck is happening?” Cade asks, putting his hands on his hips.
The moonlight catches on the row of silver hoops in Sin’s ears, making them
glow.
“Cat doesn’t want an escort,” Crown reiterates dryly, swiping his hand
over his face.
I think about that for a moment as Cade curses and Sin gives a sharp
frown.
“Did he expressly say that we couldn’t head over there?” I ask quietly,
knowing that if he did, we won’t be going. Like I said before, I get the idea
that disobeying Cat is something that these men will do only if it pertains to
me and my safety. That’s it. This isn’t a habit. Their loyalty to that man, and
their commitment to the order of the club is ingrained in them, like they’re in
the military or something. An order comes from your commanding officer
and you fucking damn well better follow it.
 “He hasn’t contacted me at all,” Crown says, and there’s a heavy sadness
in his words that I want to kick myself for not noticing before. We’re all
suffering losses here. I didn’t understand it at first, the full magnitude of
what these men have lost. Now that Cat knows they covered up my mistake,
he may never trust them again.
Even if Grey gets what he wants, even if he takes over the mafia, even if he
agrees to work only with me … it won’t matter.
Cat has to go.
He cannot remain as president of Death by Daybreak or none of that will
happen.
Maybe I should call Beast, beg him to get the fuck out of there, and let Cat
die? That would make things so much easier, wouldn’t it? But I learned my
lesson with Gaz. Once someone is gone, they’re gone forever. The
possibility of everything that might’ve been is erased from existence, leaving
a stain behind in its wake.
Fuuuuuuck.
“Then if he hasn’t contacted you, he never said we couldn’t go.”
“It’s implied, Gidge,” Crown retorts, his voice frosty and splintered like
old bone.
“Really?” I ask, standing up and then climbing off his bike so that I can
move around to the front and stare at him. He looks right back at me,
expression resolute. “Is that how the club works now? Implications? If it
isn’t a direct order, then it doesn’t matter.” I look him right in the face, and I
dare him to defy me.
“There are politics at work here, Gidge,” Sin adds, crossing his arms. I
love the way his muscles bulge with the movement. All three of them,
actually, are distracting as fuck in their leather cuts with their bare arms and
their muscles and their ink, their worn denim that cups their asses and strong
thighs like it was made for them. Even better because I know these aren’t
expensive, tailored jeans. This is real shit, real denim, and it only looks that
good because it’s been broken in and worn so often that the fabric’s
conformed to their shapes.
I cross my own arms in defiance.
“Yes, there are. And we can’t do this with Cat being suspicious of our
every move. We have to give him something. If protecting his life and
delivering the heads of these men is what we need to do, let’s make it
happen.”
 Crown stands up before either of the other men can add their input to the
conversation. And holy shit, he is terrifying.
“I am not taking you down there to die. It was one thing when we had
backup, but it’s a whole other animal without it. These men are
professionals, Gidget, and this isn’t a game.” He gestures with his head in
the direction of Sin’s bike. “Sin, take her home. Grainger and I will head
down to the police station and see what we can’t do to change Cat’s mind—
if it’s not too late, that is.” Crown throws me a dirty look. “Or if this whole
thing isn’t a fucking trap.”
I put my hands on the bars of his bike and lean in, narrowing my eyes at
him.
“No.”
“No?” Crown queries back, and then he laughs.
“Oh shit,” Sin murmurs, as if he can sense the direction this is going.
“Don’t provoke him, Gidge.”
“No,” I repeat, my soul lit up with conviction. Like father, like daughter. I
know what I’m doing here. I fucking know it. I was born and raised in this
shit. Born in ruin. Dressed in sin. How dare these men try to get in my way?!
“We are going to town, to that goddamn police station, and we’re going to
save Cat’s ass whether he likes it or not.”
“When I get home later tonight, God help you. You best hope that Beast
doesn’t die tonight because he’s the only thing that’s going to come between
me and spanking that bratty little ass of yours.” Crown looks up at Sin and
gestures with his chin. “Get her out of my way and take her home.”
“If you do this to me,” I breathe, squeezing the handlebars even tighter.
“Then I will leave you, Crown. I meant it when I said it. I won’t stay here
with you. I cannot be with someone who tries to control me.” I pause and
then, even though I don’t intend it, my voice comes out this husky, breathy
bedroom purr. “Outside of the bedroom anyway.”
“Fuck my life,” Grainger growls out, raking his fingers through his hair.
“This isn’t a game, Gidge. Believe it or not, sweetheart, we might know
better than you on some things.”
I look over at Sin, even though I know for a fact that, as nice as he can be
sometimes, he is not my ally. Actually, among the four men, he’s probably
the most likely to lock me in a tower. We stare at each other, and I think
about that moment in the basement when he tied me up with his belt and
then fucked me. If it’s his baby, then that’d be when I got pregnant. Can you
even imagine? I snort and shake my head, even though it’s out of context.
“I have waited for this moment for years.” I keep my gaze focused on
Sin’s silver one, his eyes reminiscent of the moon when it isn’t tainted by
smoke. It is tonight, as strange and orange-yellow as it was the other day. It
doesn’t even look real right now, like the four of us are standing in a movie
set with a fat, pregnant butter moon watching over us. “You weren’t there in
that pantry when Queenie died. You didn’t watch your pregnant sister get
shot in the face. You didn’t see blood leak underneath the door while you
hunkered inside like a fucking coward.” I slam my hands against the bars
and stand up straight. “I would give my life to kill these men; it’s worth it to
me.”
“Well, it isn’t worth it to me,” Crown grinds out, clearly frustrated with
me. But I’ve backed him into a corner; I know I have.
“Take me home then,” I tell Sin, letting my gaze swing to Grainger before
I look back at the road captain. “I won’t hold this against you since you have
no choice but to follow orders. But Crown? Maybe I don’t want the
farmhouse or the ring.”
“Goddamn it, Gidget!” he shouts, shoving up to his feet and coming
around the front of the bike to snatch me by the shoulders. “Why are you
doing this to me? When is enough, enough?”
“Let’s take her,” Grainger says, surprising the shit out of me. He’s staring
down the dark country road and not at me and Crown. “If this is what she
wants, let her have it.” Cade licks the edge of his mouth. “It’s our job to keep
her safe. So let’s do that then.” He moves away from the rest of us as I stand
there, openmouthed. Grainger pauses once to look back at me, his expression
dark as fuck. Of all of them, I didn’t expect him to be the one to take a stand
for me. “What? Are you surprised? I told you what it was that I liked about
you.” He shakes his head with an awful laugh. It’s thick and shadowed and
full of unspoken things. “Much as I’d prefer to tie you to my bed and deal
with things on my own, I understand.” He looks me dead in the face, and I
realize that I don’t know a goddamn thing about him other than how he takes
his coffee, keeps his bedroom, or how he fucks.
That’s it.
“This is not deferring to our authority in the field,” Sin warns me, his
voice that sharp, authoritative thing that it becomes when he’s really and
truly angry. Righteously angry. “What is it that you like about us? Because it
isn’t all of that prim and proper that your buddy Grey possesses. Don’t
neuter us, Gidge.”
“Don’t neuter me,” I retort back, shoving my helmet back on my head. “If
any one of you wanted a pretty, little club wife, you’d have picked a
brainless groupie like Amber Clearwater and treated her like a kept pet. That
isn’t me, and you all know it.”
I climb back on the bike with Crown, even as he’s cursing my name.
They all know that I’m not lying.
I don’t want four husbands who behave like Cat, who keep me locked up
for my own good.
What I want, and how I feel, it has to matter or else I can’t stay here.
Crown shoves his own helmet on as Sin grits his teeth and storms back to
his own bike, and then, with the violent snarl of all three engines, we
continue on into town and toward the five men who were instrumental in
carving my already fragile heart to pieces.
We don’t approach the police station directly, but I can see a row of bikes
parked just outside of it. Beast, Cat, and whoever else is with them tonight
must be inside the brick building already. The question now is: where the
fuck are these guys? Men that even Grey seems wary of. Men that cannot
still breathe if he wants to take up the Grey Wolfe throne.
We park several blocks away and then use a nearby hotel to gain access to
the roof. The employees were wary as fuck until Crown slapped down a
credit card and rented a room. We stopped in there first, using the balcony
for a better view before heading up an employee staircase to the roof.
The night is darker than normal, the moon’s light diffused by ash and grit,
but the city sparkles like it always does, a sea of flickering lights indicative
of life and movement. I ignore it all, my gaze focused on the station.
After texting Beast, it seems that we were right: they’re still inside the
building.
Pretty ballsy, right? For a one-percenter president to meet his FBI
informant inside the police station?
I wonder if this is where Crown used to work? If he misses it. What Grey
meant by ‘undercover cop’. I’ll need a moment alone with the vice president
in order to get that information. Might even have to let him spank my ass
before he’ll give anything that private or intimate up.
“Are we thinking that they’re going to snipe him from a rooftop or
something?” I ask, but then I think about Queenie and Posey, how intimate
their deaths were. Maybe not.
“I don’t know,” Crown snaps at me, clearly displeased at being here at all.
He’s angry with me, and I haven’t heard the end of it just yet. He turns those
moss-colored eyes down to mine, a frown traced over his perfect mouth. “I
haven’t had time to research any of this. All I’m working with here is an
unreliable tip from an untrustworthy brat.”
“Me or Grey?” I quip back, but Crown is not in the mood for my bullshit
right now. He ignores the question.
“We should canvass all of the surrounding buildings,” Grainger adds with
a deep frown. Ashbury isn’t a big city, but it’s large enough that it would
take hours to do what he’s suggesting. Even then, we can’t search every floor
of every surrounding building.
“Don’t you feel like a sniper is just too easy?” Sin asks, crossing his arms
on the rooftop railing and looking down at the relatively small building
where Cat and Beast are currently housed. The jail behind it is massive; it
towers over fucking everything, and it’s hideous as shit.
I remember people in town protesting when it was built.
“Cat is always on the lookout for snipers,” Crown agrees as Grainger
sighs.
“Yeah, but we have men crawling all over this city.” He gestures with an
annoyed hand in the direction of the police station. “Anything but a surprise
isn’t going to end well for their side. Either we have a bloodbath here and
now, or else this has to be covert.”
I lean over the railing, letting the ashy wind tangle my ponytail up as I try
to think my way through this. I’m not the only smart person in this group,
obviously. The guys aren’t idiots, but they’re also stuck in their ways
sometimes.
That’s when it hits me, in a slow, sickening sort of way.
“What if … the hit is going to happen inside the police station?” I ask,
standing up and turning around. I put my arms back against the metal railing
for support.
“It’s not impossible, but it’s unlikely,” Crown says, but he doesn’t look
convinced either way. He swipes a hand over his face. I know this was a lot
to ask, for them to trust in this tip, to bring me down here in the first place
when it could all be a trap.
“We’re clearly wasting our time up here,” Grainger growls, running his
fingers through his hair in frustration. “Let’s at least try a few of the
surrounding buildings; there isn’t much more we can do at this point.”
I stand up and follow the boys back down the staircase to the top floor.
Nobody argues because we know Grainger’s right. That’s the best course of
action.
We check the roof of the hotel across the street; there’s nothing. We try a
nearby apartment building, same deal.
The third building we check is an office building that Sin breaks into
without setting off the alarm; I’m impressed. But still, our search yields no
fruit.
I maintain regular communication with Beast, but so far, everything is
normal.
Well, as normal as an MC president meeting up with an FBI informant
ever possibly could be.
Because nobody is what they seem in life. Fucking nobody. The whole
world is twisted and weird and broken. That’s the only surety, understanding
that what we see on the surface of others is usually a lie, a carefully
presented package.
There’s always so much more underneath.
It isn’t until we’re heading back toward our bikes, and I’m frustrated as
fuck with this whole situation, that I happen to glance across the street and
see a woman approaching the doors of the police station.
She looks familiar to me, but I can’t figure out why that is.
Her hair is blonde, drawn up into a ponytail that isn’t dissimilar to mine.
Based on her clothing, I’m guessing she’s older than me, maybe Nellie’s age.
In reality, there’s no reason for me to be suspicious of her. None at all.
Except that I recognize the sweatshirt she’s wearing.
I recognize it because I remember very specifically that I teased Carol
Briggs for wearing it to school once. There’s a huge cross on the back, and a
slogan that reads: Render to no man evil for evil. Take thought for things
honorable in the sight of all men. – Romans 12:17
Which, you know, I thought was all bullshit.
Also, in this case, it happens to be ironic as fuck.
Because Carol Briggs’ mother is not at this police station on this night by
any sort of fateful accident.
Without hesitation, I take off across the street and hear the guys curse in
chorus behind me. To their credit, I make it about … eh, five feet before Sin
is snatching me by the back of the jacket and hauling me against him.
 “Gidget, what the fuck?” he asks, releasing me almost immediately.
“That stupid tactical team isn’t coming tonight,” I say, realizing it before
anyone else. I slap the back of one hand into the palm of the other. “That’s
too obvious, right? And it’s too stupid.” I realize with a frantic sort of
desperation what’s happening here.
Grey’s father doesn’t trust him. He must know that, right? Because he’s a
smart boy.
But maybe he doesn’t fully understand what’s happening. I know that I
didn’t, until just now. It just fucking hit me.
Alvise expected his son to leak this information.
He also expected the guys to do exactly what they said they were going to
do: bring an army.
Cat, in his anger, has inadvertently saved Grey’s ass.
Shit.
“That woman, that’s Carol Briggs’ mom,” I blurt, grabbing onto the front
of Sin’s cut. He’s looking at me like he believes in my urgency, but also like
he has no goddamn clue who Carol Briggs is. Why would he? She’s nothing
to him. Honestly, for as guilty as I feel about her death, I don’t give her
much thought either.
But she most certainly was and is someone to her mother.
“The girl who died at church camp!” I snap, even though it’d probably be
more accurate to say the girl that I got killed at church camp. “We need to
fucking move.”
Crown and Grainger exchange a look, and then I think it hits them at the
same time. That’s the bonus of working with people who are on the same
wavelength as you, who understand you, and who are as smart as you are.
Sin blinks at me and then curses, looking at me like he isn’t sure what to
do with me. Escort me away and let the other men handle it? Take me with
him?
“We can’t fire on a grieving mother in a police station,” Crown suggests,
and that’s the truth. It’s the perfect crime, if you think about it. If Ms. Briggs
killed Cat here, and then Beast or whoever else in the club killed her, bonus
points for the mafia. That person would be arrested and probably charged
with something. Maybe they’d get off on self-defense, maybe not?
“Let me talk to her,” I say, feeling my palms get itchy. We need to move
and we’re just standing. I turn and take off again, and the guys let me. But
they are right on my ass, I’ll tell you that right now.
 I pause suddenly on the sidewalk and make a split-second decision,
stripping off Beast’s jacket and chucking it at Sin. I add both guns and the
knife to the pile, too.
“The hell, Gidge?” he asks as I shake my head.
“Let me go first; they’re never going to let in three more Daybreakers.” I
pound up the steps outside the station, fully aware that we’re running short
on time here.
Just as I thought, several police officers appear from inside to cut the boys
off. I’m already way ahead of them, looking young and cute and relatively
innocent. In a world that treats me like shit for who and what I am, I am
more than willing to take advantage of that where I can.
I shove through the doors even as I hear one of the officers refer to Crown
by name.
“Calder. Didn’t think you had the balls to show up here,” he says, but I
don’t hear the rest of the statement because I’m already inside the building.
There’s a single room with a reception area, and multiple hallways that
lead off of it.
I slip right past the metal detector without setting it off and then pause.
I don’t see Ms. Briggs, and that scares the shit out of me.
“Can I help you?” a woman behind the desk asks, standing up and peering
through the bulletproof glass to look at me.
“I’m looking for my dad …” I start, biting my lower lip and yanking my
phone out. I’m about to text Beast to let him know I’m here when he appears
in the hallway with Cat right behind him.
Oh, boy, if I could describe the look on that man’s face …
He might very well kill me if I weren’t about to save his fucking life.
The door to the women’s restroom opens on my right, and I turn, throwing
myself into Ms. Briggs so hard that we both end up on the tile floor. Her
head cracks hard against it, hard enough that the gun she’s holding slips out
of her hand.
I don’t touch it because I sure as shit am not about to be seen inside a
police station holding a weapon of any sort.
Instead, I release the woman as quickly as I grabbed her, kicking the gun
beneath one of the stalls as Beast waits just inside the bathroom door.
Honestly, he was probably only a millisecond behind me. I realize as I watch
Ms. Briggs curl into a ball and start to sob that he might have been able to
stop her all on his own.
 I almost feel like an idiot for coming down here in the first place.
It takes me a second to realize what, exactly, it is that Ms. Briggs is
moaning. It’s Carol. She’s saying Carol over and over and over again. Jesus
Christ. Bile rises in my throat, and even though I know that it was the mafia
that killed Carol, it was partially my fault, too.
If I hadn’t snuck out, this woman’s daughter might still be alive.
I squat down beside her and try to keep my voice as even and as calm as I
can.
“I need you to get up right now and walk yourself out of these doors,” I
tell her, trying to keep my cool. Cat will kill this woman if he gets the
chance. Her best hope is to leave quickly and get the fuck out of this town.
“If you don’t,” I whisper, leaning in as close as I can, “you’re going to die.”
The woman doesn’t seem to care. She’s completely shattered. Looking at
her now, I can see that this was an easy mark for Alvise to manipulate. He
probably fed her some bullshit lie about the club, about Cat, about how it
was us that killed her daughter when it was the other way around. Wouldn’t
take much, I don’t think. A chance for revenge, maybe even for money. It
would be pretty obvious at this point to Ms. Briggs that nobody is looking
for Carol. Nobody cares.
“Wife, get up,” Beast warns, and I can tell from his tone of voice that he
means now. But I don’t want Carol’s mom to die because she was
manipulated. That’s not fucking fair. I know life isn’t fucking fair, but still …
She deserves better than that.
“Please stand up,” I beg her, but she doesn’t move. She just lays there and
cries, and I get so frustrated that I grab her by the hair and yank her into a
sitting position. I’d rather be mean now and see her live than try to be nice
and watch her die. “You need to run.”
“He killed my baby,” she sobs, and I slap her as hard as I can, the sound
ringing in the close confines of the bathroom. The woman doesn’t stop
crying but at the very least, she looks at me, her eyes big and blue and so
reminiscent of her daughter’s that I’m suddenly inundated with all of these
random ass memories of a girl I barely knew but went to school with for
years.
If I’m not careful, it’s my empathy that’s going to get me killed.
“Whatever you think you know, it’s bullshit,” I grind out, grabbing her by
the front of her shirt and yanking her close to me. “Get up and run. Not just
out of this police station but far, far away.”
 “Gidget.” It’s Beast again, and if he’s using my real name and not calling
me wife then I’m in trouble and completely out of time. He grabs me by the
arm and hauls me to my feet. His expression, when he shows it to me, is not
quite as stoic as it normally is. He looks sad, but not for Ms. Briggs—for me.
Because he knows I’m about to learn a very important lesson.
You cannot save everyone, no matter how hard you try.
Beast releases me and then grabs the woman by the back of her sweatshirt,
hauling her to her feet.
“Out,” he commands, and then he pushes out the bathroom door, and I
follow. There are multiple police officers standing nearby, watching us. They
had to know, right? At least some of them. In order for Ms. Briggs to get a
gun without setting off the metal detectors, she had to get it from somewhere
inside the building.
Someone left it in the bathroom for her, most likely.
Ms. Briggs looks pleadingly at the officers, but not a single one of them
steps forward to help her. It’s too late, and they all know it.
Beast shoves her out the front doors of the building before releasing her.
Cat is waiting outside with Crown, Sin, and Grainger next to him, a small
group of Daybreakers posed near the row of bikes.
Carol’s mom glances their way just once before taking off down the
sidewalk at a quick clip. The way Cat watches her scares the shit out of me.
When he stands up and moves after her, that scares the shit out of me even
more.
“Follow me,” he says, nodding with his chin in the direction of the fleeing
woman.
More than anything in the world, I don’t want to go with him. I don’t want
to do this. It’s a nightmare in the making, and even though I know what’s
coming, I’m afraid. Please no. Please, please, please. Fuck.
This is why I believe in the devil, but not in God.
Because of moments like this.
“Go,” Beast commands me, and because I know he’s on my side first and
foremost, I follow Cat. I trust Beast more than anyone else. Even over the
other guys.
We take off down the sidewalk and follow Ms. Briggs for about two
blocks, keeping to the shadows so that when she looks over her shoulder, she
breathes a sigh of relief. I do the ‘fox walk’ that Beast taught me, just like he
does. Just like Cat.
 And then we come around the corner of a narrow alley and my father
takes the lead, gliding through the darkness like it was designed just for him,
like he owns it.
“I’m so sorry, sugar,” Beast murmurs, his voice so low that I know I’m the
only person that can hear it. “If you want to run, we can run. But we can’t
stay here and not do this.”
I know that.
I know it, and I hate myself for it because I’m not asking to leave. And I
saved Cat’s life, even though it might’ve been best if I didn’t.
I should’ve let him die, I think, just before we round another corner and
come upon Ms. Briggs and a man that seems vaguely familiar, like someone
I might’ve seen in passing before.
I know without knowing that this is Cat’s FBI informant.
Within the span of a single heartbeat, Cat is reaching inside his cut and
pulling out his favorite gun—the one he put to my head, coincidentally—the
Smith & Wesson Model 29.
“Leroy, wait,” the man starts, holding up both hands, palms out.
But it’s over in an instant.
Cat pulls the trigger, the silencer on the end of his weapon muffling the
sound in such a way that the gunshot sounds less like a backfiring car and
more like the ping of a movie gun. It echoes in the close confines of the alley
anyway, and I feel the blood drain from my face as a hole appears in the
forehead of the man with his hands raised in surrender.
Just like with Gaz.
The man drops to the ground as Carol’s mother opens her mouth to
scream. No sound escapes. Instead, the second shot hits her in the head and
she, too, crumples to the ground beside the first body. There’s blood
everywhere, spattered across the ground, across the wall behind the two
bodies, sprinkled across the side of a dumpster.
Why did I save him? I think, hating myself and yet knowing with every
breath that I made the right decision. If anyone is going to kill Cat, it’s going
to be me. Not the mafia. Not Ms. Briggs. Me.
Cat tucks his weapon away and turns around, assessing me with dark eyes.
To my credit, I stay standing. I don’t sway. My knees don’t buckle. Even my
breathing is regulated, slow, calm. On the inside, I’m raging. I’m screaming.
The world is so fucking unfair.
Carol Briggs didn’t deserve to die; her mother didn’t deserve to die.
 That’s what happens in war, right? Those who have the least to gain, who
are the least involved, those are the people that suffer the most.
Cat moves up to stand beside me, reaching out with his left hand to clamp
my shoulder and give it a squeeze. It’s half praise and half warning.
“Good work, Gidge,” he says, and I don’t dare correct my name tonight.
Cat gestures with his chin in the direction of the two bodies. “You want to
play Daybreaker, huh?” He licks his lips and then he laughs. He laughs while
a single mother lies dead on the ground not a dozen feet away from him.
While a member of the FBI lies dead. We have his brother. That’s what Grey
told me. So this man, while unlikely to be a true innocent considering he’s
been working with Cat, he was nailed to the wall just like the rest of us. A
butterfly pinned to a board and squirming. “Clean this shit up.”
My father takes off, leaving me to stand alone in the dark with my
husband.
“Did I do the right thing?” I whisper as Beast moves closer to me, waiting
for Cat to exit the alley before he wraps his arms around me and pulls me
against him. He’s warm, strong, and solid as fuck. I curl my fingers in the
leather of his cut and force myself to breathe in his scent. Just as I hoped, it
brings me at least a smell sense of relief.
“No such thing as right and wrong, Gidge. You know that.”
And I do. I do know it.
I step away from Beast just as the other three men join us, looking over at
the bodies on the ground with detached expressions that I suppose are the
result of doing this sort of thing year in and year out.
I turn and look with them, studying the results of my own handiwork.
“You’re smart, Gidge,” Crown admits, shaking his head. “So fucking
smart.”
“I got an innocent woman killed,” I say, squeezing my hands into fists.
“Not tonight. But the day I snuck out to go to that stupid goddamn church
camp. I don’t feel smart; I feel like a dumbass.”
“Every action has consequences,” Grainger adds with a sigh, moving over
to the bodies and rolling one over with his boot. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He
swipes a hand over his face. “Get one of the guys down here with the truck.”
I spend the rest of the night learning how to clean up a crime scene.
“Fuck, my head is killing me,” I say, sitting at the breakfast table and liking
the routine of it, of having coffee in here with my men in the morning. Well,
okay, if you want to be technical about it, it’s late afternoon. We all stayed up
past the sunrise to bury bodies.
I don’t think I’ll forget the way Carol Briggs’ mother looked, her eyes
wide and glassy as we wrapped her up in a tarp and loaded her into the back
of a pickup truck. And then, later, into a very deep hole.
“As I imagine it would be,” Sin tells me, pushing a cup of coffee my way.
Before I can even say anything, he leans down and puts his palms flat on the
table, peering at me with slightly narrowed eyes. “Before you ask: Grainger
sweetened it, just the way you like.”
“I also want orange juice,” I say, yanking the mug toward me and lifting a
brow in question. “It’s a pregnancy craving.”
“Oh, is it?” Sin asks, standing up and putting his hands on his hips.
“You’re okay enough to canvass rooftops for snipers, but not hale enough to
get your own OJ?”
“One of you pieces of shit impregnated me, and you can’t even pour me
some fucking juice?” I ask aghast, and Sin rolls his pretty silver eyes to the
ceiling, throwing a cocky look in my direction as he shakes his head.
“I’ll get your goddamn juice,” he tells me as Crown takes a seat on the
opposite side of the table and then looks across the kitchen at Grainger like
the man must’ve lost his fucking mind.
 “The hell is wrong with you?” he snaps, and Grainger pauses to look over
at him, a spatula in his hand. He’s standing in front of the stove, a griddle
laid out over two burners, making pancakes. I know, I know. Weird for me,
too.
“What? You don’t eat? Jesus Christ, Crown.” Grainger scoffs. “You’ve
been walking around the compound like you’re too good to shit like the rest
of us. Makes sense now, seeing as you’ve never seen a man cook before.”
“I’ve never seen you cook,” is what Crown says in response, blinking in
surprise at his sergeant-at-arms before glancing over at me. His expression
shifts slightly, as if he thinks I might be suffering a mental break or
something.
I just stare back at him, calmly sipping my coffee.
I’m sorry, I think, imagining that stupid sweatshirt with the cross on the
back and wishing I’d been able to save Ms. Briggs’ life. I feel like a failure. I
spent nearly thirty minutes crying in the shower this morning, but I don’t
want or need any of the men to see me like that.
“I’ve seen him cook,” Beast replies, sitting on my left and staring out the
window across the table. Now that Grey is gone, we can actually open the
blinds and look out at the hideous orange sunshine and the smoky sky. The
wildfire situation hasn’t changed, but only because the winds have been
stagnant.
All we need is a change of weather patterns or a lightning strike and voilà,
we’re in deep shit.
“I suppose having my own home like a grown-ass man saved me from the
sight before now,” Crown remarks, turning his gaze over to the window to
study the sky. I love his profile. It’s strong, powerful, noble. As if he can
sense me staring at him, he flicks his eyes back to mine again.
“You did well last night,” he tells me, and even though I know that, by the
rules of the club, I really did do well, it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like I
got an innocent woman murdered by my father. Even though I’ve finally
come to the painful realization that I love the man, he’s a blight on the very
air he breathes.
“Mm.”
I continue to sip my coffee, pausing when Grainger slams down a plate of
pancakes in front of me, and I lift a surprised gaze up to find his perpetually
angry face glaring down at me.
 “Eat,” he says as Sin slips around behind me, putting my juice down
before taking the seat on my right. “I’m not letting you skip out on meals
with my baby inside of you.”
“Fucking Christ, Grainger,” I snap, kicking out as hard as I can and
nailing him in the back of the leg. He makes a growl of frustration, but he
remains standing. Strong as fuck, even during a pretty grueling recovery
process. He pauses at the griddle and then flips what must’ve been a test-
pancake off a nearby plate and onto the floor.
Feminist creeps up slowly behind him, snatching the pancake before doing
his three-legged trot out the archway and into the living room. He’s found a
special spot in Crown’s precious leather chair. I’m sure the hair all over his
furniture bothers him, but he hasn’t said a damn word.
“You don’t know it’s your baby,” Sin offers up, running a single finger
around the rim of his own juice glass. His eyes slide to mine before moving
back to Beast’s. My husband doesn’t offer up any sort of emotional reaction.
Instead, he lifts his coffee to his lips slowly, calmly, takes a sip, swallows.
“It’s my baby.” Just that from Beast, and even though Crown makes a
face, he doesn’t say anything. Our eyes meet again.
“Thank you,” I say before I can lose my nerve. It’s getting easier, those
simple admissions of gratefulness. It’s hard. It’s the very beginning of
cracking away at my shell, allowing small moments of intimacy that can’t
possibly backfire on me. Initial steps, baby steps, into some sort of new
normalcy.
“For what?” he asks as Grainger sits down with a plate of pancakes for
himself. He doesn’t offer up any to the other men, but there’s a towering
stack of them on a plate on the counter. Just in case.
“For letting them stay here with us.”
Crown just stares at me and then sighs heavily as the edge of Beast’s lip
quirks up in a smirk. He probably finds that funny, the idea of him living
with me and Crown, rather than the other way around. I know that’s how he
feels about it. But I need Crown to understand that I get how hard this must
be. He’s used to having his own space, doing his own thing, having his
house just so.
My stuff is all over his room. Boxes stacked in the far corner, suitcases
and duffel bags full of clothes strewn across the reading nook. And since his
bathroom is the nicest and most well-lit one in the house, my makeup is
scattered across the counter, covering every square inch. When I walked in
today, I saw him standing there smiling as he fingered a stick of black liner.
Pretty sure he likes seeing my stamp all over the farmhouse.
“You truly know how to test a man’s patience,” he tells me, this particular
sort of warning tone in his voice that makes me shift and rub my thighs
together. Yes, sir. I’ll be a good girl. I swear to fuck. Just tell me what to do. I
feel like Crown can sense it, the way he shifts in his chair and narrows his
eyes slightly. His hand curls into a fist on the table. “But more importantly,
how are you feeling today?”
I think about that question as they all turn to look at me.
How do I feel?
“Like shit,” I offer up, shrugging my shoulders and picking up a fork to
poke at my pancakes. Grainger cooked these for me. I think about that. I
really fucking think about that, how we got from point A to point B, and it
blows my mind apart. If I weren’t so relentless … If they weren’t so
relentless.
If they hadn’t come for me.
I’d be a mafia princess right now. Instead, I’m taking a bite of a
surprisingly fluffy pancake and casting a suspicious look in Cade’s direction.
He pretends not to notice, cutting up his own pancakes.
“You made the right choice,” Beast tells me, but I don’t believe it. Even
though I know he’d only tell me the real and honest truth. Guilt swarms over
me, but I can’t let it drown me. Last night was a disaster in so many ways. I
didn’t end up getting vengeance for my sisters. All I did was save a monster
at the expense of a grieving mother’s life.
I am damned to hell, damned to burn, damned to rot and fester, damned to
be a feast for maggots and worms.
“How so?” I clarify as Sin makes a sound of frustration, reaching out and
snatching a pancake off my plate. He rolls it up and then bites the end of it
off, like it’s a burrito or some shit.
“You think if the mafia was able to carry out a hit on a chapter president
that the club would let it go? This ‘peace’ shit you’re talking about with your
buddy Grey would never happen.” He takes another bite of his food as I
think that over for a minute. He isn’t wrong about that. I know it. Doesn’t
make it any easier.
Why couldn’t Cat just let that woman go? She wasn’t an ongoing threat;
she was clearly manipulated into accepting such a horrible task. And the
cops? They were going to let it happen, a murder right inside the precinct. Of
course, the death of a notorious MC boss wouldn’t really have bothered the
local community.
The city of Ashbury probably would’ve rejoiced.
I take another bite of my food, staring down at my plate in thought.
And that FBI guy? Grey Wolfe—the organization, not the man—has his
brother. Or … at this point, had is probably a more apt word.
“Cat saved Grey’s life,” I say, just in case the guys haven’t picked up on it.
What they have done, however, is run a freaking bug detector over every
inch of this place to look for hidden cams or mics. That’s how worried they
are about their own president. That’s what I woke up to, padding out of my
husband’s bedroom to find Crown using a walkie-talkie lookalike to scan the
house for surveillance.
A shiver traces down my spine.
“Fuck, that would piss him off,” Grainger remarks absently, finishing his
plate and then standing up. He chucks it into the sink, and I see the slight
twitch of Crown’s mouth as he takes note of Cade’s habits.
This is going to be an interesting adjustment, that’s for sure.
Cade turns around and leans his ass up against the kitchen counter.
“So the don suspects his son, huh? That won’t go well. We’re more likely
to see your friend dead than taking over his father’s empire.” Grainger
pauses at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and then Reba’s stepping into
the room, her eyes sweeping the four men.
She isn’t—and has never been—afraid of leather-bound outlaws.
“Mornin’, Gidge,” she says, nodding my way in greeting and patting
Feminist’s head as he bounces up behind her and licks her hand. “Boys. I
hope you’re treating this woman right. I won’t accept anything less.”
“You know I have manners, Miss Keller,” Beast offers up as I look toward
Reba and her gaze lands on the plate of pancakes in front of me before
flicking back to look at Grainger. She’s always hated him the most—and
with good reason.
My best friend knows every sordid detail of what’s happened between me
and these men. Having her around brings me more comfort than I care to
admit. She’s like … a shield between me and the raw intimacy that I know
needs to take place in this house.
Also, she’s in danger being here. Every second she spends at my side is a
mistake. Cat proved that to me last night. I need to get Reba off the
compound.
 “Grainger cooked for me,” I say, pointing at the counter with my fork.
“Grab some hotcakes and sit down. We need to talk about a plan to get you
off this property.” I look over at Sin and Crown. “Can we just … take her
off-site? Will Cat allow that?”
Cat told Crown that Reba wasn’t to leave the property without his
permission. The chances of him giving in are slim, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid
that things are going to go south quickly, just the way they did last night.
I can’t risk Reba’s life for a second longer. I need to get in touch with
Grey, learn more about this convent, figure out how to get her there …
The boys exchange a look that freaks me out a little.
“Before I go,” Reba starts, pausing between my chair and Beast’s, her
green eyes wet as she looks down at me. I can see how hard whatever she
has to say is, how deeply it’s affecting her. She seems almost unstable on her
feet, like she might need to sit down, or she’ll fall.
Beast seems to sense that and stands up, offering out his chair for Reba.
She slides into it with a grateful sigh and carefully folds her hands in her lap.
“I know you probably … buried my parents somewhere. Could you take
me there?” She looks up, letting her gaze trail over Sin and Crown. “I’d like
the chance to say goodbye, at the very least.”
My heart constricts in my chest as I reach out and put my hand over
Reba’s folded ones.
We all know that isn’t a possibility: I can’t allow Reba to have that sort of
information. If she somehow let it slip, we could have the FBI here digging
up bodies. Even worse than that, if Cat thinks Reba has dirt on the club, he’ll
bury her himself.
My eyes meet Sin’s, and he blinks at me in recognition. Lie for me, my
gaze says, and I hope he understands me. We can just take Reba to some
random, pretty spot on the compound and let her use that as a place of
contemplation.
“Yeah, I can show you later,” Sin agrees, his voice even and calm. It’s so
at odds with the way he speaks to me when we’re alone. He’s a romantic, but
he’s also a sneaky little dom, isn’t he? “Not today though. I have business at
the big house.” He offers me a look. “Do you want to come with? Pretty sure
Nellie’s going crazy up there by herself.”
He finishes his juice and stands up, slipping past me but not before
reaching out to ruffle my hair. The move gets him a dark glare in response,
but he doesn’t even see it, slipping up the stairs to his room.
 “I’ll talk to Cat,” Crown offers up with a sigh. “He seems … slightly more
agreeable after last night. We saw him briefly at church this morning.” His
eyes shift to Beast’s for a minute, going half-lidded in frustration. “Which
you didn’t attend.”
“Can’t leave Gidge alone,” Beast offers up, standing behind Reba with his
huge arms crossed in front of his chest.
“You’re lucky the other men are afraid of you,” Crown offers up with a
long sigh and then he too is taking his coffee with him and leaving.
Reba meets my gaze, but she doesn’t look afraid.
She never has been afraid of this club or anyone in it. Maybe she should
have been? Maybe, all those years ago, when she sat beside me in
kindergarten, I should’ve shoved her off her chair and made her cry the way
I did to many other children. I should’ve driven her away from me and saved
her all of this pain.
“Does … your brother have a grave?” she asks, and I just stare at her.
I don’t want to talk about Gaz right now. I certainly don’t want to see his
grave.
I ignore her, standing up and taking my phone with me.
And then I put a call into Grey’s number and hope like hell that he
answers me.

Nellie’s scrubbing the kitchen when we come in, her hair pinned back as she
struggles to get something burnt off the bottom of a pan. Her blue eyes drift
over to me, Reba by my side, and she smiles.
It’s such a nice smile, too. There’s a kernel of happiness to it that I haven’t
seen since … fuck, it’s been years. Years. Before my sisters’ deaths,
absolutely.
“Hi honey,” she says, putting the pan down and stripping off the hilarious
black gloves she’s wearing. Does she know that she looks like a serial killer
with them on? The black latex stretching up her inked arms. Regular
housewives wear yellow gloves or pink ones. Really, anything but that ebony
latex that looks like the same sort of gloves we were wearing when we were
loading up the FBI guy and Ms. Briggs into a pickup truck.
“Hey,” I say, leaving Crown, Beast, and Grainger out front while Sin
follows us in. He waits just behind us, trying to offer up some level of
privacy. He’s always there, when it comes to family stuff, and I like that. I
loved having him as a part of my life growing up, fucked as that sounds.
Really, though, if you think about it, we grew up together. Sin was just
sixteen years old when he started hanging around the club. That’s … so
goddamn young.
I shove my hair back, realizing how hypocritical and completely insane
that sounds.
“We’re here to help out,” I offer lamely, studying Nellie and this strange
new domesticity that she’s taken on. She’s still Cat’s wife though; she knows
a lot. She’s been through even more than that. I try to imagine Cat curling up
around Nellie at night, telling her all of his fears, his insecurities.
But nope.
Does not compute.
Nellie blinks at me, her attention moving to Sin before returning to my
face.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, and I frown slightly. “I remember being
pregnant with every single one of you.” She moves over to stand in front of
me, putting her hands on her hips and smiling. As if by magic, Cat comes in
the back door and then there he is, the devil himself.
Since Nellie is used to the tension between me and Cat, she ignores it.
“You were the worst,” she continues with a laugh as Sin shifts
uncomfortably behind me, and Reba tries her very best to just smile through
a moment that’s equal parts awkward, sweet, and dangerous as hell.
Cat is staring at me.
I can feel his gaze like flames against my skin, eating my flesh away,
using the fat beneath my skin like fuel.
Shit.
“I was bloated like crazy, and I couldn’t stop throwing up.” Nellie laughs
again, shaking her head. “I remember with Gaz, my breasts hurt, and I was
obsessed with orange juice …”
“Please stop,” I choke out, but Nellie takes my pained expression for
exaggerated embarrassment instead of what it actually is: agony. Complete
and utter agony. I feel like I’m being ripped apart emotionally, and I don’t
want to hear another fucking word about Nellie and what it was like to be
pregnant with any of my dead siblings.
Nellie chuckles and then reaches up like she’s going to touch my cheek.
She pulls back, the way she’s always done, but I grab her hand and press it to
my face anyway. That lights her up from the inside like it’s fucking
Christmas.
Speaking of … I was with the mafia for Christmas. You know what we
did? Nothing. Nothing at all. I barely even recognized that the holiday
season was rushing by. Did Nellie cry? Did she think about me during each
special occasion that I wasn’t here for? Not that it matters. We haven’t done
much for the holidays since, well, you know.
“The only change I see in you is thicker, shinier hair, and”—here Nellie
goes out of her way to annoy me by pointing at my chest—“you keep
rubbing at your boobs. Are they sore?”
“Christ, woman,” Cat growls out, but not without affection. He really does
love my mother, despite … everything. You just saw him shoot an innocent
woman and an unarmed man in the head, I remind myself. You just saw him
kill your fucking brother the same damn way. “Knock that shit off.” My
father looks me over, but not unappreciatively, his eyes drifting over to
Reba. He doesn’t like having her here; he isn’t going to let her go. I can see
that much right now. And it scares me. It scares me so damn bad. “Glad
you’re here,” Cat tells me, lifting his gaze from my face to stare at Sin over
my shoulder. “I was going to call her down here anyway.”
He turns away and then glances back at me.
“Come with me—just you.”
Cat takes off out the back door, expecting me to follow.
His words … they’re not a request, and my entire body goes cold. I’ve got
my Magnum beneath Beast’s jacket, but I’m still worried. A quick look at
Sin shows that he is, too.
“Follow him,” he tells me, sliding his phone from his pocket, likely to text
the other guys. “We’ve got you, Gidge.”
I believe that. More than I’ve ever believed anything in my life.
I give Reba’s hand a quick squeeze.
“I’ll be back soon,” I promise, and she nods.
“I’ll just stay with Nellie for now,” she tells me, and I take off, striding
along to catch up with Cat. He hasn’t gone very far, but as soon as he sees
that I’m with him, he continues deeper into the garden with me following
behind.
At any moment, he could turn and blow my brains out. It’s that easy for
him, isn’t it? To put a gun to another person’s head. Yet somehow, I don’t
think that’s what he’s up to. If he wanted me dead, he’d have killed me either
before or after he shot my brother.
Cat strays from the brick path, ignoring the crackle in the sky that says a
storm is coming. Looking up, I can see the gray clouds rolling in, but the
thought of rain doesn’t do a damn thing to calm my fears about the nearby
wildfires. As I said before, rain can be a blessing, but it can also bring
lightning and start new fires. That’s a real fear, and I have an ominous
feeling about it all.
It’s not magic; I’m not psychic. I’m just someone who’s grown up
watching bad things happen over and over again; there’s a pattern to the way
events unfold. A pressure in the air that you can feel. I knew it the day of the
wedding, didn’t I? Well, I know it now.
This storm will bring nothing but pain to everyone that’s caught within it.
My father leads me over to the base of a tree. Not the same one I spoke to
Crown beneath, but a different one. It’s a cottonwood, I think. A garbage tree
to most people, but I like it because it spreads everywhere and grows big
fast.
I feel a prickle on the back of my neck like I’m being watched, and the
sensation soothes me. They’re here, even if I can’t see them. Cat might be
able to quickdraw a weapon, but I trust the boys to save my ass.
I move up beside my father, mimicking his pose by crossing my arms
under my breasts. They are sore; Nellie was right. Damn her for that.
“Where are you getting your information?” he asks, and he must be
confident that we’re alone—he’ll know his officers are watching, I’m sure,
but we’re safe from other Daybreakers—or else he wouldn’t be talking like
this. Cat turns rust-red eyes down to mine, and I glance his way, our gazes
crashing together.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask, and he snorts, turning back to look at
the tree. There’s something in his face that I’ve never really seen before.
Either because he didn’t allow me to see it or because the burden of grief has
just grown so heavy that he can’t possibly deny it anymore—not to me, not
even to himself.
“If I wanted you dead,” he starts, still staring at me, but with that odd sort
of regretful darkness etched into his features, “you wouldn’t have the chance
to ask. You’d just be gone. But you know that already, don’t you? You’re a
smart girl.” He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up as he stares at
the tree. “This is your brother’s grave,” he tells me, and the blood drains
from my face.
I turn back to the tree and try not to think bad thoughts about Gaz. He was
a horrible man who did horrible things. He killed a prostitute to keep her
quiet. He was more than willing to kill me, his baby sister. His only
remaining sister.
I drop my hands to my sides as I struggle to keep my anger from showing
so obviously. Cat can read body language like he’s got a doctorate in it. He’ll
know every emotion I’m feeling the moment I feel it.
“Where are you getting your information from?” he repeats, referring to
last night. Because I was there. Because I knew there was a surprise
assassination attempt on the books. It was a pretty good one, too, I’ll admit.
Sending in a bunch of hitmen, guns blazing, would never work on Cat. But a
weepy, slightly overweight middle-aged woman inside a police station?
Having her pop out of the women’s restroom like that was brilliant, too.
Whoever planned that was meticulous.
The only thing they didn’t plan on was that I was smart enough to figure it
out. I might not have, if I hadn’t seen Ms. Briggs enter the station. That was
pure luck. Or, maybe, more of that strange dark intuition of mine.
“Grey Wolfe,” I reply, because I can’t pretend it’s anyone else. Cat will
know if I’m lying. Besides, he already saw that photo. It’s out there, the truth
of the situation. “He wants to take over the mafia and end this war; it makes
sense, if you think about it.”
“I’m supposed to believe that shit?” Cat snorts, and then he shakes his
head, moving forward and pointing at the disturbed earth beneath his feet.
“Your brother is dead beneath my boots, Gidget. Do you know what he was
doing?”
I’m not sure if it’s a hypothetical question or not.
“He was giving packages to a hooker by the name of Rhea Bundy,” I
continue, trying not to get too excited that I’m finally able to share my story.
What I did last night, saving my father’s life—maybe, or maybe Beast
would’ve done it for me anyway—has granted me the tiniest little scrap of
goodwill. It won’t last. And if I don’t give answers that Cat likes, I’ll run
through it even more quickly. “She was leaving those packages at an old
church—Santuario di Santa Gemma Galgani. We figured that out, but we
didn’t know why he was having her do that, what the point of it was.”
 I scratch at the side of my face, staring at the ground and trying not to
imagine the grim reality of my brother’s body decomposing down there. It’s
just not something I want to let my imagination dig into.
Cat continues to stare at me, analyzing me … no, more like dissecting me.
He’s cutting me apart with his eyes, shredding me to pieces. The thing is, I
don’t crumple easily. I look up and meet his gaze unflinchingly.
Will my baby have these same accursed eyes? I wonder, thinking how odd
it is that Posey and Queenie had blue eyes like Nellie while Gaz and I ended
up with these red-brown ones. Blue is a recessive gene, so … Cat must have
a recessive blue-eyed gene in there somewhere. I mean, shit, even this high
school dropout knows there’s more than one gene that controls eye color, but
the gist is the same.
I suddenly can’t decide if I want my baby to have these eyes or if the sight
of them on another person’s face would make me sick. My palm slides
across my belly as I exhale.
“I’ll tell you what was in those packages,” Cat says, smoking his cigarette
and staring at the dirt beneath his feet. His gaze is darker than I’ve ever seen
it, laced with violence. “Anything your brother could sell to the mafia: maps
of the compound, employee files, copies of receipts from our suppliers.” Cat
lets out a dark laugh. “He was smart enough to know we keep everything on
a closed system, that we’d notice a digital trail. Guess he figured he could
print it all out and get things done that way.”
“How long have you known about Gaz?” I ask, and Cat lifts his face up to
stare at me.
I am not the one who’s supposed to be asking questions here. It’s all there
in that sharp look on his face. Shut your fucking mouth. I do, my hand still
resting absently on my lower belly. Cat notices and quirks up the edge of his
lip in a snarl.
“You, pregnant. Never thought I’d see the day. You sure you want to bring
another person into this fucked-up world?” Cat finishes his cigarette and
then drops the butt to the ground, crushing out the embers with his boot.
Even he’s smart enough not to start yet another fire around here.
“It feels like my entire family is dead,” I say, not bothering to sugarcoat it.
“I guess I just wanted to see if I couldn’t make a new one.” Cat just keeps
looking at me like he can’t figure me out. But he can. He knows. He
understands me because we’re exactly the same on the inside. “Anyway,
Queenie didn’t get to have her baby, so maybe I’m having one for her?”
 Cat says nothing in response to that, and I feel myself getting frustrated.
“I am on the club’s side,” I plead with him, stepping forward, my hand
still over my stomach. Somehow, I can sense that I’m just a little bit safer
this way. “Your officers, they’ve been sickeningly loyal to you from the get-
go. The only thing they ever did was cover up my mistake. I took Grey and
then I crashed into a mafia roadblock; they were here for him anyway, Cat.
They would’ve attacked the compound that day regardless.”
“You should be dead,” he tells me, but his tone of voice neither raises nor
lowers. It’s thick and dark and poisonous, the voice of the devil. One of
Reba’s Bible quotes flickers in my brain like hellfire: You belong to your
father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father’s desires. He was a
murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in
him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the
father of lies.
Fuck.
Me and Cat, we are unholy nightmares.
“But I’m not dead. You killed Gaz to keep me here.”
Cat ignores me.
“How are you contacting the mafia boy?” he asks instead, reverting back
to business. He hasn’t once mentioned if he’s excited by the idea of a
grandchild or not, if he even cares at all.
“Video calls mostly,” I say as thunder rolls through the sky, shaking the
world with its grumble, and a similar sound breaks from Cat’s throat. He
hates himself right now; I can see it. He hates himself because he knows that
he should kill me—club law would demand it—but he can’t do it.
He can’t do it because he loves me. Just like I love him. We love and hate
each other in equal measures. We consider each other to be monsters.
“And what do you give him in return, huh? You expect me to believe this
boy’s helpin’ ya outta the kindness of his heart.” Cat laughs at that, but not
like he’s happy about it, obviously. More like he’s going crazy on the inside,
coming apart at the seams. “You fuckin’ him, too? Or just my officers?”
“I never slept with Grey; I don’t love him,” I reply, and Cat howls at that.
“Oh, that’s rich. And you’re in love with four grown-ass men you have no
business being with?” He points at me. “I never should’ve let you marry
Beast; you’re getting full of yourself. You think he can protect you from
everything? He might be strong, Gidge, but he’s one man. Just one.”
That’s a threat if I’ve ever heard one.
 “Which is why I have three other lovers—” I start, and Cat cuts me off
with a wave of his hand. “Anyway, it’s Gidget, not Gidge.”
Cat ignores that last bit, but I had to say it. It’s a part of who I am at this
point.
“What are you giving him in exchange, Gidget? Information like that
doesn’t come cheap.”
I’m already shaking my head. God, how do I make someone like Leroy
Kesselring—a man who could shoot his own son in cold-blood—understand
something as impossible as friendship?
How?
“I gave him his life, Cat. I traded mine for his. I don’t tell him anything
about DBD. Nothing.” I reach up and scrub at my face with both hands.
When I drop them down, I see that Cat is staring at the canopy of the tree,
his face a strange mask, one that I thought I understood with perfect clarity.
I see now that it’s all bullshit.
There are so many layers to this man, layers that I may never be able to
peel back and see beneath. He’s evil, but there’s good in there, good that
manifests in the fact that my heart is still beating, that I’m still standing here.
“You can get more information for me?” he asks, and I hesitate briefly
before nodding. “Next time he calls you, record it. I want to see the whole
damn thing.” Cat moves over to stand in front of me, and there’s nothing
about his pose that’s fatherly or friendly. “If I see any one of the five of you
make a move without me, that will be the end of everything. You hear me,
girl? We have three more chapters on the way.” He scowls at me, like I’m
the biggest pain in the ass that ever lived. “I can’t protect you against a
literal army.”
He turns and takes off, and even though this move backfired on me bad
back at the house, I can’t stop myself. Told ya I had one more in me. Even
after last night. Even after seeing him kill an innocent woman.
Yep. I am fucked-up beyond all reason.
“Daddy, wait,” I say, and my voice cracks in just such a way that he stops
walking. He doesn’t turn back to me, but he does pause. The wind whips
around me, sending chills skittering down my spine. Now, the air not only
tastes like ash, but it’s tainted with the violent, impossible energy of a storm.
It’s charged, the wind is, like it’s been electrified, like every molecule carries
the possibility of a zing or a zap.
Tonight, even more of the world is going to catch on fire.
 “I’ve hated you for as long as I can remember. I mean, really hated you.
You were a shitty father; Nellie was a shitty mother. I saw things I never
should’ve seen, and I grew up way too fucking fast, so fast that I’ve got
whiplash, so fast that I can’t remember anything except being a teenager and
then being a woman. There isn’t anything before that.” I swallow hard, and I
sort of hate that the guys are listening in on me, and yet I can’t stop myself.
Because if I don’t say this now, when am I going to say it? What if, like with
Gaz, I never get the chance to say it? So here it goes. Here goes fucking
nothing.
I take a deep breath.
“I wondered all this time why you changed so suddenly, why you sat me
down that day beside the pool and banned me from this compound. Why you
started to control me when you’d never cared before.” I watch his back
muscles as I talk, but he was already tense, and that stance doesn’t change,
even as the words spill out of me. “Was it because you made a mistake with
Queenie?”
I stop talking, realizing only after I go silent that I’m holding my breath.
Waiting. Hoping. Why, I’m not sure. I have no idea why I let myself fall into
this trap. It’s those goddamn men, tearing me apart, opening up a heart that I
thought was dead and shriveled.
It’s open now, open and bleeding, and I’m pouring crimson out of a
million emotional wounds, but yet … I’m still standing.
“I made mistakes, sure,” he says, and the revelation shocks me to my core.
I feel myself start to tremble, but I don’t move from where I’m standing,
leaves whipping around my face as it starts to sprinkle, cool droplets
spattering my dry, parted lips. “But I didn’t want you coddled and naïve,
Gidge.” Cat finally deigns to look back at me, just once. Just that once.
“Seems I did too good of a job on that end. The rest of it … that’s all I’ve
got. Don’t expect more. You know better than that.”
He takes off, and even though I know I might hate myself for this later,
that my father hurts people and hurts dogs and hurts his own kids, I do it
anyway. I just do it.
“I love you,” I tell him, and he stops. He actually stops walking. “I don’t
want to. I even hate myself for it. But there it is. It’s out there.” I spread my
arms wide, opening myself up to the storm, the darkness, the smoke-filled
sky. When Cat doesn’t answer, when he just keeps walking, I let my head
fall back and my lids droop closed.
 I stay that way until I feel them, all four of them, standing nearby. My own
horde of demons, granting me the armor that I need to defend myself against
the devil.
“Well?” It’s Crown, that one word a demand. I drop my arms by my sides,
but I don’t move any more than that.
“He wants me to report back when I hear from Grey,” I whisper, tasting
the strange charcoal-tainted raindrops on my mouth. I stick my tongue out to
catch more of the stray droplets, and a strange laugh escapes my throat. It’s
husky and sardonic, but not entirely displeased.
I should be broken over what happened last night.
Instead, all I can think is how much better I would’ve handled it if I were
in charge.
I could’ve saved Ms. Briggs then, couldn’t I?
I open my eyes and lift my head. Sin has a slight smile on his face while
Crown is frowning in disturbed consternation; Beast is still and silent, but
his eyes simmer, and Grainger, well, he scowls at me just like he always
does.
It matches up, those reactions, to what I already know about them all.
Sin is just enough of the boy next door to wake up parts of me that I
thought I lost, that really, I thought were dead, that childhood I’m chasing so
hard and watching slip further and further away. We can be young together,
me and him, but without falling into a trap of complacency or naivety.
With Crown, I feel like a true partner, a queen to his king, someone that
can both give and receive advice. He’s the perfect type of man to own a
house with, to make a baby with. That’s his forte, a strong pillar, a natural-
born leader.
Beast is the one who treats me like something that’s deeply cherished,
something to be taken care of, something to treasure. He’s leashed himself to
me, and his blood runs on the beat of my heart rather than his own. He will
lie down and die for me if that’s what’s needed, and he’ll do it without
complaint.
Grainger … oh, fuck Cade Grainger. He’s the one I really wasn’t supposed
to want, the toxic passion, the one that makes me burn up on the inside and
not care that I’m reduced to ash, that I’ve mixed in with the electricity of the
wind and I’m becoming the storm.
There are so many sides of me, and each man matches up perfectly to one
of those jagged edges. I look around at them, and then refocus my gaze on
the cottonwood tree.
“Just give me some time, and I’ll restore your honor in the club.” I strut
off, that statement hanging in the air behind me.
Cat isn’t going to let Reba off the compound just yet. And if I learned
anything from this conversation, it’s this: we need to tread very, very
carefully. Play by the rules.
At least for now.
I’m bent over the toilet bowl, forearms resting on the seat, and cursing Nellie
under my breath. I was fine until she brought up this shit. It’s like,
psychosomatic or something, I swear. Fucking pregnancy symptoms.
My stomach muscles contract, and I dry heave over the water, wondering
why the hell I would ever choose this path for myself. You really are nuts,
Gidge. You’re insane. I can’t even blame the guys for this really; this was a
decision made with my own free will.
Sin moves into the bathroom to squat beside me. He’s absurdly handsome
in his leather cut, a black t-shirt underneath, criminally snug denim on his
strong thighs, and black riding boots. That blue hair of his is styled perfectly,
his earrings shimmering in the light. Worst of all, that gleam of pride in his
silver eyes.
“Get the hell away from me,” I growl out at him, but he just laughs, this
naughty chuckle that makes me want to stab him. How dare he turn me on
when I’m bent over the toilet like this? I take it he’s also smug because I
spent the night in his room last night. More importantly, I let him fuck me
with his hand and that stupid vibrator, and I practically begged him to slide
into me while I was coming with strong, violent contractions.
I’ve just been swapping one man for the other at night for the last several
days, and it’s seemed to work okay. I try to watch when certain people are
out of the house for work or when they’re in their own beds. We haven’t
formalized this or talked it over in any way, but I can at least see how
committed they are.
More than me, even. I say that because when I told Crown that I would
run, I meant it. But them? They’ve committed to me so deeply that they’re
willing to actively defy their own president. It’s sacrilegious; it’s impossible.
It doesn’t happen in the life.
It just doesn’t.
And yet … we’re fallen angels among fallen angels. How does that even
work? Do we rise again? Are we so sinful that we’ve come full circle and
become holy?
“You should come see this,” he encourages, rising to his feet and holding
out a hand for one of mine. I eye his proffered fingers with suspicion, but in
the end, I’m a sucker for these men. I accept the help and rise to my feet,
flushing the still-clean water in the toilet, and then pausing to brush my
teeth.
Sin leans against the wall beside the door, arms crossed, watching me with
an expression of true wonder, like he isn’t sure how we ended up where we
are. Like it’s too good to be true. Sad, isn’t it? That we can romanticize
what’s going on with us when so many other, more horrible things are
happening in our orbit.
I finish brushing my teeth, pausing to swish some mouthwash as Sin rolls
his eyes dramatically.
“Oh come on, Gidge. You don’t have to get your mouth that clean just to
suck me off.”
I snatch a towel to wipe my face down, and then I throw it at him. He
catches it with a cocky laugh, and then tosses it over his shoulder.
“Last time you asked me to suck your dick, you promised to fuck me,” I
remind him, flicking the bathroom lights off as I follow him into the hall. It’s
an old house, so there isn’t a light in this hallway. Needs a lamp or
something. Anyway, it’s dark enough that when Sin turns back toward me,
he looks menacing in the half-light. “And then you tried to renege. Why
should I trust you now, huh?”
“I was trying to protect you, Gidge,” he says, his voice tinged with his
signature melancholy. “I’m not trying anymore—not in that regard.”
“Trying to protect me by letting me suck you off?” I query back, and he
sighs, grabbing the towel off his shoulder and using it to lasso around my
waist. He snatches the other side and yanks me toward him, until our fronts
bump together, and I’m finding it suddenly hard to breathe.
“By teaching you a lesson about the world,” he offers up, and I laugh.
Because I can, because for the first time since I threw myself into this
fucker’s arms on a cold, cemetery day, I’m actually allowed to do that. I’m
allowed to hold him when I want to, put my arms around him when I want to
… suck his dick when I want to.
“Was the lesson: true love always prevails?” I murmur, and he yanks even
harder on the towel, ensuring there isn’t a single atom’s worth of space
between us. I kiss and lick at the side of his neck, wondering if I shouldn’t
leave a few good hickeys for the club whores or the other wives to take note
of.
“Must’ve been,” he says, releasing the towel just enough so that I can
reach between us, undoing his belt, and then teasing hungry fingertips
against the button of his jeans. Sin catches my hands and then exhales
sharply. “I really do have something to show you.”
“Really? You’re turning this down?” I whisper back, but he just shakes his
head.
“Hell no. I’m just …” He takes my hands and brings them to his lips, his
tongue like a garrote, slicing through my emotional wards as he licks my
fingertips and captures my gaze with those ethereal, silver eyes of his.
“Postponing it. Come with me.”
I groan as he keeps my hand in his and pulls me down the hall toward the
front door.
We step outside and I frown as I squint into the orange sky. Yet another
smoky, hazy day in Ashbury.
Sin ignores it, pounding down the steps and moving around the side of the
house. He heads in the same direction that Beast went when he took off.
Instead of moving into the backyard—or what functions as a backyard
considering there’s no fence, no grass, and no plants currently—he takes me
over to an outbuilding that sits behind and to the left of the house.
It’s a garage of some sort, clearly. The door is open and Sin strides right
in, pausing beside a beat-up but still very pretty red and white Indian
motorcycle.
“What is this?” I ask as Sin moves over to a mini-fridge that’s situated on
the floor against the wall. He squats down beside it and opens the door,
digging a bottle of beer out for himself and glancing back in my direction.
 “What do you want? Water? Soda? Iced tea?” He pauses and his mouth
quirks. Sin grabs a drink before I even get the chance to answer, standing up
and kicking the fridge door closed before he turns around and holds it out to
me.
It’s orange juice.
My own mouth twitches, and I snatch it from his fingers, admiring the
pretty figure he cuts with his blue hair and his earrings and his eight ball
tattoo, those red lips inked into his skin making me hope for his sake that
they have no connection to any real-world woman.
“You bought me orange juice just to put in this mini-fridge?” I ask,
unscrewing the top and then sighing as the heavenly citrus scent fills my
lungs. Yep. Guess even I’m not immune to simple, earthly things like
pregnancy cravings.
“You have a big day ahead of you,” Sin tells me with a loose shrug of his
shoulders, using a bottle opener that’s screwed to the wall to take the cap off
his beer. He swigs some of it and then moves behind the bike, running his
fingers reverently across the handlebars. His belt is still hanging loose, and
that turns me on like nothing else. I want him to leave it like that, undone
and waiting for something more.
“Yeah, I know. I’m supposed to be at the clubhouse organizing
transportation for all the families that want to go to the airport.” I scratch at
my temple with a single finger and close my eyes. Not only is the mafia still
a constant threat, of course, but the wildfire danger is increasing
exponentially. The town just forty-five minutes south of us got bumped up to
a level two evacuation warning. Basically, that means you need to be ready
to leave at a moment’s notice.
Level one is ‘be ready’. Level two is ‘be set’. Level three is GO.
Anyone who has family out of town is jumping ship.
As they should.
“Not today,” Sin tells me, continuing to tease his fingers along the
handlebars, like he’s caressing my cunt instead of a motorcycle. The way
he’s staring at me, I see that the move is intentional. “I already talked to
Crown; you need a day off.” He pauses for a minute, like he’s reconsidering
his words. “Well, not off-off, but a change of pace.”
I’m not about to complain about that. I’m a hard worker, but even I have
to admit that I’m human—whether I like it or not. Breaks and self-care don’t
have to be justified.
 “Whose bike is this?” I ask, taking a drink of the juice and trying not to
groan with manic pleasure. It shouldn’t taste so good, should it? But shit if
my senses aren’t heightened like crazy. Everything smells stronger, looks
crisper, tastes sharper.
“It’s mine,” Sin says, patting the brown leather seat. “Hop on.”
With a shrug, I step forward and swing my leg over the seat, ignoring the
sudden roiling in my stomach. Damn it. I lock down my iron will to keep
from sprinting for the bushes outside.
“This is nice,” I murmur, caressing the dented chrome. “But it doesn’t
look like any bike I’ve ever seen.”
“Because it’s not,” Sin says, setting his beer down on a red and silver
storage chest that’s as tall as he is. This entire garage smells like home, like
safety, like comfort. Motor oil and grease and leather. I close my eyes for a
brief moment. “This is a 1915 Indian 8-Valve board track racer. To start the
engine, the bike had to be towed, pushed, or given a bump-start to light it.”
“So it’s as old as you are?” I quip, opening my eyes as Sin offers up a
crooked, cocky half-smile. “Or at least as old as my husband. Doesn’t he
turn thirty-four sometime soon?”
“In June,” Sin returns with a lifting of his brow. “Don’t you even know
your own husband’s birthday?”
“I forgot my own birthday,” I tell him with a shrug, finishing my juice and
handing him the empty bottle. He sets it on the storage chest. “So, what are
you up to with a vintage bike anyway?”
Sin moves past me, opening a drawer on another storage chest and digging
around like he’s looking for something in particular.
“Fixing it up.” He points at me with a wrench in hand. “These things are
worth a lot of money. This one was sold to some investment banker
douchebag who had no idea what he was doing with it. He crashed it the first
day he owned it, and I bought it for cheap. Now I have to fix all the shit that
he broke.” Sin tosses the wrench back in the drawer and continues his
search, his eyes sliding over to meet mine. “And you’re going to help me.”
“Me?” I query, looking down at the bike and then lifting my head up to
peer into the shadows that fill the rest of the garage. There are no lights on in
here, just natural sunlight from outside. If it wasn’t so smoky, and if that
smokiness wasn’t paired with mud from last night’s rainstorm, it’d be
relaxing. Hell, it’s relaxing anyway.
 I can hear birds chirping, the gentle swish of charged wind in the trees. It’s
idyllic out here, I won’t lie.
I ignore all of that in favor of studying the motorcycles lined up in the rear
of the garage. There are several, most of which look like they’re in need of
work.
“I don’t know anything about fixing up motorcycles,” I remind Sin,
turning back to look at him. “I understand a lot about the life, but you know,
my vagina somehow disallowed me from being able to ride one of these or
spend time tinkering with them. I guess clitorises like, spontaneously
explode when allowed near such manly devices.” I roll my eyes so hard that
I almost make myself dizzy.
Sin grins at me and finds what he’s looking for, removing several tools
and laying them out on a workbench beside him. He turns around to lean his
ass against the bench, studying me as he crosses his arms. His muscles move
beneath his ink like well-oiled machines, and I lick my lower lip.
Our eyes meet.
“Do you not want to learn?” he asks me, and I scoff at him.
“Of course I do,” I blurt, before I can stop myself. I frown as Sin chuckles.
“Crown let me move all of my shit from the garage near the clubhouse up
here.” He sighs contentedly as he looks around. “He isn’t as bad as I thought,
you know? I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to share you with someone like
him.”
“Yeah, well,” I start, standing up off of the bike and giving it a once-over.
It’s clear the shiny red paint was once perfect, the leather seat unscathed, the
gold Indian logo on the side carefully restored. It’s all jacked-up now, but
whatever. If that means Sin was able to get it at a good price and do his own
thing, more power to him. “You guys keep thinking you’re sharing with each
other. Really, I own all of you outright.”
“Pretty sure we talked about that,” Sin says, pointing at me with a
screwdriver this time. “I own your ass. That’s been well-established.”
“Prove it,” I say, and the words come out before I can stop them.
He laughs at me and tosses the screwdriver aside.
“You really know how to push all my buttons, don’t you?” he asks,
moving over to stand in front of me and taking my face between his hands. I
inhale deeply, pulling in his unique scent mixed with all the smells of the
garage, and I feel for a moment like I might actually be at peace. “But no.
No sex yet. I told you. You have to earn it first.”
 He drops his face toward mine like he might actually kiss me again and
then turns away at the last second, moving over to the fridge and getting
himself another beer. He offers me up a second orange juice, but I turn it
down.
“Anyway, you deserve this for lying to me about that Ryan guy.” He pops
the top on his new drink but sets it aside before taking a single sip. “Trying
to fuck with my head and make me jealous.”
Sin squats down beside the bike and examines the mess of mechanical
parts near its center, making me wonder if I might be able to look at a
motorcycle one day and understand all of the moving parts like it’s second
nature. That’s how he’s looking at it right now, like he understands it on an
intrinsic level.
“I know the answer to your question,” I blurt suddenly, feeling my heart
race like a wild thing inside my chest. I don’t know why I’m bringing this up
right now, in broad daylight, when it’s just me and Sin and the soft rustle of
the breeze.
He pauses then and stands up, turning fully around to look at me.
I both love and hate that, that he’s stopped what he’s doing to take careful
note of my words. I want him to do that, look at me like a treasure, treat me
like one. Fuck me like an animal. I clear my throat.
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice softening slightly. Just like when I blurted
‘Crown told me’ at the hospital, and he knew I meant the pregnancy without
any clarification, he knows what I mean now.
“If you could go anywhere and do anything right now, what would you
choose?”
I told him then that I’d get on a bike of my own and take off on a road trip,
that I’d simply drive until I felt like stopping. He asked me who I’d take with
me, and I said that I didn’t know.
Only I did.
I was just too nervous to put words to those feelings; I’m not anymore.
I slide my palms up the leather of his cut, picking at the patch on the front
right pocket. Sin. Road Captain.
“I would take you,” I tell him, staring at his chest instead of his face. My
gaze moves up to the small bandage on his neck. It’s more like a large Band-
Aid now than a proper bandage which is nice. Time flows, whether we like it
or not, and it heals wounds that seem like they’ll be forever bleeding. Some
of them scar. My sisters, Sin’s sister. Those ones leave marks like the jagged
lines on my legs, but even though they’re never gone, they don’t throb with a
mind-shattering insistence. But every now and again, every once in a while
… I exhale and make myself meet his gaze. “I would take you and Grainger
and Beast and Crown.”
Sin’s mouth lifts up in that perfectly imperfect smile of his, the scar on his
lip making me think of his story and his sister and his mother who named
her daughter ‘heavenly child’. She left Hawaii to be with a monster of a man
who ruined her life. Who ruined her children’s lives. I didn’t want to be a
woman like that, who made a huge mistake in the name of love.
But I’m not.
I’m strong.
I’m not saying I won’t weather storms, that I won’t fight for my romance,
but I also won’t let it destroy me. That’s not what any of these men want. I
know that. The simple fact that they stepped back and left me alone for
nearly two years, to give me time to think and grow away from their
influence, that matters.
“Oddly enough, when I thought about it, I could also see taking my
daughter with me. Showing her how to ride. Letting her know that she can
get whatever she wants out of life if she’s willing to fight for it.”
Sin sighs heavily, putting his hands on my hips and making my skin ripple
with fire. I love when he touches me that way, almost reverently, like he’s
had a dream of his come true and is afraid to wake up, just in case.
“What if we have a boy?” Sin queries, and I snort.
“I don’t want a boy,” I mutter, and he laughs, pulling me into his arms and
pressing his sharp mouth to my hair. It doesn’t matter where he kisses me or
how he does it, it always shifts my world around, makes me rethink things,
makes me believe in shit that’s only true in fairy tales.
“Well, if such an unfortunate circumstance were to befall us, what would
you do then?”
I sigh and let myself relax into the circle of his arms, feeling my skin get
hot and knowing that for me, at least, a moment like this is more intimate
than sex. Being held, being hugged, it triggers all of my emotional issues,
snaps my boundaries, makes me feel vulnerable in a way I’m not used to.
“I guess he could come, but he’d have to ride bitch seat on the back of my
bike.”
Sin laughs at that, a full-body chuckle that stirs my hair as he draws away
from me so that he can look down and meet my eyes.
 “Even if I feel sorry for this possible future son, I like your answer. I don’t
want you to feel trapped here, Gidge.”
“I don’t,” I promise, because it’s true. If I did, I would leave. I had the
opportunity before, with Grey. I could’ve married him and chosen a different
life. Then, after the club rescued me, I could’ve taken Crown’s offer up to
smuggle me off the compound. “I want to be here.”
“Good. Because I want you here, too.” He studies my face as I look up at
him. “You know, we do actually need baby things. Cribs and strollers and
clothes and shit. Maybe a bagger with extra cargo room to stuff the baby in
during long rides.”
I chuckle at that. A bagger is a large motorcycle meant for long-haul trips.
“You’re right. I almost forgot that babies, like, need things.” I think on
that idea for a second. I guess we’re all going to live in Crown’s farmhouse?
We haven’t exactly worked out the specific details of our living
arrangements, but I know that these men won’t want to be separated from
their child. Beast considers it his already, and the others won’t know who,
exactly, is the biological father. They’ll all want to be there.
So we’ll have to be together.
I decide not to bring that up just yet.
“I’m assuming the wives will throw you a shower eventually?” Sin
queries, and I cringe outwardly. Gross. A baby shower with all the other club
wives? I mean … that is club culture right there in a nutshell. It’ll be a huge
affair, and by the end of it, I’ll have everything I ever needed for a baby. I
don’t even have to worry about it. The other women will shower me with
gifts galore.
I’ve been to two such occasions on this compound—one of them for
Queenie—and I’ve seen it with my own eyes.
I exhale.
“Don’t remind me of that,” I say, and Sin grins down at me.
“Anyway, if you do well with your lesson today, not only will I fuck you
—”
“So completely generous of you,” I interject dryly as he ignores me and
continues on.
“—but I’ll let you drive my bike again.”
He moves away and picks up the screwdriver.
“Lesson one: do you know what this is?”
 I narrow my eyes on him and pick up the nearest thing I can find—a
random screw—and I chuck it his way.
“Alright, dickhead. Let’s dig into this.”
And then we squat side by side together so that he can explain to me how,
exactly, one goes about repairing a hundred-plus year-old engine.

Later in the day, when the air is cool and clouds have rolled in to cover the
sun, Sin grants me the use of his bike. This time, however, he makes me
climb on the bike and drives us up one of the old logging access roads into
the thicker part of the woods. The roads are maintained because, as I’m sure
you know, there are all sorts of hidden operations and nefarious things that
go on inside the safety of these trees.
Sin seems to know where he’s going, taking me to a fairly empty portion
of the compound.
Any initial fears I had about mafia interference were squashed when we
skirted by the fence, and I saw exactly how many patrols my father has put
on perimeter duty.
It’s a testament to Grey’s skill that he was able to get out of here at all.
Unfortunately, he has yet to contact me since the night of the hit; I’m starting
to get worried.
Sin parks in the middle of the road and trades places with me, taking hold
of my waist and pressing his large form against me as I struggle with the
change in balance. It’s different, riding with someone on the back of the
bike, isn’t it?
I manage okay, but only at much lower speeds than before, and we end up
at the end of the road in another of those strange empty cul-de-sacs. Not the
one I found last time, but an entirely different one. There’re the bones of an
entire house rotting in the rain.
Creepy.
We take a break there and climb off to stretch, removing our helmets and
then pausing as fat raindrops spatter on our exposed faces.
“What timing,” I remark, but I’m too exhilarated from the drive to care. I
can see why these men put such stock in their motorcycles, in the feeling of
freedom that comes with riding such a glorious hellhound into battle. It’s not
the same as a car. A car is safe, enclosed, predictable.
Riding a motorcycle is anything but.
 There’s a hint of danger there, the promise of the open road, a sense of
rebellion.
I hang my helmet over the handlebars and then move beneath the canopy
of the trees with Sin trailing behind me. Even here, the rain manages to find
us, dripping through the branches and plastering my hair to my head.
I turn around and there we are, me and Sin, in the rain on an ashy day,
tucked beneath a tree.
“Oh,” I say, and he smiles sadly, putting one palm on the trunk of the huge
tree and looking up at the waving branches. Water slides down the sides of
his face, sluicing between his lips as he parts them slightly in awe as the
slow, lazy drops melt into a cool deluge. “Here we are again.”
Just like the day of the funeral.
“Here we are,” he agrees, dropping his gaze to my mouth. Is he as
fascinated by the water collecting on my lips as I am by his? His lower lip is
so full that it catches its own little pool of rainwater before he licks it away.
“They’d both be proud of you, you know? Queenie and Posey.”
“I don’t know about that,” I offer up, but my heart swells anyway. Sin is
my best connection to my sisters, the person who knew them best besides
me.
“Well, I do. Because I know that they only ever wanted you to be happy.”
He reaches out and cups the side of my face as the rain spatters his bike and
the empty cul-de-sac, our tree providing only a relatively small amount of
protection. There are better trees nearby with thicker canopies, but I think
we’re both enjoying the sensation of the storm on our skin. I know I am.
“Are you happy, Gidge?”
I look at him, blinking raindrops from my lashes as I think about that
question.
Am I?
I think about Carol Briggs’ mother and how I wish with my whole heart
that I could’ve saved her. I think about Cat and how he killed his own son. I
think about Gaz and our fight in the office that easily could’ve ended in my
death.
Still, even with all of those things, I’m coming into my own.
I’m creating a family in a yellow farmhouse.
I’m riding motorcycles and repairing vintage bikes.
I’m … having a baby.
Most importantly, I’m falling in love.
 If I were the type of person who needed everything soft and perfect all the
time, then I’d never be happy. I can pick out moments of perfection and joy
even amongst all of the blood and the grit.
“I’m happy,” I tell him, and he makes a small sound, leaning in to kiss me
in the rain. It’s different than it was the last time we were in a situation like
this. Not quite so obscene, not quite so wrong. Rather than all of that, it feels
right.
This is right.
I pull away from Sin, the heat of his mouth lingering even as the cool air
fills the space between us.
“Turn around,” I tell him and then I push him gently aside to see if he’ll
listen. He does, following my instructions and leaning his back against the
tree trunk. I kneel down in front of him, reaching up for his belt and enjoying
the way he tangles his fingertips in my wet hair.
He watches me from heavily lidded eyes, their color brightened to an
almost-blue by the rain and the backdrop of brown and green behind him.
Not so melancholy in this moment I don’t think. How could he be? I’m
about to suck him off.
I free Sin’s cock from his jeans, pleasantly surprised by how hot his skin
feels against my palm. He lets out a sharp hiss as cool droplets splash across
the swollen head of his cock.
“You like that?” I ask him, smirking as I lean forward and add the scalding
sweep of my tongue against the underside of his shaft. “The heat of my
mouth and the cool kiss of the rain?”
“You’re practically a poet,” he murmurs, kneading my scalp as I kiss his
body with reverence, savoring this easy, quiet moment between lovers. I
decide he deserves a reward for that comment, darting my tongue out against
his tip and grinning as he bucks his hips out of sheer instinct, straining to get
closer to the warm silk of my lips and tongue. “I take that back: you’re the
devil.”
I pause and think about that, listening to the musical quality of Sin’s
panting breaths. Even with such a frantic, needy sound coming from his lips,
I recognize the talent inherent inside of him. Maybe he’ll sing to our baby? I
muse, knowing that regardless of who the biological father is, these men are
going to commit themselves as parents.
Just like they did to me.
 Because their love for me, their want, their need, it’s more important than
winning.
I twist my hand in a corkscrew motion on Sin’s shaft, and he grunts,
leaning his head back against the tree trunk. Thunder rumbles in the distance
and, shortly thereafter, lightning fills the sky with a blue-white snap. It
bathes Sin in stark relief as I look up at him, rising up slightly so that I can
press kisses to his lower belly, moving upward until I find his belly button. I
even swipe that with my tongue, and he moans.
He tightens his fingertips on my scalp, pushing down slightly to encourage
me to return my attentions to his cock. I allow him that much, brushing my
lips against the base of him before moving my tongue along the seam of his
balls.
Cool droplets slide down the back of my neck and under my jacket as I
swipe my tongue back up the length of him, giving a few hard pumps of my
fist before I drop my mouth down over his tip. He hisses in pleasure as I take
as much of him as I can, letting him hit the back of my throat before I pull
back, gently scraping my teeth along his skin.
“Oh fuck, Gidge, you really are the devil. You’re the goddamn devil.” He
sounds like he’s praying which I like, begging for mercy or sin, I’m not sure.
But I do agree on one thing: I am the goddamn devil—or at least, I’m the
devil’s daughter. I’m okay with that. I accept it.
I start bobbing my head up and down, sucking hard enough that when I
pull his dick from my mouth, it comes away with a pop. I look up at him
from beneath the thick, wet lengths of my lashes. Our eyes clash with a snap
that reminds me of the lightning, blue-white and hot, hot, hot.
My hand works him into a frenzy, pre-cum leaking from his tip that the
rain quickly washes away. I’m not going to let him come in my mouth, not
when I’d much rather have him pumping away inside my pussy.
He seems to get the memo first, pushing my hand away and dropping to
his knees in front of me. Sin takes my face in his hands again, using his
razorblade of a mouth to cut right through all of the bullshit as he kisses me.
Our tongues work together in harmony as I dig my own fingers into his wet
hair, yanking on it as he does the same to me.
We end up tumbling backwards together into a mossy patch, the ground
quickly turning to mud on all sides of us. It’s been dry for so long that the
earth is just gobbling up any available moisture. It’s soft and squishy and
dirty as fuck.
 Since we’re in love now, and our relationship has lost all of its taboo, I
guess we need this sort of thing: mud and moss and rain. An element of
wild, of unchained mother earth.
Colton reaches between us, still frantically kissing me and tasting like
sweet rain and sin. He makes a sound of triumph as soon as my pants are
undone, pulling back and curving his fingertips beneath the leather. With
them wet the way they are, he has to peel the fabric down like it’s glued to
my skin.
He doesn’t stop until he gets to my boots, removing them along with my
socks, and then off go my pants. All the items end up in a pile at the base of
the tree.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he slips out of his vest and t-shirt.
“Getting naked. I want you like a man wants a woman. Just that. Just me
and you and nothing else.” He stands up and kicks his own boots off, peels
his socks away, shucks that perfect denim.
I do the same, sitting up and slipping out of my jacket, my shirt, my bra.
Sin comes down on me hard, pinning my wrists into the mud and dropping
his mouth to the painful points of my nipples. Not only is it cold and wet, but
oh my God, the pregnancy hormones have turned my breasts into equal
sources of pain and pleasure. When I struggle to pull my wrists from his
grip, he lets me, instinctively realizing my need to cling to him.
I even scream when he bites down on one of my nipples, grabbing his
head and forcing it more tightly against me. His mouth eats at my tits like
they’re a delicacy, switching from one to the other as I gather him close and
encourage him to give me more, more, more.
While he’s at it, he puts his hot shaft up against my folds, thrusting against
my clit. The head of his dick meets my clitoris over and over, until I wonder
if I might actually come from that alone. That’s what he wants, I bet.
He really is an addict.
“You’re so beautiful, Gidge,” he whispers, lifting up his head, blue hair
dripping across his forehead. “Worth waiting for. Worth sharing. Worth my
life. I’d give it up for you, you know that right?”
“I know,” I choke out, and his mouth clashes against mine, sword to
sword, sparks flying, a fight of tongues and teeth and lips. Sin pulls back,
kissing frantically down my neck as I writhe against our mossy cushion. Up
above us, I can see resurrection ferns sprouting from the tree’s trunk.
 You can survive without water, but isn’t it better when you’re sated, when
you’re fed? You can survive so much, but you shouldn’t have to just survive.
You should be able to thrive.
The fronds sway in the breeze as Sin kisses down my body, licking
rainwater from my skin until he finds the needy bud of my clit. He swirls his
tongue around it, tracing down my folds to my opening. He even runs that
naughty heat across my rear entrance before returning back to my clit.
He works me up until I’m coming hard, wanting him and begging him to
slide into me the way he likes.
“Please Sin, please,” I whisper, shuddering and shaking with the
overwhelming surge that lances through my body. Again, like lightning. We
are a storm, me and Sin. A perfect motherfucking storm.
Rather than enter me as I’m coming, he just watches me, studying my face
as I lie naked beneath him, the most vulnerable I have ever been.
“You’re perfect,” he breathes, his voice catching on the words. “So
perfect.”
He waits for my contractions to slow down, kissing me again. I wrap my
arms around him as he works my mouth with slow, languorous movements.
We have all the time in the world, his kisses tell me. We will be together
forever.
I love it, too. Just as much as I loved the dirty, obscene nature of our
relationship before. It makes sense, for things to change. Stagnation is not an
acceptable response to fear of change. Change must happen. Sometimes, it’s
good. Sometimes, it’s terrible. We don’t get to choose, but anything is better
than being mired in a single place.
Sin finally, blessedly, reaches between us, pushing himself into me with a
slow, careful precision that allows me to feel the full shape and length of
him, allows my silken muscles to conform to his cock.
He looks at me as he does it, too, his hard body and all of his tattoos on
display. Even the bandages that cover his still-healing wounds are beautiful,
a reminder of how fragile, how brief life and happiness can really be—a
reminder to savor and love every, simple happy moment.
He starts to move, and it’s blessed and raw, natural and free and perfect.
We’re male and female, just as he asked, but we’re more than that, two
twisted souls intertwining into one imperfect thing. Messy and wet and
musky, even beneath the wash of rainwater.
 Thumber rumbles again, lightning strikes, but we ignore it all, trapped in
each other.
My hips lift up, undulating against his, so that each one of his thrusts is
met with one of mine. He makes sure to knead and tease my breasts, too,
with his hand and his mouth, alternating between the two so that he doesn’t
leave my lips neglected for too long.
When we climax, we climax together in near perfect unison, one of those
bullshit romance novel moments that are so rare in real life. Rare, but not
impossible, like a jewel plucked from the rocky earth, a single perfect thing
in a casing of endless rock.
“My old lady,” Sin whispers, still shuddering, still holding me against him
as he thrusts a few more times and fills me with the heat of his orgasm. “My
old lady, my woman, my Gidge.”
He gets my name right, and I sigh in bliss, closing my eyes as I wrap my
arms around him and we stay like that for a little while, just me and Colton
and the storm.
Together like this, I can weather it; I can weather anything.
It takes me almost an entire week, but I’m finally able to get ahold of Grey.
“You’re still in one piece,” I say, a bit of awe and wonder in my voice.
After what happened with Ms. Briggs, I wasn’t sure that my friend really
would live to see another day. His father suspects him, that much I know for
sure. Smart as he is, I’m sure he knows it, too.
“For now,” he agrees, drawing his finger in a circle around the rim of the
whiskey tumbler that’s resting on the table in front of his phone. “Thanks to
you.”
I decide not to tell him it was a fluke, that’s Cat’s obstinance saved his
life.
“How are things?” I ask, but this isn’t just friendly banter between
buddies. The question is as loaded as they come.
“I have an opportunity for you,” he says, frowning hard as he continues to
play with his glass. His gray eyes are focused on the amber liquid inside
instead of on my face. I’m situated on Crown’s bed, a cardboard box open
beside me as I try to sort through some of my things. I’m committed to this,
to making this house my home. To settling in here. So I’m unboxing my stuff
and putting bits and pieces of myself all over the place.
The wooden husky carving that Reba gave me goes on top of Sin’s
dresser; my books fit nicely on the shelves in this room, Crown’s room.
Queenie’s cookbook is in the nightstand drawer beside Beast’s bed, while
my small collection of sex toys are safely tucked into Grainger’s end table.
 “An opportunity?” I query back, drawing out random items and deciding
where I might want to put them. I don’t have much. I never did. Even when
Cat started making money, and Posey went crazy with the shopping, I didn’t
buy myself much. After she died, I didn’t buy anything at all. So here I am,
starting over with relatively few material items. “What sort of opportunity?”
“Consider yourself double-blessed: both my mother and my father’s most
loyal men—the ones you’ve been after for so long—will be at the casino this
weekend.” Grey picks up his drink, sighs heavily, and then downs it all in
one, single swallow.
“The casino?” I echo, my stomach twisting into an impossible knot. The
casino. It’s like the catalyst for this entire nightmare, the first domino that
fell, sending all the others crashing to the floor. It was in the casino that my
brother found his mafia contact, in the casino where Kian met Queenie, the
casino that saved me from shooting Grey in the face that day inside Uncle
Benny’s cabin. “Triangle Lake Resort.”
“That’s the one,” Grey says, and I wonder if, all along, this is what it was
meant to come down to. The fucking casino. “It’s technically neutral
territory. Mostly, it’s the general public that walks in and out of those doors
save for a few select plants that bring cash into the place.” He sets his glass
down and leans back in his chair. “If you bring a small team in, you can take
care of business quietly enough to sneak back out.”
“You understand that I want to kill your mother, don’t you?” I clarify,
chucking aside a small stuffed toy from my childhood that I have literally no
memory of. The words I told Cat, they weren’t just sharp weapons aimed at
his heart—if he even has one—it was the bald-faced truth. “I don’t like my
parents either. Most days, I’ve wished for one or the other to die. But if you
told me right now that you were planning to kill Cat, I wouldn’t be sitting
here calmly and working out a plan to help you.”
Grey pauses, standing up and moving out of view. When he returns, he has
a bottle of Scotch that he doesn’t bother to pour. Instead, he unscrews the
cap and puts the bottle to his lips, downing several gulps in a way that
concerns me.
In this life, it’s important to stay grounded, to remember who you are,
what you’re doing, and most especially why you’re doing it. I’m doing this
so that I can live in relative peace in this town, with this club, with these
men. That’s what I want, the chance to make my own decisions, to control
the outcome of my own life.
 What about Grey? What is it, exactly, that he’s fighting for?
“Talk to me,” I command, scooting back so that I can relax in the pillows
and pretending like I don’t smell that distinct suede and violets scent of
Crown. Fucking Crown. Ugh. He’s annoyed the fuck out of me for years—
most of my life, actually, seeing as I can’t even remember when I first met
the man—but now, some of the annoying things he does … aren’t so
annoying. Or rather, they still are, but I find myself flushed when he does
them, when he tells me what to do, when he tosses haughty, imperious looks
my way.
I’ve fallen. Hard. So hard that I’ve crashed to the ground and broken into
bits of shattered bone and ruined flesh.
“You know that my mother was the one who pushed for Queenie’s death,
don’t you?” he asks, and I feel that old, familiar hatred digging its claws into
my soul.
“She insinuated as much,” I say, remembering the way her smile stretched
across her face like a disease. “Do you think I’d ever accept the offspring of
some dirty whore as my grandchild, as the heir to my husband’s throne?”
That utterance alone is enough for me to want vengeance against that bitch.
“My father didn’t care much either way. To him, we’re just pawns. For my
mother, it was imperative. She didn’t want an illegitimate heir. More than
that, I think it was personal for her.” Grey looks down at the bottle, like he’s
staring into an amber vat full of Wolfe family secrets. “Part of that, I believe,
was hurt. She wanted to inflict the same pain on Cat that he did to her. But it
was something else, too. Pride, probably.”
I just sit there and listen, letting that rage solidify into intent. I’ve said it
before, and I’ll say it again: I’m going to kill Giulia Wolfe. I want that, her
blood, my hands. I want to kill Alvise, and I want to look into his eyes as I
do it. I want to slaughter the men who raped Posey, chop their dicks off and
choke them with the severed appendages.
That’s what I want.
But my motives are obvious.
“What does any of this have to do with you?” I ask, and he turns to look at
me through the screen, his gaze as penetrating through time and distance as
it was when we held each other before he left the compound.
“My mother’s the one who advocated for both of us to die, you know that,
don’t you? She lobbied for both of our heads. She doesn’t trust me; she’s
poisoning my father against me.” Grey shrugs his shoulders and takes
another swig of the Scotch. “The worst part of it all is that she’s right. She’s
right, and my father is far too sentimental for his own good.”
He frowns, and fuck if he doesn’t look like someone spiraling into the
endless black of the underground. It’s going to consume him, if he isn’t
careful.
“She will never let me take over for my father. Never. So if this is what I
need to do, then it’s what I’ll do. She’ll be staying in the penthouse suite
with one of her lovers. Coincidentally, the man she’s fucking is the one in
charge of the tactical team. Good luck for you.” Grey swigs his drink again,
but it isn’t so simple as all that. He must have some feelings about this, other
than thoughts of world domination.
“It’s okay to be upset,” I tell him, and the look he throws me is awful.
He’s angry with me, but I can’t decide if we’re back to me rejecting him, or
if he just doesn’t like to be challenged and made to feel uncomfortable. “You
can love and hate your mother both at the same time.”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I feel things the way you do.” He
throws this last barb back at me as the bedroom opens and in walks Crown,
handsome as shit in a white wifebeater with his black leather shoulder
holsters thrown over the top. His leather cut is in his hand, and he carefully
hangs it up in the closet before pausing and putting his hands on his hips
while he watches me.
I ignore him, focusing my attention on Grey instead. I’m not sure if he
knows one of the men has walked into the room or not, or if it would even
matter if he did.
“What does that even mean?” I grind out, getting annoyed. “Don’t talk in
circles, Grey. That’s a mafia thing. Grow some balls and say what you
mean.”
“I don’t feel in layers, Gidge. There’s one simple answer for everything:
my mother is in my way, so my mother deserves to die. I don’t pine for her
affection the way you pine for your father’s.”
I laugh at that, the sound caustic and dark, and I shake my head.
“You’re an idiot if you really believe that, Grey. You told me I was your
hard line? Well, let me be exactly that for you: if you don’t acknowledge
how you feel, it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass. I don’t care if
it’s ten days from now or ten years from now, mark my words.”
“I have never loved my parents,” he tells me, and that sentence reeks of
dark honesty. “But I love you. I always will, and that’s my problem. Once I
give love, it’s impossible to take it away.” He swigs another drink of alcohol
as I frown at the screen. Getting drunk right now is not a good idea. I don’t
want to lose the only friend I’ve ever had that has this dark life in common
with me. “Don’t worry, though: I won’t make another pass at you. I can take
sex off the table easily enough.”
“I wasn’t concerned about that,” I tell him as Crown makes a small sound
of annoyance and shakes his head. He exhales dramatically, loudly enough
that I know that Grey is meant to hear.
Grey doesn’t seem to care, ignoring Crown’s presence as if he wasn’t
there at all.
“You need to sit down and think about the motivations behind what you’re
doing. Is this really all about helping me? About achieving peace without
further bloodshed? Or are you just chasing revenge and power?”
“They arrive to the casino on Friday, but I’d wait until Saturday, at the
very least. It gets busy on a Saturday night anyway. If you’re careful with
your hair and makeup and keep your head down, the facial recognition
cameras might not catch you when you walk in. They’re positioned all over
the premises, but there are gaps in the coverage.” Grey continues to drink his
Scotch, ignoring my probing questions, and very clearly not in the mood to
listen to any more conjecture about his emotional well-being.
I sigh.
We will be picking up this conversation later.
For now …
“Call me back from a number you don’t care about Cat seeing. I need to
record our conversation and show it to him. Not that he won’t suspect we’re
doing exactly what we’re doing here, but it’ll help. I need to get Reba off the
compound, and I need to do it quick. Cat is sympathetic toward me, but he
isn’t stupid, empathetic, or kindhearted.”
Grey sits there for a moment, and then nods. He hangs up, calls me back,
and we start our conversation all over again, but in a much more clinical
way, a way that doesn’t involve feelings whatsoever.
Crown ends up sitting on the edge of the bed as he waits for me. As soon
as I finish the call and end the recording, I lift my eyes up to find his green
ones watching me with a dark intensity.
“I want nothing more than to put you in a box and keep you on a shelf,” he
murmurs, exhaling and reaching up to dig fingers into his thick, shiny hair.
“The thought of you getting hurt, of dying … I can’t deal with it, Gidge. I
never could. It was one of the reasons that I thought I might be able to let
you go. If you’d run off and found a new life, I wouldn’t have chased you.”
“But now I’m here, and you know my terms. Crown, I know you’re
worried about me. I understand now that you’ve been worried about me all
this time.” My breath escapes in a rush as I dig my fingernails into the
surface of his comforter. It’s a quilt this time; it looks old, too, and I recall
that Crown mentioned his mother being an antique collector.
How odd, that once upon a time, Crown was a boy with a mom, that he
wasn’t an ex-cop or a vice president or my reluctant lover. Just a kid. Did he
have a proper childhood? Or did he grow up like Sin and I did? Rushed
through life and thrust straight into darkness.
“But you’re still going to demand that we take you to the casino,” he says,
and I can see that he’s already plotting, already planning. He isn’t sure what
to make of this tip. Once again, it could easily be a trap. Once again, he isn’t
going to want me anywhere near the Triangle Lake Resort. “You understand
that the final decision is up to Cat, don’t you?”
I do, and he knows that. We’re walking a dangerous line here as it is.
“I won’t do anything to stand against Cat—unless I have to, in order to
protect you, the other guys, Reba, Fem, or Grey. Does that work?”
The look that Crown throws me clearly says fuck no.
“You’re impossible,” he says, but he’s got that gleam in his eyes again, the
one that says that, as annoyed as he is with me, he also loves this. It’s exactly
how I feel about him. It feels good to be annoyed by this man. Crown studies
me and then snorts bemusedly, reaching up to rub at his face. “I love the way
you look, sitting on my bed like this.”
“Maybe you’d like it even more if you knew I wasn’t wearing any panties
under this t-shirt?” I tell him, picking at the fabric of the oversized tee that
I’m wearing. It’s basically a nightgown; it falls halfway down my thighs
when I’m standing. But when I lean back in the pillows and move to spread
my legs, Crown reaches out and grabs my knees, pushing them back together
which is totally the opposite of what he should be doing. “Really? The guy
who got his name from ending up drunk on a roof with a groupie sucking his
dick doesn’t want to see my pretty, pink cunt?”
Crown stands up suddenly and throws a dark look my way.
“I never said that,” he starts, and then he’s slipping off one shoulder
holster and then the other. Fem eyes the man from his position on the
reading nook bench, curled into a ball with his fluffy tail resting over his
nose. He’s starting to learn that we don’t need to attack the men at every
given opportunity. I do still have to lock him in the bathroom in order to fuck
in peace though. He doesn’t like the screams. “And anyway, the way you
brought that up …”
He turns back to look at me, a slight smile on his usually stern mouth.
“You’re jealous.” It’s said like a statement rather than what it really is:
total bullshit.
“I’m not jealous. That’d be ridiculous.” I shrug my shoulders. “You aren’t
jealous that I screwed the school quarterback, are you?” I relax back into the
pillows as Crown looks me over like he doesn’t believe me.
“Why do I doubt that a bourgeois boy like Trevone Hundley could ever
excite someone like you?” he asks, slipping his wifebeater off and showing
off that perfect chest and stomach. I find my eyes drawn down the length of
his torso, caught on that sweet spot between his waistband and navel.
Shit, fuck, motherfucker. What was I supposed to be doing again?
I force my eyes up to his face, but he’s already grinning; he already
knows. He’s proving a point.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, his voice dark but tinged with that hint of
playfulness that I’ve seen on rare occasions, like that day he swam in our
pool for, well, shit, God only knows the reason for that.
He was teasing me, I think.
'“How do you know who Trevone Hundley is?” I ask, but then, that’s a
stupid question. “Never mind. Don’t tell me how Cat had you creepily stalk
and research everyone I was hanging out with.”
“Mm. He only wanted to make sure none of your …” Crown trails off and
then sighs. “Friends were involved with the mafia. Other than that, any
stalking I did was on my own merit.” Our eyes meet, and my breath is just
sucked right the fuck out of my lungs like I’ve been ejected into the vacuum
of space or something.
“You stalked my boyfriend?” I ask, choosing that word with a very
specific purpose in mind. I lean fully back, elbows out behind me, legs lifted
and crossed at the ankles. It wouldn’t take much to flash Crown with a
perfect view of … well, everything. “That’s creepy, Calder Reid. What sort
of cop are you?”
“Not a very good one, apparently,” he says, his voice dry as he shakes his
head with this low, masculine laugh that makes my skin pebble with goose
bumps. “Did you know that I was hired to infiltrate DBD?” Crown slides a
pack of cigarettes from his pocket and moves over to the window. He shoos
Fem off the cushion without getting bitten which just blows my fucking
mind.
I’ve never seen my dog respond to a man’s command. Fem hops onto the
end of the bed as easily as if he still had four legs, and then curls into a ball
with a sigh of frustration. Personally, I’m just staring at Crown, my legs
falling to the mattress as I sit up and then turn to face him as he pushes the
window open and perches on the sill. He, of course, makes sure to kick his
boots off before putting his feet on the cushion of the reading nook.
“You … what?” I say, blinking through my surprise as Crown lights up,
acting paranoid about the smoke and sitting half on the roof to keep any of it
from blowing back into the room with me. I knew in the back of my mind
that one of the worst parts of being pregnant would be being pregnant around
these specific men.
They’re absurdly overprotective, and now that we’ve all agreed to enter
into an official relationship? Oh, it’s so much worse. Worse even, than I
expected.
“My boss was approached by a colleague from the ATF. He said he had a
confidential informant who could get someone in the door of Death by
Daybreak.” Crown leans his head back against the windowsill, and then
looks down at this cigarette like he’s disgusted with himself. “I shouldn’t
even be smoking this while you’re …”
“Crown,” I warn, and then sigh. “I rarely see you smoke. I take it to mean
that you’re stressed?”
He sighs and stabs out his smoke on the roof tiles as I go over his
statement in my head. The ATF … the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms
and Explosives. Interesting.
“This casino bit … I don’t like the idea of it. I really don’t like the idea of
Cat seeing a recorded video call between you and Grey. Once he sees that,
it’s over, Gidge. He’ll have definitive proof, something beyond dashcam
footage from the mafia.” Crown brings the cigarette butt inside and chucks it
in his trash can in the bathroom, turning the sink on and then heating up the
water so that he can wash his face.
I’ve never seen anything like that, the asshole vice president of the club
with warm water dripping down his face, strong, calloused fingers rubbing
white lather across his sun-kissed skin. Shit. Heat floods my core, and I have
to mentally shake myself out to stay focused. My heart beats strangely as he
grabs a towel and dries himself off. He then goes about brushing his teeth
which, I have to say, is even weirder.
He has an electric toothbrush, too. Of course he does. None of the other
guys do.
I poke Fem with my foot, stroking his fur and trying to decide if he’s just
getting used to Crown, or if Crown just has an authoritative tint to his voice
that the dog’s responding to.
“How did you get him to move?” I ask, admittedly more interested in that
than I am with Crown’s background and history with the ATF. Someone who
doesn’t live this shit day in and day out might not understand that, how I
could be more fixated on the little things than the big ones.
The thing is, when you deal with the big things on a regular basis, you
realize that the reason you want to keep living is the small things. So I care
about them. I care about my dog’s reaction to Crown because if they
couldn’t get along, and I had to get rid of one of them, well, I’m sure it
wouldn’t be the dog. My mouth twitches as Crown comes into the room and
pauses at the end of the bed.
He glances down at Fem and then shakes his head.
“We’re working on our relationship,” Crown tells me, looking up and
hooking a slight smile. “I’ve always liked dogs. I’ve never had a problem
making friends with one until now.” He gives the husky another look. “You
know, Cat made the decision to shoot the dog before he even mentioned it to
us. He just pulled out his gun and did it.”
“I know,” I say, my throat getting tight. “If I’d even remotely suspected
any one of you of pulling the trigger, we wouldn’t be together right now.”
Crown reaches out like he might pet Feminist, but the dog’s head comes
up and he snaps at the air just as Crown retracts his fingers.
“Too soon, huh?” he asks, and then moves over to close the window. I
almost wish he’d leave it open. The rainstorm helped pull a lot of the ash out
of the air, so it smells fresh, clean. I try to take that as a good sign, but then, I
did look up the situation with the wildfires only to find out that the wind
knocked down several power lines and started an entire new complex just
south of us. “Alright, dog, right here.” He snaps his fingers and points at the
reading nook cushion, but Feminist ignores him.
“Guess that magical VP voice of yours doesn’t work on everyone.” I grin
and poke Fem in the leg with my toe. “Alright, dude, off the bed. If you
don’t try to bite Crown’s balls off, I won’t put you in the bathroom tonight.”
I wave my hand and make a whistling sound that excites Fem into giving a
dramatic yawn before he stands up; he gives a bow-like stretch with his
single front leg extended in front of him, and then hops down.
He actually goes into the bathroom of his own accord, and I hear him
drinking toilet water a minute later. At least the toilets here are clean enough
to eat off of. Crown is a clean freak. I’m not at all surprised by that.
“Does it work on you is the important question?” Crown asks me, sitting
down on his side of the bed. From where I’m at, I can see the tattoos on his
back better. I know he has a Lady of Justice on one hip, a grave on the other,
and a police car on his arm. There’s a story to his ink, supposedly. Am I
about to hear it?
“Maybe. Want to tell me how you ended up as Cat’s righthand instead of
in a shallow grave?” My lips tingle with want for a cigarette, and I moan,
leaning back in the pillows without remembering my shirt and its dangerous
propensity to ride up my thighs.
Crown groans, and I glance down to see that just a tiny snippet of dark
hair can be seen between my legs. I tug the shirt down with one hand and
glance over at him, feeling the tension hot and heavy between us.
He lifts his gaze back to my face, but it looks like it hurts to control
himself like that. Has he been hurting this much for the last few years? I
know I have. I’ve ached for him, for all of them, and I didn’t even know it.
I would’ve sworn that I hated them all.
I even managed to make myself believe it for a while.
“For almost two years, I was reporting back to the ATF,” Crown says with
a slight smile, looking down at his lap. “For two years, Gidget.”
“Two years?!” I choke out, eyes wide as I stare him down. “You’re
fucking with me?”
“Not at all.” He stands up again, this time dropping his hands to the
waistband of his jeans. My eyes are drawn to his strong fingers as they flick
open the top button and yank down the zipper. Unfortunately, he’s wearing
black boxer briefs underneath.
I mean … well, his ass looks criminal, those hard, muscular planes
trapped under tight, black fabric. But I’d rather he was wearing nothing at
all.
“Does Cat know?” I ask, and Crown shakes his head, picking his jeans up
and putting them in the hamper. He turns his light off on his side of the bed
and then climbs on next to me. My light is still on, but that’s it. It just barely
illuminates us and the bed, leaving a ring of shadows around the rest of the
room.
Everything feels poignant and hushed all of a sudden.
“Of course he doesn’t know,” he says, leaning his head back against the
huge wooden headboard. Crown closes his eyes and lets out another sigh, his
body relaxing visibly as I watch. This is what he wanted, Gidge. This is what
he was dreaming of. Someone to talk to. Someone to love. Someone to trust.
I reach down and curl my fingers through his, and his eyes shoot open. He
turns to look at me like I’m completely disturbed.
“What? You think I don’t know how to be affectionate? Cat and Nellie
weren’t very affectionate toward me, but I had Queenie and Posey. I don’t
know how either of them knew how to hug or love or smile the way they did
—maybe it was instinctual—but it was something that I needed to be
taught.” I give Crown’s hand a squeeze as he drops his gaze to our entwined
fingers, studying my right hand before looking back at my face.
“I never once thought that about you,” he tells me, and I shiver all over.
“And I don’t believe you needed to be taught anything.” With a yank of his
hand, Crown draws me over to him so that I end up straddling his lap. The t-
shirt pools around my hips, but my cunt is bare and hot against the already
hardening bulge beneath his boxer briefs. “Everything you do seems fairly
instinctual to me,” he murmurs against my ear, making me shiver. “I know
everything there is to know, Gidge. I know you’ve never slept with anyone
besides the four of us. And you know what? That fucking gets me off like
nothing else.”
“Shut up,” I snap, shoving at him, unsurprised when he captures my
hands. “How are you even alive right now? Cat just lets traitors in the club
then?” I can hardly believe how snippy I sound, how dark my voice has
gotten. Perfect little club daughter, aren’t I?
“You know, my mother died when I was only eight years old. I ended up
living with my aunt. She raised me, Gidge. And one day, she was murdered
by a man that had already been convicted of killing another woman. He got
out early on good behavior.” He lets out a sharp laugh, and I can see where
some of that darkness is coming from. Everything starts to slide into place
for me. See, with Crown, with that black and white mentality of his, he
would have had a hard time dealing with that. He’d probably think a man
like that deserved to die … “Anyway, he was indicted for my aunt’s murder,
but he walked on a technicality.”
 Crown takes my hands and puts one on either of his hip tattoos, and I can
see where we’re going with this. There’s that police car tattoo on one arm, a
motorcycle on the other. There’s so much more, of course, but those are the
ones that stand out. So there really is some sort of story here.
“And … you killed him?” I ask hopefully. Crown looks at me in such a
way that I can see what the answer is without him needing to utter it.
“That was right after I became a hang-around with the club.” He laughs
and kisses my fingers, closing his eyes for a minute. “That’s how I ended up
on the roof. Completely drunk off my ass, some random girl sucking my
dick …” He trails off and then opens his eyes. “I killed that man in a
drunken rage, and the boys helped me bury the body.”
He sighs.
“Anyway, for two years after that, I was … fuck, I’m not sure what I was.
A double agent, I guess. I was serving both the ATF and the club at the same
time. But eventually, I realized that over time, I wasn’t Calder Reid
anymore: I was just Crown.”
“And then what?” I ask, but Crown just exhales tiredly, and I can see that
this is weighing on him more heavily than any of the others. He really truly
and utterly was Cat’s loyal righthand. Jesus fucking Christ.
“I brought Cat the CI that had introduced me to the club in the first place.
And then I shot him before he could rat me out alongside him.” Crown
releases my hands. “Nobody here is innocent, Gidge. It isn’t just Cat that
deserves a place in hell.” He meets my eyes dead-on. “I turned my back on
everything outside of the club. My records were sealed because my superiors
knew that DBD would look into my background. That’s the only reason I’m
still here. I can’t for the life of me figure out how the mafia boy knows, but I
will say this: if he wanted to bring us down, all he would need to do is talk to
Cat. That’d be it for me and maybe even for you.”
“He isn’t going to talk,” I tell Crown, and I really and truly believe that.
Grey must’ve discovered that information on his own somehow. If Alvise or
Giulia or anyone else higher up in their organization knew, they’d have
spilled it to Cat somehow, someway, even if it was just in the form of a taunt.
“Don’t show your father the video call; it’s what he wants. He wants
something he can use to hold over your head. Show him … text messages.”
Crown takes my palms and puts them on his chest. “Those can be fabricated
easily. It allows for some plausible deniability.”
 “You’re a master manipulator, aren’t you?” I accuse, feeling myself get
flushed at the idea that Crown just literally handed me the smoking gun he’s
so worried about Cat having. “Why did you tell me all this? Because Grey
spilled the beans first?”
“Because I want what you and I have to be different.” Crown’s words are
dark, laden with possibilities and promises. “The reason I wanted a partner is
because I wanted someone who could let me be Calder or Crown or someone
else entirely and not care. Because I am all of those people and not just one
of them.”
He looks me over as I slide my hands up his abs and over his chest.
“I still can’t believe you’re pregnant,” he adds, and I sit back with a huff.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I retort as he grits his teeth.
“Because this whole thing is nuts,” he replies, reaching up and then fisting
his hand in my hair hard enough to make me gasp. “I can’t even believe
you’re sitting here, in my bed, in my room.” His mouth twitches slightly and
I know what he’s waiting for, even if he is gripping my hair the way he is.
“My bed, my room,” I correct, and he sighs as if in ecstasy, pressing his
mouth to mine in a cool, confident sort of way, like he’s certain he made the
right choice in telling me that secret tonight. I could ruin him. I could ruin
him, and it would have nothing to do with the situation with Grey. I could
bring down Crown and just Crown, without ever risking the other guys.
He’s giving me his trust. Just like I gave mine to Beast.
“We’re a tangled web,” I murmur, but then Crown presses harder into me,
taking me with his mouth, owning me, claiming me. I find that I don’t even
mind. Because he’s given up everything for the privilege. Fucking
everything. “You know that I love you, right? You believe that.”
“I believe it,” he murmurs, yanking on my hair just a little harder. “I’d
believe it even more if you were to take that t-shirt off and show me your
pretty cunt.”
“Oh, but I already offered that, and you turned it down,” I tease, and he
gives me such a dark look that I shiver with pleasure. Sometimes, the
darkness just chooses you. It’s chosen me, and I don’t even care. “You’re
pretty, you know that, Calder Reid? So damn pretty.”
“I have to be,” he responds easily, as if that thought was never even in
question. “It’s my one, saving grace.” He blinks, and it’s like he’s snapped
into an entirely different mode. I sense it, too, and shift on his lap,
anticipation spiking through me. We both know what’s about to happen. “A
little birdy told me that you think you own the four of us, rather than the
other way around.”
I narrow my eyes. Sin, that little shit.
“You guys talk about me when I’m not around?” I query, and Crown
laughs. The sound is both pleasant and terrifying, all at the same time—but
in a good way. In a very, very good way.
“Of course we do. All the time.” He releases his grip on my hair and
strokes some of it back behind my ear, almost gently. Almost. Because
there’s a terse warning there, a chance for me to say no to this moment, to
change its course. I don’t. I want to play this game with Crown. This
softness, it belies what’s truly going to happen the rest of the night. “We talk
about the positions you like best, the sounds you make, how good you feel
wrapped around our cocks.”
“Bullshit,” I snort, shaking my head at him. “I don’t believe that for a
second. I can’t imagine you guys putting your jealousy aside long enough to
have a conversation that’s anything like that.”
“Oh, well, you’d be surprised the way we can hype each other up. It’s part
of the game, to see who can get you into bed next.” His smile turns into
something autocratic, domineering, sexy as fuck. “Guess I win this round.”
Crown snaps his fingers. “Now, take your goddamn shirt off and don’t make
me ask again.”
I breathe deep, but I reach down and curl my fingers around the hem of
the tee, lifting it up to reveal the heavy, aching mounds of my breasts, my
already wet cunt, the slightly swollen front of my belly. It’s not much, not
yet, but I can feel the changes already. Or shit, maybe I’m just bloated?
Either way, it’s the baby’s fault.
Crown notices, too, teasing his fingertips across my navel.
“I hope this one isn’t mine,” he says absently, letting his eyes find my
breasts next before lifting his gaze to my face. “I want that opportunity to
keep you for myself, to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you until it takes.”
“Shut up,” I growl out, but he grabs me by the hair and gives it a tug.
“Shut up? Is that how you speak to me?” he asks, and then he drops his
mouth to my nipple and sucks it into his hot mouth. I moan, even though I
almost hate myself for giving in, arching my chest toward him. “You told
Sin that you own us? Bullshit. You belong to me, and you know it.”
He releases me and lifts his chin in that haughty way of his.
 “Get on all fours and present your cunt to me; I want to take it with my
mouth from behind.”
I huff and start to move, but he grabs me by the chin and makes me look at
him.
“Say yes, sir, and I’ll let your insolence go.”
“Yes, sir,” I drawl out, swinging my legs off his lap. He slaps me right in
the ass, and I groan, even though it’s embarrassing as hell. How can I explain
it? I don’t want to be told what to do in real life, but in the bedroom, it’s
okay on occasion. More than okay, it’s what I want. It gives me a chance to
just give up and let everything go, let the whole world become somebody
else’s problem. That’s the appeal.
I get on all fours, my knees slightly spread as Crown moves around behind
me.
He makes this … this sound when he sees what he’s looking at.
“Fuck, it’s so ripe,” he murmurs, reaching out and spreading me wide so
that he can see the glistening pinkness underneath. “Like a goddamn peach
or something.”
I bite the quilt beneath me to stifle my protests. I want this, but it’s still
hard. I also want to kick Crown in the balls. That’s part of what makes it fun.
He grips my hips and then rubs his slightly stubbled face against the
softness of my ass cheeks. The roughness of his hair makes me whimper,
and I bite down even harder on the blanket to stifle the sound.
“You’re such a naughty girl, aren’t you, Gidget?” he asks, and I release the
blanket from between my teeth.
“It’s Gidge,” I correct, and Crown slaps my ass so hard that it stings,
following up the smack with a gentle caress of his hand.
“It’s whatever the hell I say it is. Tell me you’re naughty. Tell me how wet
you are.”
This is the opposite of last time, when he told me to tell him that I was a
good girl. Whatever. I’m both. Sin and salvation. We’re all aware of that.
“I’m naughty,” I tell him, and he groans. “And I’m dripping. I’m dripping
for you, Crown.” Next thing I know, he’s yanking me to the edge of the bed
and making me put my feet flat on the floor. He kneels down behind me, his
tyrannical mouth on my swollen heat. He slips his tongue inside, tasting me
and murmuring his approval.
“You taste different now. Must be the pregnancy hormones. But holy shit,
I could lap this shit up all day.”
 I wiggle back against his face, and he slips his tongue inside of me again.
He really does eat me like he wants to savor every bite, like I’m a feast for
him and him alone. He laves me with that tongue, bathing my body with his
saliva as he laps up all of my desire.
Crown takes his time, like this is for him and not for me. He ignores my
silent command when I push back into his face, grabbing my hips and
forcing me to remain still. He even ignores my clit, and I start to feel like I
might go crazy if he doesn’t touch it.
Beads of sweat appear on my body as I struggle to remain calm under the
onslaught of his mouth. When he pulls away, I almost scream.
“Stay right there,” he commands, moving to his nightstand and pulling out
some lube and a purple toy that looks sort of like a dildo, but is far too thin
to be one. It has silicone beads of varying sizes, starting small and working
up to one that’s about the third the girth of Crown’s cock. “I bought this for
you,” he tells me, tossing it on the bed so that I can look at it. “I ordered it
online after you broke me down that night, after I accepted this was how
things were going to be.”
I take the toy in my hand and study it.
“It’s for that perfect rosebud of an ass that you have.” He snaps his fingers
and I give the toy back. “Tell me thank you.”
This piece of shit … I breathe out.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, what?” he corrects, and I grind my teeth together.
“Thank you, sir.”
He smiles at me, my cheek pressed to the bed. Crown moves around
behind me and fiddles with his jeans. I hear the sound of him squirting the
lube into his hands, rubbing his palms together to work it up, and then he’s
spreading it all down my length.
It tingles, and heat sears through my most sensitive parts. Oh my God. It
must be that heated lubricant shit. I’ve never used anything like this before.
Until recently, like with Sin’s vibrator, I haven’t played around with anything
more than bodies with these men.
I enjoyed being with Sin in the woods, just us as primal and raw as the
earth. This is fun, too. It’s all fun.
There’s a very lewd sound coming from behind me as Crown works his
cock with the lube, this squelching noise as he fists his dick and jerks
himself off, making me thrust back toward him in want.
 He smacks my ass again.
“No. Stay still or I’m not going to fuck you. I’ll just come on your ass and
go to bed. Tell your vice president what a sorry little hang-around you are,
and maybe I’ll consider letting you prospect into my club.”
“Oh,” I groan, rubbing my thighs together as I bite onto the quilt again.
Does he have any idea how much that turns me on, the thought of having my
own jacket, my own motorcycle, of being a part of Death by Daybreak in a
way that I’ve craved for so long. I pretended to hate it. I did. Yet, we can all
see through that lie now. “I’m sorry, Vice President. I’m naughty, and I can’t
help myself.”
He likes that; I can tell. His breathing quickens, and then I feel a slight
pressure on my ass. The first tiny bead slips in, and I curl my fingers into the
blanket. It’s so damn tight; I’ve only done it once like this before. The thing
is, if I can take Grainger’s huge dick in the ass with nothing but a lubricated
condom, I can take this.
I want to take this.
“Look at you, so greedy,” Crown murmurs, pushing the toy in another
notch. I exhale, closing my eyes against the dim glow of the master
bedroom. I keep saying ‘my room’, but …
“I love this,” I whisper, getting choked up from the pleasure. “You fucking
me in our bedroom. Ours. Not mine or yours. Ours.”
“Stop that,” Crown commands, spanking me again and making my skin
sting pleasantly. “You’ll get me worked up too fast with that shit.” He pauses
again and then slips the toy in further, making my stomach muscles clench at
the delicious invasion. “Our bedroom,” he repeats, voice broody but pleased.
“Our house.” The toy goes in another notch. “Our baby.”
He pushes it in again, and I let out a wild sound of excitement as the
biggest bead slips into my well-lubed body.
Crown reaches down for his cock, and I hear that wet, hungry sound of
him using his fist before he puts the head of his dick to my entrance. He
thrusts in fast and hard, and I let out a scream that makes Fem bark wildly.
He races into the room, almost killing our vibe, but Crown’s voice snaps
out like a whip.
“Go lay down now,” he snarls out, and my dog pauses, looks at him, and
then lets out an annoyed grumble before retreating. “Fuck.” Crown spanks
me again, as if it’s my fault that Fem is this way. “You and that dog, both
brats. Terrible, awful brats.” Another smack, and then I’m squirming so
wildly against him that he gives in.
His hands lock down on my hips, and he starts to thrust, slamming my
body into the wooden footboard over and over again. There’s no give there.
Each movement drives him all the way to my core, and I’m left scrabbling at
the quilt, wrinkling it up and biting it as I moan with indulgent surrender.
The toy creates this ridged feeling inside of me, Crown’s dick stroking
along those silicone balls through the thin wall of flesh between my pussy
and my ass. I’m as full as I’ve ever been.
When Crown grabs my hair and yanks my head up, he pulls me even
tighter to him. His other hand curves around my face, fingers sliding into my
mouth. I moan and bite down on them as he rides me hard against the bed,
taking over every orifice of my body and claiming it.
“Don’t you dare come without my permission,” he breathes, his own voice
labored with carnal gratification. “Don’t you dare.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, dig my fingernails in, and hold on for the ride.
I’m sure that I’m going to break. Over and over again, every thrust is
torture. I need to come. It’s becoming impossible to resist.
“Please, Vice President,” I manage to whisper, the words husky and
fragmented. “Please let me come.”
With a ragged growl, Crown digs his fingertips into my hips and blows his
load, balls slapping my clit.
“Come for me, naughty girl,” he breathes, and that’s it. It’s over.
I scream again, pushing back against him as my body convulses,
constricting around Crown’s shaft and holding him prisoner while I finish
riding out those final, violent waves.
My body sags to the bed as Crown very carefully and very slowly
removes the toy from my ass. He slides out of me and pads into the
bathroom; I heard the sink run first then the bath.
He comes back for me, scooping up my boneless body and carrying me
into the bathroom. My dog glares at us both with ice-blue eyes from the
corner as Crown places me into the bathtub. He tests the water to make sure
it’s the right temperature (scalding, yay), plugs the drain, and then climbs in
behind me.
It’s a tight fit, but that’s okay. I curl up in his arms, lids sliding closed with
contentedness.
 “Get some sleep,” he commands, and it’s an easy one to follow. I’m
exhausted. “You’ll need all the energy you can get to deal with Cat
tomorrow.”
He’s right, but that’s okay: I’m ready for it. And I’m not afraid.
I’m gunning for my enemies, and the taste of vengeance is pungent and
cloyingly sweet on the back of my tongue. With as much hunger as Crown
just ate me out, I’m going to hunt my sisters’ murderers and spill their blood.
It won’t make things right, but it will quench some of my insatiable rage.
Paired with my love for these men, it’s enough to keep my scarred heart
on the track toward being whole again.
“The casino, huh?” Cat asks, stroking his beard as he studies the text
messages from Grey and then looks up at me with a mixture of hatred and
curiosity. I just stay still, hating that we’re in his office and my brother died
right in the doorway. I looked for bloodstains when I walked in a few
minutes ago, but I didn’t see any.
Crown must know all the best ways to get brain matter off a wall.
A shudder takes over me that I don’t even bother to hide. It’s good if my
father believes I’m afraid of him, if he thinks my confession of love meant
anything other than the truth. I do love him, but I will also kill him if needed.
And … I think it might be needed. Very much so.
Our eyes meet.
He chucks my phone onto his desk.
“You want me to believe this shit?” he asks, and I stare right back at him
with every ounce of conviction inside of me.
“Do or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll go with my boys and deal with it.
I will bring back Giulia Wolfe’s head. Literally, if necessary.”
Cat laughs at me, shaking his own head as he moves around the desk to
stand a bit closer to me. Neither of us is unaware that all four of his officers
are in the room with us. On that same note, neither of us looks their way or
asks for their input.
“Boss,” Crown begins, and then when Cat’s gaze snaps his way, he falls
silent. The only difference between now and say, six months ago, is that
Crown will step in or speak up against his president’s wishes if that’s what it
takes to save my ass. Actually, I think he still would’ve jumped in back then,
but only if my literal life was on the line. This time, my heart and my desires
matter, too.
“You want me to send the five of you off to play blackjack at the casino,
huh? Why? So you can leave with your boyfriend and not come back?” Cat
reaches out and puts his hand on my right shoulder, fingers digging into the
leather of Beast’s jacket. He squeezes just hard enough to bruise but not so
hard that I flinch or give away the pain he’s causing me.
I hear a tentative footstep behind me. Beast. He’s offering up a warning
that Cat ignores.
My father leans down to look me right in the eyes.
“If you run from me, girl, I will follow you. You hear me? I will hunt you
down and slit your throat myself.”
“Should I be surprised by that?” I quip back, and Cat releases me abruptly.
“Crown, prepare a small team. Maybe a dozen or so men.” Cat moves
back behind his desk, his eyes on the spot where that bottle of India ink used
to sit, the same bottle that I threw in his son’s face and probably saved my
own life with.
“Sir?” Crown queries. I glance back to see his face split into equal parts
eagerness and trepidation. Sin and Grainger actually share a look amongst
themselves that concerns me.
“We’ll go in on Friday,” Cat declares, ignoring Grey’s carefully typed out
advice on the series of recent text messages. He looks up at me. “You’ll go
with us.”
The tension from the four men standing behind me is palpable, so thick
you could cut it with a knife. I imagine their glares like bullets in ballistics
gel, cutting sharp channels through the clear blocks of distrust that comprise
the charged air between them and their president.
“Me?” I query back, trying not to be pleased that Cat has literally just
made this a non-issue for me. I don’t need to argue with the guys—I would
hope that after our last talk, there wouldn’t be much arguing at all, but I
know them too well to really believe that—I’m going regardless.
“This is your intel, ain’t it?” He looks at me like he’s daring me to
challenge him right now, but we both know this isn’t some sort of reward.
It’s a test. Cat is testing me and his officers all in one fell swoop.
“Can I make a suggestion?” I offer up, and he laughs at me again.
 “No. Get the fuck out of my office.” Cat waves us away, but I already
have an idea, and I want to execute it.
“Let me dress up. A nice wig. A dress. A date on my arm. I can walk right
into that fucking casino without anyone being the wiser.”
“You’re not even old enough to set foot in a casino,” Crown offers up, his
voice disturbingly empty of emotion. I glance back at him with a raised
brow.
“Like I’ll be carded. I know what I look like. The right makeup, the right
hair, I’m twenty-five, easy.” I turn to Cat again. “Anyway, it’s not like I
don’t have a fake ID. A good one, too.”
“Of course you do,” Cat replies, looking me over. He shrugs then. “You
know what? I like this idea. We can sit safely outside while you waltz into
the resort and take a look around.” He snaps his fingers in Sin’s direction.
“Find someone young, a prospect that won’t be recognized. That’ll be her
date.”
“Letting her walk in there when the mafia wants her more than they want
your ass?” Beast offers up, speaking out when he very rarely does. “Seems
like a good way for Gidget to die.”
“At this point,” Cat says, looking up and then letting his gaze rest firmly
on my husband’s. “If she doesn’t go into that casino, she’s going to die. Get
the fuck out of my office.”
I purse my lips tight and exhale before turning and letting Grainger hold
open the door for me.
“You’re in big trouble, you little shit,” he growls out, but I ignore him.
Now that Cat’s laid down the law, this is how it’s going to be.
There aren’t any good alternatives, and all four of these men know it.

“This is not going down the way Cat wants it to,” Grainger growls out, right
on my ass as we step inside the farmhouse, and I turn around just in time to
see him come up on me. He grabs me around the waist and yanks me tight
against him, pressing the fiery heat of his body flush against mine. Oh. Fuck.
I like that.
I frown at him, even as the other men slip inside the door, and then there
we are, all five of us in an enclosed space with emotions running hot and
high. Thank God Reba’s door is closed upstairs; she doesn’t need to feel the
intensity of our combined emotions. That’d make her run even faster toward
life as a nun.
“You have to let me fly, Grainger. You have to.” I reach down and put my
hands over his, giving his fingers a squeeze even as he increases the pressure
on my waist. Oh boy, is he fucking mad.
“Letting you fly and thrusting you into the middle of a warzone are two
entirely different things.” He scoffs and releases me suddenly, turning on the
other guys and throwing his arm out to indicate me with fury clear in his
dark gaze. “What the fuck else are you all supposed to be if not backup
against this woman? Jesus Christ.”
“I’m all for letting you fly, wife,” Beast says, arms crossed over his chest.
He looks so stern and serious right now. That’s a little scary. If I’m honest, I
have to admit that he’s been pretty indulgent with me thus far. He has yet to
just say ‘no’, and I’m not sure what my reaction would be if he did. “But this
is somethin’ else entirely.”
“You really want to start your career in the club right now, with something
like this?” Crown asks while Sin watches me with such a sharp frown that I
feel like the expression is cutting straight through me. “While pregnant?”
I just stare back at him and then splay my hands palm out on either side of
me.
“You heard me the other night, all three of you.” I look pointedly at
Grainger, Sin, and Crown before turning to Beast. “You weren’t there, but I
think you already know what I’m trying to say.”
He stares down at me with those robin’s egg blue eyes of his, and that’s
enough. This is how Beast and I communicate, with body language more so
than words.
“We’re sort of stuck anyway,” Sin offers up with another sigh, rubbing at
his forehead with the heel of his hand. “This is what Cat wants, so this is
what’s happening. We just need to minimize the risks.”
“I’m surprised you’re so gung-ho to send your pregnant girlfriend into a
mafia-run stronghold,” Grainger barks out with a sharp laugh, and I see now
that at least some of has manic male PMS behavior stems from fear. He was
worried when I disappeared from Reba’s little church, and he found me at
the lake with my friends. He’s worried now, and with good reason.
“Gung-go?” Sin returns with another laugh, his lean body balanced
against the wall next to the sitting room’s arched entrance. “Not particularly.
More than anyone else, I’ve wanted to get Gidge away from the club and out
of danger. The rest of you? I’m not sure you were willing to give her up for a
better life. You wanted this. All I’m doing is mitigating damage.” Sin looks
right at me, and I feel my chest tighten with emotion. “I hate this. Just be
aware that that’s the case: I fucking hate this. But I also understand you, and
I —more than anyone maybe—acutely understand club politics.”
He pushes up off the wall and moves into the kitchen, grabbing his iPad
out of a bag that’s slung over the back of one of the chairs. Sin lays it out on
the table and powers it on, flipping through a few images before pausing on
one that shows the layout of the casino.
He looks over at me as I come into the room to stand beside him.
“You made me a promise,” he says, his voice low and authoritative in a
way that I don’t think he even allowed himself to acknowledge before. He
held back for me, but now his intensity is unveiled and zeroed in on me.
“What was it?”
I frown and shift slightly, my eyes flicking over to find Grainger’s as he
storms in and slams his hands down on the table on my other side.
“What was that fucking promise?” Cade growls out, and I turn a glare
over to him.
“To … defer to your authority in the field,” I admit, looking back at Sin.
He watches me and then nods, tapping a finger against the screen of his iPad.
“You want to do this? You’re going to do it right. Sit down.” Sin pulls out
a chair as Crown and Beast join us, standing on the opposite side of the table
so that they can watch me get my ass handed to me by their road captain.
Ugh.
I take the proffered seat as Grainger curses and stands up straight, running
his fingers through his rust-red hair.
“Keep your temper, Cade,” Crown warns him, but Grainger chooses not to
acknowledge that statement whatsoever.
“You can’t be my date, you know?” I tell them all, but mostly looking at
Beast; he doesn’t acknowledge that statement. “I have to go in with someone
that won’t be recognized.” I let my gaze pan across the four of them. “You’re
all like, disturbingly recognizable.”
“You’re not going in alone,” Beast offers up in response. “However you
want to make that happen, so that I know you’ve at least got one person in
there with you to watch your back, that’s fine by me. Offer up a solution
that’s satisfying to me, and I won’t go caveman on your ass.”
 I give him a look and then flip him off before Sin redirects my attention
back to the iPad and then, when he doesn’t speak, I look up at his face. His
silver eyes are impossible to turn away from.
“You’re going to memorize the layout of the casino. Every floor. The
grounds outside. All of it.” He pushes the iPad in front of me. “And then
we’re going to talk contingency plans.”
“We are her contingency plan,” Beast says, but then he pulls out a chair
and takes a seat. Crown does the same. And then, finally, Grainger.
“Before we do that,” I start, chewing on my lower lip. I give Sin a look,
and he sighs.
“Juice?” he asks, and I grin.
“Yes, please,” I say as he stands up and opens the fridge. “Also …” I turn
around to look at Grainger. “Don’t say ‘girlfriend’. It feels too casual. This.”
I gesture around to indicate the five of us. “This isn’t casual. If this is going
to work, we’re going to be family.”
“What do you want me to call you? My old lady?” Grainger asks, casting
a look over at Beast. The two men exchange a long glance before my
husband finally offers a slight nod of his head. “Fucking hell.” He swipes his
hand over his face, rubbing at the dark stubble on his jaw. “Sharing an old
lady.” He shifts his eyes back down to mine. “You’re poisonous, Gidge. You
know that?”
“Actually, I’m venomous. Poison is only deployed defensively; venom is
manufactured and delivered by the animal in question.” I make little fangs
with two curved fingers on either hand and act like I’m injecting them into
Grainger. He stares down at my hands before lifting his attention to my face.
“Can you ever just listen to someone talk and not have an annoying quip
as a response?” he asks, but then he’s yanking me into his lap and wrapping
his arms around me. “Regardless, poisonous or venomous, you’ve gotten me
to do something I never in my life thought I’d be able to do.”
“Share?” I query, putting a hand on the side of his handsome face. “They
teach that skill in preschool, you know. Did you miss that? Or did they just
not offer that service back in your time?”
He growls at me, grabbing onto my hand and giving it a squeeze. He puts
my fingers to his lips and then sucks them in, searing my flesh with his hot
tongue. His gaze is … it’s Biblical, the way he looks at me.
I really and truly believe that our souls were married in the church that
day, when he fucked me in a dress meant for another man, when blood was
leaking under the door, when shots were still being fired. That was our true
joining, our unholy union.
“Just to be clear,” Grainger says, his breath warm against my wet
fingertips. “I wouldn’t do this for any woman I was interested in. I wouldn’t
do this just because I was in love. I’m doing it for one person and one person
only: you. Just you.”
“And all the club wives and groupies think you’re incapable of love,” I
offer up, but it’s meant to be a compliment. Grainger narrows his eyes at me.
“Who said that?” he asks, voice dangerously inquisitive.
Sin takes my hand and places the glass of orange juice in it, giving me a
look as he does.
“Seeing you playful like this …” he starts and then trails off, his eyes
shifting over to Crown and Beast. Sin looks back at me. “It makes
everything worth it, doesn’t it?” He points at the iPad again. “Now.
Sentimentality aside: it’s time to study.”
With a sigh, I slide off of Grainger’s lap—and his suddenly tight-in-the-
crotch jeans—and flop my ass onto the blue chair with the peeling paint.
“The most important rule in this club,” Sin starts, reaching out to take my
chin in his fingers. He makes me look at him, and I narrow my eyes because
I know I’m not going to like this. “Is to follow orders. When you’re in there,
Gidge, you do what you’re told.” Sin tightens his fingers on my face, and I
frown at him.
“Can you do that for me, Gidge? Fucking please.”
“I can do that,” I reply with a long sigh. If these guys can learn to share,
then surely I can learn to follow orders like a proper Daybreaker.
Right?
The level of planning required for this job is insane. And it’s condensed and
rushed due to the nature and immediacy of the situation. I see now why it
took three fucking months to rescue the club princess from the big, bad
mafia castle.
As things stand, we have four days.
On Friday, I’ve come up with a plan that, surprisingly enough, passes
Cat’s scrutiny.
My men hate it. Oh, they fucking despise it, but it actually makes my
father laugh. Granted, it’s not a mirthful laugh. I’m not sure that I’ve ever
heard him laugh for real, and now that his only son is dead? Not sure he’ll
ever really laugh again.
“A college party, huh?” he asks, and I nod. I turn my phone around—the
one the boys bought me that Cat can’t say shit about now that I’m married to
Beast—so he can see the social media post in question.
“Yep.” The post is from Johnny R., the kid from my school who has a DJ
for a father that lets him use all of his equipment. He’s going to be DJing
tonight, and he’s advertised as much all over the internet. “I’ll go and pick
up a guy or even a group of people to take with me.”
A bunch of random college kids, that’s the perfect cover for me to waltz in
those doors without being recognized. I mean, besides the wig and the cherry
red dress that I picked out. Guess who’s going as a blonde tonight? I even
got myself some blue contacts, just to make myself even less recognizable.
 Somehow, it feels like a tribute to my sisters.
I can already feel the violence in my blood thrumming and singing,
begging me to join the dark side. Little do those dark whisperings know: I’m
already in it. I intend to wear it, rule it, own it. Even if I can never actually
be president of this club, you know who can? Crown.
I’m going to use him—all of them—to get what I want.
They know it, too. They’ve always known it. Even when they decided to
give me space for those few years, it was done with this exact situation in
mind. I had to want to be here. If I’d been caged—like Cat tried to do by
making me shoot Grey—then I’d have paced like an animal in a zoo.
This is different.
“Mm.” Cat shrugs and shoves the phone back at me. “You think this is
better than taking a prospect in on your arm?”
I nod and collect my phone, slipping it into the pocket of Beast’s leather
jacket.
“This is better cover. I want to get in there, get a location on Giulia and
her team, and I want to do it without rousing the wolves from their den.” I
stare Cat down, and he looks right back at me, still suspicious, still certain
that I’m about to fuck him and the club both.
“You think you can pick someone up quick and get to the casino on time?”
he continues, like he’s challenging me with the semantics of my own idea.
“Have you seen me?” I ask, cocking my head to one side and flashing a
dangerous smile.
“Use what you got, girl,” he says, waving me away with a dismissive flick
of his hand. “Get dressed. We’ll leave in two hours.”
I nod and retreat before he can think up anything else that I might not like.
I take off, weaving between several men, including my boys, and then
heading back to the farmhouse to get ready.
Tonight, I can’t look like Gidge; I have to be somebody else. I have to
embody somebody else.
So, Posey’s dress. Posey’s makeup. I even pull up a picture of my sister on
her long-forgotten Instagram account and mimic the look in the mirror. I
remember that day. She went to the clubhouse to party and didn’t come
home for two days. Queenie was furious; Posey reveled in being bad.
I absorb that wild energy into me as I study her picture and trace my eyes
with red liner, as I color my lips a brilliant vermillion. The dress is tight, but
not too short, falling to my knees and hiding most of my scars. Paired with
black gladiator sandals that lace up past my calf, some of my sister’s silver
bangle collection, and a glittery clutch that holds both Queenie’s knife as
well as my Magnum, I’m ready.
It occurs to me that I won’t be going to my senior prom. Not that I’d
planned on it anyway. Me and school functions have never meshed well. But
I’d like to think of this as a sort of dark promenade, something dressed in
violence and vengeance, and it suits my black, twisted heart so much better.
I come downstairs like it really is prom night, finding all four men waiting
for me at the bottom. I love the way their leather vests act as a sort of
uniform. And of course, they’re all wearing denim, boots, t-shirts that are
just a tad too tight. Ink, muscles, bullshit.
Also, four entirely different expressions.
Beast smiles at me and lets out a low laugh.
“Look at that, married to a blonde,” Beast says as I pause halfway down
the stairs, my right hand resting on the banister. I’ve got an expensive wig
on, one made of human hair. That’s creepy as fuck, right? To wear somebody
else’s hair. Anyway, I borrowed this particular wig from Amber Clearwater.
Now that I know she’s getting married to Big Jack, I look at her in an
entirely different light. Crown didn’t want her; he wants me. Not that I
would’ve held his want against her in the first place (if he ever had any). I
don’t blame women for the sins of men.
“You look far too pretty for this assignment,” Crown offers up, and I
decide to take that strange remark as a compliment. There’s a sense of regret
in his voice, too, as if he’s somehow failed us both by not locking me up
inside a cage of chrome.
But I know they’ve all seen it, how I look at my father with equal parts
love and hate. I can’t separate one emotion from the other, no, but I will
never trust that man or have a close relationship with him, and they know it.
He’s the hindsight that they don’t need to experience to get right.
“I’d still feel better if you took a prospect in with you.” Sin tucks his right
hand in his pocket, using the other to sweep over his carefully styled hair. I
love that he slicks his faux-hawk up all nice and pretty, even if all he’s going
to be doing tonight is escorting me to a college party and then slaughtering
people at a contentious casino.
“This will give me more cover; it’s safer and you know it,” I promise him,
coming down the rest of the stairs and finding the four huge men in a half-
circle around me. They range from tall and imposing (Sin) to gargantuan
(Beast) with Grainger and Crown in between. I love it, too, like being
surrounded by a hedge of leather-bound terrors, the honor guard that I
always wanted but realized wasn’t actually mine.
Until now.
Now they really are mine and nobody else’s.
“Thank you for letting me steal the four of you from Cat,” I say
coquettishly, blinking through my falsies and biting my lower lip in a way
that makes every single man surrounding me curse and rub at his face or, as
in Grainger’s case, yank at his hair with his fist.
“If you die tonight, I swear to fuck …” he starts, pausing as Reba comes
out of her room upstairs and heads for the bathroom with Fem at her heels.
As soon as my dog spots me, he comes careening down the steps two at a
time to sniff my crotch. I don’t think he likes the wig or the contacts, but the
smell is mine, at least. I shove him away with a curl of my lip.
“Gross, don’t,” I command him, and he slinks off to curl up in Crown’s
precious leather chair.
“What on earth …” Reba starts, coming down the stairs to look at me and
acting like the men don’t even exist. You tell me how many other petite
Southern belles whose worst curse is ‘oh Fudgsicles’ can stand up to armed
men who murder people for a living. Not many, I take it. “You look just like
—”
She doesn’t have to finish her statement. We all know exactly what she’s
talking about.
I look exactly like my sisters. Coloring aside, we were, apparently, clones
of one another, and I just didn’t recognize it. Please, please, please let me
have a girl. One that looks like Queenie and Posey. I place my hand over my
stomach, and everyone notices.
Surely, I must be nuts to traipse into that casino pregnant. But my life is
mine, and I want to do this. The baby can go along for the ride.
“Where are you off to?” Reba asks as Grainger cants her a sharp look.
“Get fucked, Keller. None of your damn business.”
She narrows her green eyes but refuses to acknowledge his statement.
“Out?” I query back, because it’s the only thing I can think to say. She
gives me a harsh look that’s actually worse than the ones my men were
giving me. It’s a very clear warning.
“Don’t you get yourself hurt out there tonight,” she scolds, and then clears
her throat. I can sense it, just like I can sense danger on the wind. She’s
about to give me a Bible quote as some sort of warning from the heavens.
“The righteous is a guide to his neighbor; But the way of the wicked causeth
them to err.”
With that, she turns away and heads into the living room to join Feminist.
As soon as she flops onto the couch, he abandons his chair to join her. Now
that Grey is gone, Beast has grudgingly given Reba back the cord to the TV.
He did not, however, restore the Wi-Fi, so she gets to watch what’s been
downloaded already or what Crown has on Blu-ray.
She selects some old black and white Western which feels oddly apropos,
as if we’re about to clash with bandits in a goldrush town or something.
“The way of the wicked causeth them to err,” I murmur and then shake my
head. “Then let’s err the fuck out of this night, shall we?”
I grab the bag at the bottom of the stairs and slip into the bathroom, adding
leather pants under my dress and Beast’s jacket over the top. As I said
before: no way in fuck am I getting on a motorcycle with bare skin ever
again. Even the sandals have to be traded out for boots, but I had to try this
look on and test it on the guys before doing anything else.
I join them in the hallway with the duffel bag—it has a brush and some
other items in it case I need to freshen up—and out the door we go. Beast
puts it in one of his saddlebags as I grab my helmet. It threatens to mess up
my hair, but what else can I do?
We ride motorcycles here; it’s a way of life.
Beast kickstarts the engine and I feel the first pump of adrenaline race
through me.
“Come to heel, pet. Or I’ll break you like I break my horses.”
Okay, Giulia Wolfe. Let’s go. Let’s see which one of us breaks first.
It sure as hell isn’t going to be me.

Rodeo by Lil Nas X and Cardi B is playing when I step into the thick swarm
of college students. The doors of the apartment building are wide open, and
there’s a long hall that leads to the building’s shared outdoor common area.
That’s where Johnny R. is set up, taking a breather to flirt with girls while
the current song plays. I notice right off the bat that there’s a good mix of
Ashbury High students in this mess, and offer up a small, muttered curse.
I wonder if anyone will recognize me? To be fair, I hardly recognize
myself when I look in the mirror. I’m a ghost tonight. Posey’s ghost, maybe.
Or just some awful, vengeful spirit who can’t stop digging her coffin-tipped
nails into the palm of her hand.
“Let’s make this quick,” Sin offers up, having briefly switched out his
shirt and vest for a pullover sweater. He’s the only one of the guys who can
even remotely pretend to be the right age for this party although I must say,
some of these college boys still look like exactly that—like boys. Colton is
very much a man. “Grab someone who looks like an asshole, just in case he
dies.”
I snort and glance back at Sin as he cocks a brow in my direction.
“Let’s pick someone who looks like they identify as a men’s rights
activist.” I point out a group of bros in the back corner. “See those fuckers
right there? I bet you a hundred bucks one of them brought roofies to this
party.”
Sin curls up the edge of his lip as he studies the boys and then shakes his
head, holding up a hand to indicate the snorting, guffawing trust fund jocks.
“Take your pick and let’s get out of here.”
I swing my blond hair over my shoulder and then make my way through
the crowd, hating that party every second that I’m standing in it. What sort
of party is this anyway? It’s like … the junior version of what happens at the
clubhouse. Bold enough to entertain plenty of ill-meaning assholes, but
without that edge, that bite that makes club life satisfying in so many ways.
I approach the group of bros, reaching out to tap the nearest one on the
shoulder.
Imagine my surprise when he turns around and I see Trevone Hundley
standing in front of me.
Oh. Shit.
He smiles at me … at first, but then the expression shifts to one of
confusion.
“Sorry, thought you were someone else,” I murmur, and then start to move
away when he reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“Gidget?” he asks, blinking stupidly down at me. Fuck. Guess my disguise
isn’t as good as I thought it was, eh? Or maybe I was just that memorable to
Trevone. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, huh?” I retort, crossing my arms over my
chest and already trying to figure a way out of this. Another boy moves up
beside Trevone, and I see that it’s his best friend, Kellen Doughty.
Ugh.
 This is going from bad to worse.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” Kellen grinds out, sneering at me with his too
thin lips. He thinks he’s hot shit, but the only reason Trevone’s on-again, off-
again girlfriend, Tina Flacco, ever slept with him was to get back at Trevone.
He’s nothing but a sidepiece fuckboy. That brings me peace as I stare back at
him, wondering how best to get out of this without making a scene. “You
split after dumping those bad drugs on us. No, don’t tell me: it was an errand
for daddy dearest.”
“You wouldn’t sneer at me like that if you knew the things I did about
Cat,” I say, letting the reality of the situation infuse my voice. “But keep
calling him daddy dearest and see if your family doesn’t end up dead.” It’s
like, not even a threat, just a simple reality.
Kellen’s sneer morphs into a frown as Trevone exhales and runs his palm
over his shorn hair.
“Why did you do it?” Trevone asks, the tiniest thorn of hurt in his voice,
like he might actually be upset that we made out once and then I fucked him
over on his birthday. If he knew anything at all about me, he’d know that
was just par for the course.
I think about his lips, and how inexperienced they felt, how weak, how
unsure. And he’s a cocky teenage boy, don’t get me wrong. One of the
better-looking ones, the most filled out. Still, he wouldn’t have been enough
for me.
I’m just like those hot flames tearing through the forest, greedy and
insatiable. I always need more. I crack my knuckles, fully aware of Sin’s
presence as he slinks through the crowd, his gaze never straying from me.
We don’t have a lot of time here; I don’t have the leisure of chatting about
the good ol’ days.
“Look, I’ve got to go,” I start, but Trevone just shakes his head at me.
“You’re not even going to tell us why you did it?” he asks, and I offer him
up a sharp look.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I remark, and it’s not even a joke.
Somehow, I feel like Trevone can sense it.
“Where are you off to, all dressed up?” Kellen asks, tucking his hands into
his pockets and narrowing his eyes on me. “We all know that Miss Daybreak
didn’t ghost our entire school just to show up at a shitty college party months
later.”
A thought occurs to me.
 “Either of you have a fake ID?” I ask, raising a brow. “Because I was
thinking of hitting the casino.”
The boys exchange a look before turning back to me. Trevone’s brown
eyes look contemplative, but Kellen just laughs at me.
“Yeah, right. Like we’d go anywhere with you after what you did to us.
We could’ve fucking died.”
“But you didn’t, did you?” I query back, raising both brows and
wondering if I’m not turning into my father already. I shouldn’t be asking
these guys to go to the casino with me; it’s dangerous. At the same time, all I
can think is what great cover they’ll make. Especially if they get caught up
with security for being underage. What a fantastic distraction. “Anyway,
screw the both of you. I have other plans tonight.”
I turn to walk away when Tre reaches out to grab my arm.
“Wait,” he says, and I feel those pretty vermillion lips of mine twist into a
daring smile. Trevone appears to be mesmerized by my mouth. Too bad for
him that it’s more than spoken for at this point. “We’re here with some of the
others. We can all go together? This party is lame anyway.”
“Dude, what the hell?” Kellen asks, but I just shrug one smooth shoulder.
“Whatever. You want to give me a ride then?”
Tre nods, and then slips out his phone to text whoever it is that’ll be
joining us.
“Sure thing. Let me just gather the crew.”
And so that’s how I end up inside Tre’s pickup with Kellen and Johnny K.
“So, you been in touch with Reba?” Tre asks as we drive the hour to the
casino. It’s a tribal casino, so it’s outside of town, perched on the edge of the
reservation. Its bright lights beckon wandering travelers as well as locals
from a three-hour radius to its opulent interior and promise of easy wealth.
The casino itself gets a lot of visitors, but it’s banked in by untamed
reservation land, national and state parks, and endless darkness. The woods
are our only companion as we rattle down the road, and I keep my phone in
my hand.
Just in case.
The guys—along with Cat and the dozen or so other Daybreakers with
him—aren’t far behind us. Unfortunately, Dena’s pink convertible—the car
she named the Baby—is right on our ass. She’s with Amiya and Chardou,
but that’s unsurprising. The three of them are probably a harem of their own.
 God, the look on Dena’s face when she saw me with Tre … It occurs to
me that I threatened to kill her the last time we met. Oh well. It was for her
own good. Gaz probably would’ve strangled her and left her for dead
eventually.
Fuck.
I play with a strand of blond hair and shrug.
“She’s becoming a nun,” I offer up, looking over at Tre, his handsome
face bathed in the lights from the dashboard. It turns his brown skin an eerie
green color, like he’s as much a specter in the night as I am.
Only, there’s nobody tonight who has a spirit as thirsty as I do.
Nobody.
“A nun?” Tre asks, and I hear Johnny K. snicker in the backseat. He leans
over the front seat, crossing his arms on the back of the long bench seat. He’s
still looking at me like he wants to fuck me, as if he doesn’t care that I
poisoned him with fentanyl and a sprinkle of whatever that strange drug is
that the mafia produces.
Crown really must’ve pushed to keep these kids alive; Cat wouldn’t have
cared if he’d killed the entire senior class of ASHS. Fuck. The dose these
guys got was so low that they survived, even without that strange silver
antidote.
It’s a miracle.
“Yep. Her parents left for some missionary thing, and she decided to
convert.” I tap my nails against the dark screen of my phone, looking out the
window as the blackness of night rolls by.
“Convert? Wasn’t she already Christian?” Johnny asks, looking between
me and Tre as Kellen sulks and sits slumped in the back seat. He doesn’t
want me here. The girls weren’t happy about it either, even though they
knew better than to say anything aloud. The way they look at me though, it’s
not much different than they looked at me before save for one key factor.
Fear.
They never feared me the way they do now.
Is it terrible that I like it? Do I care? I never asked to be the fucking
heroine in an epic love story. I’m an anti-hero at best, maybe even a
villainess. And so are my men. I’m fucking done apologizing for my life or
the choices I make. That’s what makes me and these men work so well.
We’re messy, flawed, fucked-up, fallible human beings.
Perfection is boring.
 Give me broken, give me shattered, let me embrace demons in the
darkness. I’ll take it. I’ll take the hot scorch of hellfire and the heavy weight
of damnation, just so that I can keep feeling with the intensity that I do. I’m
like … the princess and the pea, but instead of being some spoiled bitch who
should probably see a sleep specialist and also reassess her disturbing rage
toward errant legumes, I feel every small moment like a knife to the back.
A smile from Beast, a compliment from Crown, a peck from Grainger, a
wink from Sin. Those are the small, seemingly insignificant peas that I can
feel even with twenty layers of bullshit between me and them.
That’s it.
The club princess and the knife in the back, a love story. A dark fairy tale.
A harsh truth with so many wrongs that it all turns out just right.
At least … I hope so.
Now that I’ve allowed myself to taste that bitter tonic, I’m determined to
chase it with something sweet, even saccharine. So, a baby. Four men who
consider me their old lady. A yellow farmhouse. Motorcycles and grease and
Grey running the mafia, so I don’t have to fight every second of every day.
“There are all sorts of ways to be spiritual,” I say, chewing on my waxy
lower lip and thinking how it feels to have my men sheathed inside of me,
how sinful yet how holy, all at the same time. If there really is a god, that’s
where I’d find him, in the bedroom, stretched out underneath my men.
“Reba’s changed her flavor. She had chocolate before; it’s strawberry now.
Easiest way to think of it.”
“Fuck, Gidget, I forgot how weird you were,” Johnny murmurs, and then
he reaches out to run a hand down my arm, and I snatch his fingers in such a
tight grip that he actually chokes.
“Don’t touch me, Johnny,” I warn him, voice tight. I look right into his
eyes as I deliver my dose of venom. “And I’m not Gidget tonight. Call me
… Tina.” I smile brightly as Trevone laughs and Kellen huffs in the back
seat. “First person to call me Gidget instead of Tina gets punched in the
balls.”
“Whatever,” Johnny mutters, settling back into his seat for the remainder
of the drive.
The casino is like something from another world. One minute, we’re in the
endless shadows of the national forest and then there’s a huge, brightly
colored billboard, and the whole world shifts. The trees pull back, the
building rises from the shadows, and I see a huge parking lot filled with
countless cars, their surfaces dewy from the on and off rainstorms.
The moon is covered with smoke from the wildfires, but it doesn’t matter.
Triangle Lake Resort is bright enough to cast the entire area in brilliant,
glittering light.
“You think they’ll card us straight off?” Johnny is asking as we climb out,
and I find myself pausing as Dena pulls her convertible—with the top up,
mind you—into the space next to me. She damn near runs over my toes, and
if she did, I’d have killed her for ruining my carefully applied pedicure.
“Gidget,” Dena says, voice clipped as she looks me over and her two
cronies creep up on either side of her.
“It’s Tina tonight,” I correct, pointing at my blond hair and wondering
what finally happened to that weird love triangle between Tina, Trevone, and
Kellen. Considering the boys are here together, and Tina is decidedly not, it
must be something bad. “If you call me anything else, Cat will find out I was
here, and he’ll probably kill all of us.”
I give a faux grimace, shrug my shoulders, and pretend like I’m not
wearing a small pin camera on the front of my dress. It doesn’t look like
much, just a tiny silver skull, but it’s relaying live video and sound back to
the other Daybreakers.
Here goes nothing.
“Tina?” Dena queries back, pursing her mouth like a cat’s asshole. God, I
hate that expression. “What is wrong with you?”
“Clinically?” I ask, and then shrug again, my clutch held firmly in my
right hand. “I’m seriously considering psychopathy, but it could just be
antisocial personality disorder.” I take the clutch with me as Dena makes an
annoyed sound, her heels clacking as she follows along with the rest of our
group.
Luckily, the boys with us are all football bros with enough muscle to look
older than they really are, and Dena and her girls know how to do their hair
and makeup as well as I do. We might get carded, but unless these idiots
have jacked-up fake IDs, we won’t get caught. Considering they live in
Ashbury, they probably bought their fake IDs from a Daybreaker minion
meaning it’ll be quality stuff.
We head up the front steps in a group, and I look down at my clutch,
pulling out my phone and pretending to be engrossed in a text message as we
sweep through the front doors.
 “You want a drink or something?” Tre asks, seemingly relieved when
we’re not immediately tackled by casino goons three steps into the front
door. On my right, there’s a classy lounge full of glamorous looking people
with absurdly bourgeois drinks in their hands. Ahead of me and to my left,
flashing, blinking machines of every flavor fill the room, broken up only by
craps or blackjack tables, a roulette wheel, or the customer service desk in
the far corner.
There are three different sorts of casinos in the world (in my humble
opinion, at least): the shady sort, the touristy kind, and this—the classy
variety.
Mafia.
I can smell the silk and sweet venom of careful monsters, and my heart
leaps in my chest. I reach up to press a button on the earbud I’m wearing, the
one that’ll allow the boys to talk directly to me. I left it off in the quiet car,
so there wasn’t any echo or anything to give me away to the others.
“Took you long enough,” Crown chastises, and I can hear the restlessness
in his voice. I can’t respond to him without looking crazy in front of my
lovely group of high school buddies, so I ignore the quip.
“A drink would be great,” I tell Tre, flashing a coy smile. “I’ll go find a
table.”
“Well,” Dena chastises, looking Johnny and Kellen over. “Aren’t you
going to offer us anything?”
“I’ll buy if you put out,” Kellen says with a smirk, and Dena giggles at his
misogynistic douche-baggery like he’s just offered her flowers. Fuck, if one
of them dies in the crossfire tonight, I hope it’s Kellen Doughty.
“Get something for my girls, too, ‘kay?” Dena offers up, looking around
for a prime spot. She decides to head straight for the table closest to us, the
one that holds that in-between space between the pit and the lounge. I stay
cloistered with the other girls, enjoying the anonymity of our little group.
We take seats around the glossy, white surface of the table as my eyes scan
the room. I don’t expect to see Giulia or any of the men in Alvise’s tactical
team. I’d recognize them, too, since I spent hours and hours this week
looking through the photos that Grey sent me.
There are five of them in total.
Five men who were directly responsible for Queenie’s death, one of whom
is the asshole who said those unforgettable words—This is for Kian.—and
pulled the trigger on a heavily pregnant woman. Five men who took turns on
Posey and then left her for dead, her blood running down the pool drain.
I exhale and toss my hair back, trying to maintain my calm, desperately
tamping down those violent urges. Anyway, I don’t expect to see Giulia.
Grey said she was here to fuck her boytoy, right? They’re probably holed up
in the penthouse right now, banging one out.
But that’s okay, because we have a plan for that.
“Stay with the group for a while,” Crown tells me, even though I already
know. We’ve been over this a dozen times in the last few days. Maybe more
than that. “And then take a quick walk around.” He pauses for a minute, and
when he speaks again, it’s like he’s trying to talk around something bitter
and thick on his tongue. “Take the quarterback with you. He seems
interested.”
“Bet your ass he’s interested,” I tease, not caring that Chardou looks at me
like she’s considering running fast and hard in the opposite direction.
“Trevone,” I correct, looking back at her. “What do you think? Does he still
want to fuck me? Even after I poisoned him on his birthday?” Crap. I
should’ve said envenomated him on his birthday. My bad.
“Are you kidding me?” Amiya chirps, playing with the silky raven plait
that’s hanging over her shoulder. “We could’ve died at the Artefact that day.
Don’t you even care?”
I just stare right back at her, and I can tell that the blue contacts I’m
wearing are even more unnerving than my usual red-brown Cat eyes. Amiya
shifts uncomfortably and looks away, toward a table on the opposite side of
the lounge. It’s situated behind a red velvet rope, clearly a VIP area for bottle
service.
There are so many fancy people over there, ones that remind me of my
wedding guests, the ones I mowed down with a machine gun.
If only Amiya knew how much I cared, but how few choices I had. If only
she knew how much Crown cared. She should feel lucky to be alive because
people like her are usually just fodder for people like Cat. Like Alvise. Even
Grey.
And me … apparently.
I brought these kids here tonight, even knowing there’s a small chance
they could get hurt. Likely not, considering this place is full of the general
public. It isn’t easy to cover up dozens of civilian deaths, especially when
they’re all concentrated in one spot. My ‘friends’—as Crown put it—are
fairly safe here. But I would never have brought Reba along with me.
That’s the difference.
“Your daddy is a hedge fund manager,” I reply finally, as if that’s
accusation enough. “You don’t think he does things that are probably against
the goddamn Geneva Conventions on a regular basis? Don’t act like we’re
any different.”
Amiya turns back to me as Dena and Chardou exchange a look, but she
doesn’t dare say anything. And then the boys are back and passing out
drinks, clearly having been successful with their fake IDs at the bar.
Excellent.
Trevone takes a seat next to me while Kellen and Johnny sit across the
table with the girls interspersed between them.
“This place is fantastic,” Tre remarks, looking around with wonder as he
lifts a bottle of some fancy IPA to his lips. “Damn. Shoulda checked it out
sooner.”
“And if you win? Then what?” Dena asks snootily, gesturing in the
direction of the slot machines. “It’s totally pointless.” She tosses her hair and
then pauses at the sight of a handsome young man in a tailored suit.
His face triggers my memory, and I almost choke on the drink that I’m not
actually drinking. Couldn’t tell Trev that I’m knocked-up with a biker’s
baby, could I? Well, I mean, I’ve said things like that to these people before,
Amiya in particular. But I was joking then. It’s reality now.
I make sure that I’m facing the man as he walks past so that the boys can
see; he’s one of Alvise’s tactical guys.
“Fuck,” Crown murmurs, but this isn’t entirely unexpected. What is
unexpected, I think, is for the sea of glittering socialites on the other side of
the red velvet rope to adjust themselves so that I can see the person sitting at
the head of the table.
Giulia Wolfe.
My eyes widen as I spot her there, not fifty feet away from me.
Oh my fucking God.
She’s laughing and smiling and schmoozing, but when her eyes drift my
way, I drop my attention down to the clutch in my lap, certain that if she sees
my face, she’ll know right away who I am.
We have a disturbing sort of connection, me and Giulia.
 “You will never walk outside these walls without a leash. You’re a useful
political tool, that’s all you’ve ever been.”
Her words echo in my head as I stick the straw of my drink in my mouth
and suck up some of the liquid. I don’t swallow any though. Not only am I
pregnant—so weird—but also, I can’t allow myself to be incapacitated by
anything.
My head must be clear for this.
“We don’t actually have to gamble,” Tre throws out with a scoff. He
clearly can’t stand Dena, but since she’s the most popular girl at Ashbury
besides Tina, he puts up with her. Because that’s what his life is about,
stupid, insignificant things like popularity or football. He doesn’t live and
breathe death and destruction, doesn’t revel in the simple things, like the air
in his lungs or his safe, easy neighborhood and his safe, easy future. “We’re
here for drinks and ambiance.” He gestures with his head toward the back of
the casino. “There’s all sorts of shit here: a huge arcade, a pool area with a
hot tub and a sauna, shops, a second bar area with live music. Don’t be such
a stuck-up bitch, Dena.”
They’re bickering, but I’m not listening.
Instead, I lift my gaze up to peer at Giulia from beneath my eyelashes, as
if I’m just a demure blonde on Tre’s arm. No, I’m anything but that. I have
the ghosts of all three of my siblings inside of me. I have Queenie’s strength
and Posey’s sass, Gaz’s endless rage.
“This drink sucks,” I say with a shrug, pushing the bright blue whatever it
is toward the center of the table. “I’m going to get something else from the
bar.”
“You want me to grab it?” Tre offers up, but I’m already standing and
Crown is in my goddamn ear.
“Don’t get too close to her,” he warns me, but I don’t plan on it.
“Nah, I’m good,” I offer up with a coy, little smile, scooting past him and
heading in the direction of the bar. I lean my forearms against the surface of
it and then flick a glance toward Giulia’s table.
“Keep an eye on her. As soon as she leaves the lounge, figure out where
she’s going without getting too close,” Crown continues.
“I want to hurt her so fucking badly,” I whisper, just before the bartender
swings my way, and I order a ginger ale. You’d think I’d ordered a
punchbowl of vodka for the way the guy looks at me, like I’m completely
nuts.
 “I know, Gidge. I know. But keep it together.”
I accept my drink with a smile and toss a ten on the counter, taking a seat
on one of the stools to sip it. My stomach is roiling with nausea, but I don’t
think it’s the pregnancy. I’m in the presence of monsters, and my own inner
monster can sense it.
I subtly shift my gaze back to the table only to notice that another man has
joined Giulia, one of his big hands on her slender shoulder. The way his
fingers tense imperceptibly against her skin, I know right away who this is.
Her lover. A man named Cosimo Balotelli, a capo for the Grey Wolfe Mafia.
A capo is short for caporegime, which is basically like a captain who heads a
group of soldiers.
In this case, Alvise’s tactical team.
The majority of the other people have drifted away toward another table,
leaving Giulia and Cosimo alone.
“This is for you,” he tells her in a velvety baritone, and I swear to fuck,
my brain literally snaps in half.
This is for you.
This is for Kian.
This is for Kian.
This is for Kian.
I turn sharply toward the man in the black-on-black suit and tie, and I feel
my heart lurch strangely in my chest. I recognize his voice. I recognize it
because it’s been playing in my mind for years, a relentless requiem that
leaves my soul just a bit colder, a bit more bereft, every time I hear it.
I would recognize that voice anywhere, could pick it out of any crowd.
The man hands Giulia a red rose which she brings to her nose, smiling
devilishly as she flicks her dark gaze back toward Cosimo’s face.
“You always know how to please a woman,” she murmurs, looking back
toward the rose and closing her eyes as she breathes in its scent. “I’ll meet
you in five.”
“I’ll be waiting patiently,” Cosimo purrs, his accent decidedly American,
despite his very Italian sounding name. He takes off with smooth, confident
strides, and I turn back to my drink.
“We need to know where they’re headed,” Crown tells me, his voice edged
with that impossible authority. “Figure that out, but don’t follow them.”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, staring into my drink and trying to keep my hands
from shaking. I wait for Giulia to stand up, abandoning my ginger ale on the
counter, and then I follow behind her at a safe distance.
She slips into a pair of swinging doors with the words Employees Only on
them.
I know from the floorplans on Sin’s iPad that this particular hallway leads
to the kitchen. There’s a single elevator for room service, a pair of employee
restrooms, several storage rooms, and a commercial kitchen that’s not
currently functioning. The restaurant is a new addition to the casino, a mafia-
added extra that wasn’t here before, and it isn’t open yet.
There’s also an exit that leads to the rear parking lot.
“We’ve got guys on the back door,” Crown tells me. “I’ll let you know if
they come outside.”
Only, I’m sure they’re not going outside. They’re obviously sneaking off
to fuck. I know passion when I see it; it’s a special skill of mine.
They could be using the service elevator to get upstairs. That’s a distinct
possibility.
An employee breezes past me as I pretend to be interested in the nearest
slot machine, holding a tray of drinks for starry-eyed gamblers in her hands.
She skips right past the employee doors.
I feel my palms start to get itchy, the way they do when I’m looking for
trouble.
“They’re in there, probably with their pants down—literally. I want to
check out the situation.”
“Absolutely not,” Crown growls out, and then I hear a small blip in my
earpiece.
“Go on.” It’s Cat’s voice. “I want to know if they took the elevator or not.
Hurry your ass up.”
Oh shit.
My boys are going to be furious, but I did promise I would follow orders,
right?
Cat’s orders are absolute.
I push through the doors and take off down the hall at a quick clip. If I get
caught by an employee, I’ll just claim that I got lost looking for the
bathroom.
The elevator is silent when I pass by, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t
already use it. I decide to check the employee restrooms, but don’t see
anyone in either the men’s or the women’s bathroom.
 “There’s nobody outside yet,” Crown confirm, his voice tight with
frustration.
“Almost done,” I murmur back, keeping my voice low. I duck into a
storage room to look around, but that, too, is empty. I step back into the hall
and keep going.
The kitchen is just ahead of me, barely visible behind the large metal
doors with their porthole windows. On my right, there’s a hallway that hooks
around the corner and leads outside.
I decide to check that direction, just to be sure, and that’s when I spot
them.
Giulia’s back is pressed to the wall, her dress rucked up around her hips,
and Alvise’s favorite capo is plunging his cock into his boss’ wife like he’s
on a mission.
I pause as Cat’s laughter rings out in my earpiece.
“Excellent. Let’s get in the back door and grab ‘em both.”
He doesn’t tell me not to step in. He doesn’t tell me not to move.
I stare openmouthed at Giulia as she kisses and nuzzles the side of
Cosimo’s neck and he fucks her with these annoying grunts, stabbing his
dick in her over and over again. They’re both so helpless right now …
Literally caught with their pants down.
I reach into my clutch and pull out Queenie’s knife, unfolding the blade
before I start to move. I’m not even fully conscious of what I’m doing. I’m
moving on instinct and that blinding need for revenge.
I’m so quick about it that by the time Crown starts yelling at me, it’s too
late.
Giulia notices me a split-second before I plunge my knife into the side of
her lover’s neck. Her eyes widen as Cosimo gurgles, already choking on his
own blood. I’ve severed his carotid, and it sprays out in a disturbing arc. In
movies, when people get their throats slit, they just bubble a little crimson
and collapse.
In real life, that’s not what happens.
The heart keeps pumping, and red liquid sprays everywhere as Cosimo
drops Giulia and stumbles back, his bare cock already covered in his own
blood.
“You little barbarian bitch!” Giulia shouts, her dress still lifted up to
expose her perfectly waxed and bare cunt. She manages to snatch her lover’s
gun from his belt before he falls into the wall opposite her, clutching at his
neck and then falling to a twitchy mess on the floor. He’s passed out; he’ll
soon be dead.
I slam into Giulia, knocking her off-balance but failing to get the gun from
her hands. I reach for the back door, but it’s locked. Shit. Why is it locked
from the inside?! I turn around just in time to see her aim at me, and one of
my lessons from Beast kicks in. With my left hand, I slam my palm into the
gun, pushing it aside. With my right, I throw a punishing blow at Giulia’s
face, and then my left hand comes up under hers, attempting to yank the
weapon away.
She’s good though.
Better than Gaz, that’s for sure.
Giulia manages to keep the gun, and then shoves at me with both hands;
I’m forced to either let her pin me to the back door or maneuver around her.
Doesn’t give me a chance to grab my own gun, but I sidestep her and then
reach back, grabbing at her face and shoving the back of her head hard
against the door.
I yank the Magnum from my clutch and toss the purse aside, but Giulia is
already in the process of aiming at me with her own gun. I am not about to
get shot again, so I turn to run the short distance down the hall, slipping in
the blood at the last minute and going down hard.
It’s a fortunate mistake as Giulia’s first shot flies right over my head, and I
scramble around the corner toward the kitchen. The guys should be storming
through that back door at any moment. Doesn’t matter if it’s locked. They’ll
find a way in.
I only need to buy time.
I burst into the kitchen covered in blood, thankful that it’s still under
construction and empty of employees. We don’t need any rando bystanders
caught in the crossfire.
Giulia follows me inside. Whether because she suspected that I’d go in the
opposite direction or because she’s a maniac, I don’t know. All I know is that
she’s firing her gun at me, and I’m diving behind one of the steel counters
like a kid in Jurassic Park, scrambling around the corner of the counter as I
hear footsteps.
“You cunt,” she hisses, her breath panting and frantic. Maybe she actually
loved Cosimo Balotelli? Who knows? I don’t particularly care. I hope she
did. I hope his death hits her like a freight train to the chest the way
Queenie’s death did me. “I should’ve given you to my men to play with and
then jammed the heel of my stiletto into your eye socket.”
Creative.
I give her props for that even as I aim my own weapon around one of the
counters. Unfortunately, I don’t see her anywhere.
“We’re on our way, Gidge. Hold tight.” It’s Crown. I think he’s been
talking to me for several minutes now, but the buzz of the adrenaline chased
away his words. I feel strength surge through me at the sound of his voice,
and then I’m crawling in the opposite direction on all fours to peer around
that end of the counter.
Nothing.
I still my breathing as best as I can and wait, listening for any possible
sound. Footsteps. Panting breaths. Clinking silverware.
I start to wonder if Giulia hasn’t left the room already.
There’s a prickle on the back of my neck. A gunshot goes off as I throw
myself instinctually around the corner. The bullet buries itself into the wall
two feet from where I was crouching. I stand up then slide over the counter
on my belly, looking down to see if I can’t see her.
Damn it.
I drop back down and put my back to the counter, listening for movement.
Figures the don’s wife would be a badass.
Fuck.
All I can hear is my heart beating, and the chatter from the other side of
my earpiece.
From the sound of it, the boys have run into trouble on their way in from
the woods.
Shit, shit, double, triple shit.
I shove up to my feet and start to run, weaving through the convoluted
shape of the kitchen and hoping that Giulia is having as much trouble getting
a clear shot on me as I am her. Also, thank fuck that I wore flats instead of
heels. Trust me, this outfit would’ve looked a million times hotter with a pair
of black stilettos, but I would’ve had to kick them off already in order to
haul ass.
Giulia surprises me by knocking into me just as I reach the swinging
doors, and we both go down hard, scrambling at one another for a chance to
fire off an easy shot. She pulls the trigger on me, and a bullet buries itself
into the floor.
 She’s got a silencer on her weapon, but it’s still loud, and I’m having
trouble hearing Crown’s voice as he yells at me. The heel of my hand comes
up, slamming into Giulia’s face as she tries to fire another shot.
Another miss.
I end up dropping the Magnum so that I can grab both of Giulia’s wrists,
shoving the aim of her own weapon away from my face. She resists, her
teeth gritted, angry tears streaming down her face but failing to smear any of
that careful liner or mascara she’s wearing. Must be pretty expensive stuff.
Even the blood of her lover hasn’t managed to wash any of it away.
Because I’m club, because I’m just a dirty animal, I allow Giulia to lower
her hands just enough that I can lift my head up and bite down on her wrist
hard enough to draw blood. She lets out a violent exhale in place of a
scream, but I’ve disrupted her grip enough that she drops her own gun.
She rolls immediately away from me, reaching for the weapon, but I’m on
her back, wrapping an arm around her neck. Our scrabbling sends the pistol
spinning underneath the nearest counter. Meanwhile, I can feel the cool
metal of the Magnum on my left side, but I don’t dare reach back for it and
unsettle my own balance.
Giulia digs her now bare feet—she was wearing heels—into the floor and
then kicks violently, spinning our bodies to the side and then sliding right
back between my legs. She’s up, and I’m rolling over just in time to see her
snatch a knife from the counter.
Without a word, she drops down, driving the knife toward me, and I just
barely manage to roll to one side. The Magnum is right there, but as I go for
it, Giulia slashes at me with her newfound weapon, drawing blood all down
my right hip.
I stumble a bit and my hand hits the gun, knocking it even further out of
reach. I’m forced to engage Giulia as she comes at me with the knife again. I
end up kicking her in the chest and sending her back several feet.
I’m barely able to find mine before she’s coming at me again. There’s no
time to bend down and grab the gun, so I grab a knife of my own off the
counter and hold it the way Grainger showed me, all of my fingers nice and
tight around the grip.
We’re both panting now, covered in blood that mostly isn’t ours. I ignore
the fire of agony in my right hip, more concerned with keeping my attention
on Giulia. My eyes flick toward the Magnum. It’s right fucking there on the
floor, but if I go for it, she’ll come for me, and she’s fast.
 Just like a viper. Ready to strike.
“You,” she says again, with a small laugh. I’m surprised nobody’s come in
here yet—mafia or club or otherwise. It’s just us. Just me and my almost
mother-in-law.
“Me,” I agree, smiling prettily at her. It must look hideous, with her
lover’s blood all over my face. “How was it, by the way? To have your man
start to die while he was still inside of you? Must’ve been traumatic.”
Giulia’s dark eyes narrow, her carefully coiffed hair coming loose to
tumble in straight dark hanks around her shoulders. She’s pushed her dress
back down, but we both know she’s commando under there.
What she doesn’t do is rush me in anger. I’d been hoping for that, a messy,
wild thrust of her knife that I could sidestep and then grab the Magnum.
Instead, she goes to circle me, but I won’t let her. I don’t need her moving
closer to the gun while I’m pushed farther away. Instead, I hold my ground
until she’s bold enough to try for an attack.
She thrusts the knife toward me, and I decide to drop my own, using my
right forearm to slam into hers as I spin my body to the side and then grab
her wrist with both hands. Giulia jerks back from me, but I don’t release my
grip and we stumble together into a nearby counter.
I can still taste her blood in my mouth as I throw my head back and slam
my skull into her face. She grunts, and I do it again. Her grip on the knife
loosens slightly, and I’m able to slam her hands on the edge of the counter,
dislodging the weapon.
I turn before she can react and throw a hard punch that hits her right in the
throat. Giulia’s clever as fuck though because she drops down to the floor
and hits it hard, lunging forward to grab the knife and then turning to swing
it at the backs of my legs.
Sharp pain lances across my calves as I throw my own body forward,
hating that she’s closer to the gun than I am, but desperate to keep myself out
of her reach. I spin around and grab my own knife, rising to my feet and
brandishing it at her once again.
She very carefully gets up. Giulia might not be looking at the gun, but we
both know exactly where it is. First person there will likely win this fight.
“Did you love him?” I taunt, and she just laughs at me.
“Love him? He was a hot fuck and that’s it. Don’t kid yourself.” Giulia
says the words, but I don’t believe them. Because I saw the way she looked
at the rose he gave her—like it truly meant something. I might not
understand a lot in life, but what I do know is this: love and heartbreak. Give
me a PHD in that shit because I know all there is to know. “We used to talk
about how tight and hot your sister, Posey, was, how good it felt for Cosimo
to sink his cock into her while she screamed. It got us both off.”
I have to swallow past my rage, suddenly realizing as I do that my
earpiece is missing. It must’ve gotten knocked out in the melee. Fuck.
She’s trying to hurt me the way I’m trying to hurt her, and the worst part is
that it’s working. Between the two of us, I’m much more likely to lose my
shit and react emotionally to the situation.
I force myself to shut those thoughts down.
Just in time, too, because Giulia throws her knife at me and dives for the
Magnum. It’s in her hands and she’s taking a shot just before I drop down on
the other side of the counter. She knows where I am, and we’re near the front
of the kitchen now. I don’t have a lot of places to go. I’ve got walls on two
sides of me.
Instead, I decide that it’s do or die.
I need to make a bold move, and I need to do it now.
I hop over the counter, surprising her, and our bodies collide. We crash to
the floor together, and then I’m throwing the knife down and it’s glancing off
bone. I do it again. And again. I’m hitting her, but in non-vital places. At the
very least, she’s lost the gun again.
I jerk back and then drop the knife into her belly, the blade sliding through
her flesh with this horrendous popping sensation. Can you really go to hell
for killing the devil? I wonder, scrambling back and looking for the
Magnum. It’s gone. I can’t find it. Where did it go?!
Giulia is groaning and rolling onto her side as I stumble to my feet and
look around for the other pistol. Instead, I see a metal serving cart that looks
like it was either being repaired or being put together. One of the metal
supports is lying beside the mess of parts, and I pick it up, tapping the end of
it against my palm.
My breathing is so loud, my heartbeat so ferocious, I can barely hear
anything else. Even Giulia’s moans are low and hard to hear. She’s already
grabbed onto the nearest countertop and is trying to drag herself to her feet.
I walk right up to her and swing the pole, hitting her with it and dropping
her to the floor.
“Fucking biker filth,” she groans, blood spattered everywhere. I’ve cut her
arms to ribbons. “It was the right choice, killing your whore of a sister and
that monstrosity of a baby that was inside of her.” I lift the metal pipe—or
whatever it is—up and swing it down on Giulia. Again. Again.
I’m beating her with the pole like I’ve completely and utterly lost my
mind.
With a growl, I throw the pole as hard as I can, and it slams into the wall.
As soon as I do, panting and shaking and bleeding, I look at Giulia and see
that she’s still very much alive. That’s when I catch sight of the Magnum,
half under the edge of a stove. I walk over to it and pick it up.
“You’re nothing,” Giulia groans, pushing herself into a sitting position.
She turns to look at me, and there’s so much fire in her eyes, I almost feel
bad about what I’m going to do. “Nothing. Just an uneducated, white trash
whore. What do you really think you’re going to get out of this? Accolades
from your mongrel father? I’ll tell you what you’ll get: nothing. That club
will use you and toss you aside like so much garbage.”
I lift the weapon up in one hand, using the other to swipe some of the
blood away from my mouth. The doors behind me open, and I can feel the
presence of my men like a tempest.
“This is for Queenie,” I say simply, and then I pull the trigger, putting a
single round right through Giulia Wolfe’s forehead.
Beast grabs me immediately, turning me around so that he can look at me.
“Where are you hurt, wife?” he asks, but I’m too pumped up with
adrenaline to remember. Am I hurt? Did she get me?
I can’t seem to pull my gaze away from Beast’s. His expression is tight
with concern, but underneath all of that is love. It’s endless and devastating
in its purity. How long has it been there? When did he let himself drop into
the void that calls itself true love, that boundless velvet sky where you and
your lover are the only stars?
“I’m not hurt,” I reply woodenly, looking down at the feeling of hot
fingers on my hip. It’s Grainger.
“What the fuck do you call this then?” he growls out, but his angry tone is
laced with that same awe-inspiring depth that Beast holds in his face.
“It’s shallow,” I reply, but I’m not sure that it is. Mostly, when I look up
and meet his umber gaze, I just want him to keep touching me. My heart is
thundering, and I’m dripping crimson all over the floor, but mostly, it’s not
my blood.
“I’m gonna kill Cat,” Beast growls out, reaching for me. I put my hands
up and offer him the Magnum instead.
“No, I’m not done,” I tell him, glancing over at the wall and spotting
several meat cleavers stuck to the magnetic strip. I move over to it and grab
one, hefting it in my hand before I pause beside Giulia’s body.
 “Gidge,” Grainger says gently, but then he stands aside with Beast and lets
me do my thing. I end up finishing my task and swiping an arm over my
bloody face. I chuck the cleaver into the sink and then head into the storage
room that’s attached to the kitchen.
The very first thing I see is a canvas bag filled with dry rice.
I blink through the sensation of déjà vu before I move over to it and dump
the rice onto the floor. Bag in hand, I load up my cargo, tie a loose knot at
the top and then give the two men a look.
“I need to find my phone,” I say, but then Beast is grabbing me and
throwing me over his shoulder the way he did the day of the wedding. I let
him do it with barely a protest, allowing Grainger to take the bag from my
fingers as he follows.
“Where is it?” he demands, and then he retrieves my knife and my clutch
—including my phone—as Beast heads to the back door and kicks it open. It
isn’t locked anymore, that’s for certain.
We head into the cool wetness of the night, the scent of the blood on my
skin mixing with that delicate wet earth smell and the omnipresent reek of
ash.
We don’t stop until we’re near the woods and Beast is setting me on my
feet.
“What happened to you guys?” I ask as Beast picks a quick pace and
enfolds my entire hand in his so that he can drag me along with him.
“Cat happened,” Grainger snarls, holding the morbid, bloodstained sack in
his right hand, my sparkly clutch in the other. It’s macabre and weird and
totally and completely fucked. “After he gave you the go-ahead, he fired off
a shot and drew heat on us. Took us this long to get over to you.”
“Crown and Sin went in the front,” Beast says, frowning hard as he looks
over at me. “Nobody else went inside.”
Ah.
“Cat was testing me, challenging me … maybe he was even hoping I’d
die?” I murmur, but then I shake the feeling off and practice my stupid fox
walk, trying to keep quiet as we head back in the direction of the bikes.
“Where are Crown and Sin now?”
“They should be back already,” Grainger says, tucking my clutch beneath
his arm and checking his phone. “They slipped their cuts off and took a risk.
We’re just lucky they’re not dead.”
 We stop talking as we get farther from the casino, and the woods grow
darker and wilder. There are blackberry brambles leaving sharp vampire
kisses on my legs, but I ignore them, trudging through with dogged
determination.
Once I get home, I might feel things. A lot of things probably. Right now,
I feel nothing but sick satisfaction and relief. My men are alive; I’m alive;
Giulia and Cosimo are dead. That’s all I care about.
We pause just a few meters away from a clearing and Beast hefts my
duffel bag up from its hiding place in the bushes, handing it over to me. A
quick outfit change, and I’m ready to ride: leather pants, long-sleeved shirt,
boots, as per usual. I ditch the bloody wig, too.
When we finally emerge on the area where Cat is waiting, straddling his
bike and smoking a cigarette, I feel my red lips twist into a smile.
“Give me the bag, Grainger,” I say, and he does, keeping pace with me
and Beast as we make our way toward Cat, the headlight of his bike
illuminating a narrow path in front of him.
I pause just in front of his red and black motorcycle.
My eyes find both Sin’s and Crown’s, even though they’re cloaked in
shadow, and I’m drenched in light and blood. I feel them when they look at
me, and then I turn back to Cat.
“Well,” he says with a bit of a laugh. “I’ll be damned.” He leans forward,
the cherry of his smoke illuminating his face. “You really are my daughter,
aren’t you?”
I untie the bag, reach inside, and grip a hank of Giulia Wolfe’s hair.
And then I throw her head at my father’s feet, just as I promised I would.
There’s a very sudden silence among the men that have come with him, a
dozen or so of Cat’s and Crown’s favorites. I’m pleased by that; word of this
will spread quickly through DBD and maybe the other men and their wives
and the groupies and whoever else will remember to keep their traps shut
when it comes to my relationship with the officers.
“And I did it all while pregnant.” I keep smiling. I’m sure it’s hideous. I’m
sure I look like a demon from the Old Testament, something wicked and
carnal and sinful and violent. “But hey, maybe I should’ve been born with a
dick, and you’d patch me into your club?”
I turn and head over to Beast’s bike, accepting his jacket as he puts it over
my shoulders and slipping my arms into the sleeves. I climb up behind my
old man—I know it’s a weird thing to call your husband, but that’s how we
do it in DBD—and he kickstarts the engine.
Told ya that between Giulia and me, I wasn’t going to be the one who
broke.
I am Gidget Kesselring, and I am un-fucking-breakable.
I gasp as I pull my helmet off, chucking it aside and letting my head fall
back so that I can look up at a sky that’s disturbingly bereft of stars. Can’t
see a fucking one of them due to the smoke. It makes me wonder if we aren’t
all trapped in hell, cut off from the rest of the world, with nothing but a
dome of grit and ash over this dark bubble we’re all living in.
In that moment, however, I don’t care.
My veins run hot with violence, and my entire body is sticky with blood. I
hate how much I like that, how disturbed I am. Two of the people
responsible for the deaths of my sisters have joined them in the grave. Good
riddance.
The only part of this night that’s upsetting to me is the fact that we missed
the other four members of the tactical team.
“You alright, wife?” Beast asks, glancing over his shoulder at me as I
close my eyes and let the small, cool droplets of rainwater spatter on my
overheated skin. I’m surprised that they’re not sizzling and steaming,
evaporating as they make contact with the savagery in my aching flesh.
“I’m fine,” I say, dropping my chin back down and opening my eyes. I
throw my leg over the side of the bike and turn to find Grainger standing far
too close to me.
“Bullshit. You just beheaded the don’s wife. No part of me believes you’re
unaffected by that.” Cade puts his hands on my hips and sighs. “Maybe we
shouldn’t have let you do that? It’s a lot, Gidge. You’re putting yourself
through a lot.”
I give him a look, reaching up to swipe at some of the blood on my face.
Much of it dried during the ride, but the rain is bringing it back to life again.
That, and I’m not sure if my hip is still bleeding. Oh, or the slices across the
backs of my calves. I can feel the sting, but it’s a distant, unremarkable
thing.
“Let me do it?” I clarify, and Grainger gives a low growl of frustration.
“You know what I mean,” he says as Beast climbs off his bike to stand
beside me, and Crown and Sin join us. I look over at the pair of them, their
faces illuminated by the distant flicker of the porch light. I’m curious to see
what their reactions are, considering they had to remain stoic in front of Cat
and his men.
“You need to get your ass inside and get cleaned up,” Sin tells me, barking
orders like he thinks he’s Crown or something. “You might think this isn’t
going to affect you, but it will. When you least expect it, probably.”
“Don’t fuss,” I warn him as my eyes sweep past Crown’s and he exhales.
“You impressed Cat tonight,” he offers, putting his hands on his hips. “But
you know what?” He looks up at me. “From now on, I am your commanding
officer. You should never have chased after Giulia and Cosimo.”
“We can’t risk defying Cat right now,” I return, but we all know that isn’t
why I did that.
I was proving myself. To the boys. To Cat. To the club. To the mafia.
Mostly, to myself.
I might not have been able to shoot Grey in cold-blood, but I cut his
mother’s head off.
People who fuck with my family don’t deserve empathy or kindness, just a
quick ticket to the underworld.
“Regardless, you defer to me from now on. If Cat has a problem with it,
I’ll work it out with him.”
That’s the way it’s supposed to be done with old ladies anyway. The thing
is, Crown’s really sticking his neck out for me yet again. He’s claiming me
—even if he knows Cat won’t like it.
I study Crown for a minute and then nod, turning away from him to head
toward the porch steps. First thing I need to do is check on Reba. Leaving
her here alone freaked me out, I won’t lie, but I’m hoping tonight gives me
the leverage I need to convince Cat to leave her alone.
 I delivered him Giulia Wolfe’s head for fuck’s sake. The least he can do is
let my friend go.
I pop up the steps two at a time, the men at my heels. The tension in the
air is thick; I know they’re worried about me. Not simply because tonight
was dangerous as hell—it really was—but because they think I’m going to
have a mental break over what I did.
Yet, I still don’t feel anything but the spicy heat of adrenaline.
I pound up the staircase and open Reba’s bedroom door to see if she’s in
there. She is. I see her sleeping on her bed as soon as I pop my head into the
room, the dull glow of a night-light the only light source. Fem lifts his head
to look at me, ears perked, body alert.
I fox walk quietly into the room and offer him a pat on the head. “Stay,” I
command as I grab a blanket from the end of the bed and lay it across my
friend’s sleeping body.
It’s the last kind or decent thing I’ll do for the rest of the night.
By the time I get downstairs again, all four men are in the living room and
Grainger is holding a bottle of whiskey by the neck. He takes a swig of it as I
walk in, his clever gaze caught on my bloodied form like it’s drawn there by
dark magic.
He seems mesmerized by me, and I like that. I want to hold these four in
thrall and keep them forever.
“Do you see now what you’ve gotten yourself into?” I ask, and Beast
chuckles, accepting the bottle when Grainger passes it over to him.
“You think we didn’t know what you were capable of, sugar?” he asks,
raising both of his sandy blond brows. He swigs some of the alcohol, and my
throat burns with want for it. That, or a cigarette. Being pregnant sucks.
Didn’t stop me from taking care of business though, now did it?
“If you ever decide that you don’t want to be with me, you better come to
me first. If I find any one of you balls-deep in some bitch, I’ll kill you both.”
I smile as I sit down on the edge of the couch, wondering how I might be
able to satisfy the dark urges rolling around me without the use of weed,
booze, or tobacco.
There’s only one thing that comes to mind.
“Show me the cut on your hip,” Crown commands, opening a first aid kit
on the surface of the coffee table. Sin leans against the wall next to the TV
with his arms crossed, watching me with eyes the same color as the storm
outside.
 “This one?” I ask innocently, popping the button on my leather pants. I
push the fabric down lower than I probably should, revealing a neat wound
that’s already beginning to scab over.
“You could’ve been killed tonight,” Crown tells me, opening an alcohol
swab and swiping it over the wound. He isn’t nice about it either, putting
enough pressure on the cut that I hiss in pain. He actually wipes so hard, so
aggressively, that the initial clotting comes away, and fresh blood oozes to
the surface, a violent, disturbing red.
I sit there panting, my pants pulled low, the other three men sharing a
bottle of liquor. There’s a fire crackling in the brick fireplace, too. It’s small
now, freshly lit, but the flames are beginning to eat away at the kindling,
catching along the length of the log and flaring with bright orange heat. It
matches the heat in my heart as I lift my eyes up to look at Crown.
He purposefully ignores me, studying the wound and trying to determine
if I might need stitches. He shakes his head, so I take it that it’s not a very
serious injury.
“You’ll go shower here in a minute, scrub yourself down. Then we can put
ointment on that and bandage it up.” He gives me a dark look that’s very
clearly a command. “Any other injuries we need to know about?”
I nod, and his jaw tightens.
“On the backs of my legs. But they’re shallow. Even less important than
this.” I tap my finger against the now bleeding wound.
“You could’ve lost the baby you know,” Crown tells me, heaving a huge
sigh as he glances over at the other men. He looks back at me before opening
a new wipe and swiping the fresh blood off my hip yet again. “You keep
reminding us that we’re mortal; so are you.”
“Mm. But only just barely,” I say, lifting up a finger. Crown ignores me,
wadding up the bloodied wipes into a pile and snapping his fingers.
“Show me the wounds on your legs,” he commands, but I give him a look.
“That’ll require me to take my pants off. Are you sure you can handle it?”
I ask, but Crown is too annoyed with the situation and chooses to ignore the
innuendo. My husband, on the other hand, hears it and responds.
He heaves a breath, and I look up, seeing that edge of violence in his gaze
that I know is reflected in my own. We really do make a perfect pair, me and
Beast. He wanted an alpha female; he got one.
I also know how he likes to calm down, what soothes his nerves. It’s the
same solution that came to mind when I realized that I couldn’t drink or
smoke my way out of this wicked haze.
“Let marriage be had in honor among all, and let the bed be undefiled: for
fornicators and adulterers God will judge.” I stand up and move over to
Beast where he’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch.
“For such an unholy sinner, you sure do know the Bible,” he murmurs,
letting a dark smile edge his gorgeous mouth. He hasn’t shaved since the
wedding, but I like the thick, dirty blond stubble on his strong jaw. My
fingers tease the roughness of it, and I debate asking him to shave maybe
once a month to keep this look. I’m obsessed with it.
“Too much time spent with Reba,” I admit, running my hands down to
Beast’s shoulders. “But I’m not worried about the defiling part. In fact, I’d
love to defile our marriage bed over and over and over again. As far as
adulterers? Well, I already told you all what would happen if you betrayed
me like that.”
“Duly noted,” Beast murmurs as he stands up from the sofa, and I take a
step back.
My breath releases in a rush, and I can feel the other three men watching
us, unsure as to what, exactly, they should be doing right now.
I’m about to show them.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I say, casting a look over at Grainger, at Sin, back
toward Crown. I move around Beast, and he turns with me, watching me in
the flickering glow from the fireplace. There are no other lights on, and the
night outside is utterly black and empty. Just woods filled with buried
bodies. We’re on the compound, sure, but this is a new addition to the
property and it’s far enough away from the concentration of people at the
clubhouse that we may as well exist in our own world.
With my pants still unbuttoned and hanging low, I push them down over
the round swell of my ass, bending over the side of the couch as I do. My
dark hair falls forward, and I sweep it back, looking up at Beast in blatant
invitation.
I want him now.
No, I need him now.
I need all four of them, just like I did that night. Except, unlike that
wicked, awful night, I’m not chasing my pain away. I’m present and
accepting of the shadows that make up my soul. I’ve always wondered what
it would feel like if I gave into the darkness. Well, here I am. Let the night
consume me; I want that.
 I want this; I want them.
“Shit, Gidge, what are you doing?” Sin asks, his voice choked and his
gaze covetous. He likes this. But he also isn’t sure he can handle seeing me
with another man. I feel his jealousy pulsing like a bright beacon from across
the room.
My eyes meet his as Beast moves around behind me, his huge, hulking
body a hot press against my ass and naked cunt. I know what it must look
like from back there, swollen and tight and wet. I’m soaked down to my
thighs right now, practically dripping.
That’s how fucked-up I am.
I killed two people tonight, and all I can think about is screwing my men.
“What am I doing?” I ask, my voice breathy, almost perverse. “Being an
old lady to four men. That’s what I’m doing.”
“Oh, fuck,” Grainger growls, and I know that even with his possessive
nature, he won’t have any problem screwing me right here, right now. He
doesn’t care if the others watch. If they participate. Only that he gets his
piece.
Crown says nothing at all, but I can feel his eyes on me as I throw a
coquettish look over my shoulder and Beast grips my hips with strong,
capable hands. A moan slips out of me as I arch my back and press into him.
“You’ve lost your mind,” Sin mutters, but I notice that he doesn’t leave
the room.
He stays.
Even if I have lost my mind, even if this is fucked-up, I don’t care.
“Fuck me,” I murmur, and Beast laughs. This is a thing between us now,
isn’t it? Me begging and him resisting, and I just hope like hell that he
doesn’t tease me tonight. I can’t handle that.
“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he drawls, his voice hot and sticky and
thick with need. I want to go to Tennessee with him so badly in that moment.
I want him to show me where he grew up and introduce me to his family and
imbed me into his life like a thorn that can never be removed.
The sound of him removing his belt and unbuckling his jeans makes me
squirm.
I lift my eyes up, flicking my attention to the side and finding Grainger’s
hungry gaze on me. He watches my face as Beast slides a finger down my
slippery folds, teasing me as I huff out a breath. I’m still wearing his jacket,
too. That must account for something.
 Beast pushes a single finger into me, and I gasp. Holy shit, that’s tight.
Why am I so damn tight tonight? Must be because my leather pants are
creating a cage around my legs. There’s no give there. I’m stuck with my
thighs pressed more or less together.
He works that single finger in and out, the slick sound of my flesh echoing
in the suddenly quiet room. There’s the fire’s heated breath battering against
the glass of the decorative screen. There’s the sound of the whiskey burbling
as Grainger lifts it to his wicked mouth, his eyes still locked on mine.
I keep watching him as Beast inserts a second finger, and a moan escapes
my lips. I should probably shower some of this blood off before fucking, but
… I’m not going to. I don’t want to wait. Besides, what did Giulia say? She
and Cosimo liked to … well, if she can get off on horrible things, so can I.
I did it, Posey. I got them for you. I got them.
If vengeance is wrong, then why does it taste so damn sweet? Why does it
make me want more? I’ve done a good thing tonight. Two people who
wrought nothing but destruction and pain in their wake are gone; they can’t
hurt anyone else.
Tell me that’s a sin. I’ll wait.
My hands curl against the rounded arm of the couch as Beast works me up
enough that I’m sweaty and hot and pulsing around his fingers. The
motorcycle boots I’m wearing give me some extra height, but I bet Beast
could fuck my feet right off the floor when he drives into me …
When he removes his hand, I let out a small sound of frustration that’s
very quickly replaced with a gasp as the head of his huge cock presses
against my entrance. It’s hard to believe he’s ever fit inside of me, let alone
that first night. The third guy, the third time, that I ever had sex, and I was
able to take him.
Like a screwed-up, carnal version of fate.
My husband presses himself against me, parting my wet folds and
stretching my tight channel with a slow forward movement of his hips. My
breath comes in harsh, desperate pants, but I never look away from Cade
Grainger.
We stare at each other, and he ends up frozen with the bottle halfway to
his lips. Sin is just behind him, still leaning against the wall. I’m not really
looking at him, but I can feel the tension in him, the anger. I want it. I want it
unleashed on me.
And Crown?
 He moves closer, like he’s being drawn to us, sitting down on the coffee
table, close enough to touch.
Beast buries himself balls-deep, nearly hitting the end of me, and I bite my
lip hard enough to make it bleed. My husband has a big cock, no doubts
about that. For a moment, he just places his warm hands on my ass and waits
for me to adjust to his girth, his length.
And then he starts to fuck. Nice and slow, all the way in and all the way
out. Just as I predicted, when he slams into me, his pelvis against my ass, my
feet nearly come up off the ground. I’m off-balance, draped over the sofa
arm, still staring at Cade motherfucking Grainger.
Without taking a drink, he finally drops the liquor bottle by his side.
“Fuck,” he says again, and then he passes it over to Sin. Unlike Cade, my
youngest lover lifts the bottle up and drinks several shots worth in one go,
the inked column of his throat moving as he swallows. Grainger uses his
now free hands to open his jeans, taking a seat in the leather chair nearest
him so that he can spit into his palm and then fist his cock with a tight grip.
He starts to jack himself off while my husband stretches me wide, sliding
in and out of my eager body with little resistance. I warm up to him quickly,
sounds of sinful pleasure tumbling past my lips as I arch my back to
encourage Beast to move deeper, harder, faster.
Crown stays where he is, completely still, watching from his spot on the
coffee table. There’s a glint in his gaze that says he wants to punish me later
for my antics tonight—both carnal and violent—but also that maybe he
doesn’t hate this as much as he thought he would.
The sound of Grainger working his cock makes me even wetter, even
hornier than I was before. I didn’t even think that was possible. Beast
reaches out and grabs a handful of my leather jacket—his leather jacket—
fingers digging into the eclipsed sun on the back for leverage as he pounds
into me.
“You’re a good wife, Gidge,” he murmurs, his accent thickening as his
pleasure heightens. “Wild in and out of the bedroom.”
Beast lets himself go then, no longer worried about hurting me. He keeps
his hold on the jacket and uses his other hand to grip my hip, slamming our
bodies together over and over until I feel his muscles tightening, and a low,
feral groan escapes his lips. He fills me with hot throbs of his thick cock, but
I guess we don’t have to worry about that for right now.
 With a grateful sigh, Beast slaps my ass and then caresses the still stinging
spot before he pulls out of me, and I can hear him fixing his jeans. I stay
where I am while he moves over to Sin and steals the whiskey bottle.
My attention is still primarily fixed on Grainger, and he doesn’t
disappoint, rising out of the chair with his erection still held in his inked
hand. He jerks himself a few more times and moves over to stand in front of
me, looking down like he can’t decide if he wants my mouth, my ass, or my
cunt.
“I’ll admit: you’re made of even tougher stuff than I thought,” he says
with a cocky laugh, the slightest edge to the sound that tells me he isn’t
going to wait much longer.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say, and Grainger pauses, still holding
his erection and looking down at me with brown eyes that are surprisingly
soulful, considering what a dickhead he normally is.
“It is,” he promises, and then he smirks at me. “You delivered a huge boon
to the club tonight. As the sergeant-at-arms, I’d like to personally thank you
for your service.” Grainger moves around behind me, and I close my eyes as
his hands caress my ass cheeks. He murmurs his approval. “Mm-mm-mm,
Gidge. I approve. Look at that pretty pussy, throbbing and dripping.” He
teases me by cupping my cunt with his hand and sighing with a deep sort of
longing that makes my bones hurt. He’s wanted this for a long time, Cade
Grainger has.
And so have I.
“Are you going to talk about it or are you going to fuck me?” I challenge,
wiggling against his hand and making him curse again. He’s a master at it,
Cade is. I thought I was the queen of fuck and shit and damn, but he puts me
to shame. He could teach master classes in ways to make a sailor blush.
“Another man’s cum dripping out of you, and you still want it. I should’ve
figured as much.” He strokes me with his thumb, dragging the natural lube
from me and Beast up to rub against the heat of my ass. He doesn’t enter me,
just strokes me there, making me tremble and choke on my own breath.
I’m so fired up right now, I could scream.
“You couldn’t handle all of me, Cade,” I growl at him, and he laughs.
Then he pushes his finger into my ass, and I groan. It’s hard to exchange
quips when I’m this wound up. “You’d never be able to keep up.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that just yet, sweetheart,” he purrs, working his thumb
in and out of my rear entrance as I open my eyes to find Crown still
watching me. He’s absently stroking his own thumb along the seam of his
denim, but he doesn’t free his cock the way Cade did.
Grainger lines himself up with my throbbing pussy and enters me without
warning, all the way, his body slamming into mine as he finally withdraws
his thumb. He takes hold of my hair and lifts my head up, making me grit
my teeth.
“You fucker,” I grind out, but I like it, too, so I let him do it. He leans
down, putting his mouth near my ear. His tongue dances along the shell of it,
and I make a sound that I would never admit to making during daylight
hours, when there isn’t a fire burning, or blood drying on my skin, or sharp
pain in my hip from where Grainger’s gripping me too tight. Rain patters
down on the roof outside, and lightning flashes outside the window.
I bet this night starts even more fires.
“I love fucking you, knowing that my seed’s already taken root.” He purrs,
laughing again. I hope that it isn’t his baby, just so I can make fun of him
later for being such an arrogant prick. Grainger stands back up, still holding
onto my hair, and then starts to move his hips. He’s skilled at it, too, so
skilled that I writhe in jealousy, trying my best not to think about him with
another woman.
He seems to pick up on that, and I swear, I can just feel that annoying
overconfidence of his oozing out to coat my sweaty skin.
I shouldn’t let him do this; I should make him rest. I should ride him, at
the very least.
I like it too much to be rational, unfortunately.
Cade works himself in and out of me as I grind my clit against the couch
arm, feeling the initial heat of a climax in my core. I don’t want it to come
too quickly, so I hold back, stopping that frantic grinding as Grainger
readjusts his hand, sliding it up and under my shirt so that he can wrench the
cups of my bra down. He frees my tits, making them swing with each one of
his thrusts. He kneads them, too, greedily, obsessively, like they belong to
him and him alone.
I’m forced to keep my back arched, to make sure that Cade has access to
my breasts, to my suddenly painful nipples. He ignores them though, more
concerned with the round globes in his palm than the pert pink points.
His balls slap against me as he ruts hard and fast, adjusting the tilt of my
hips so that his movements stimulate my clit. Shit. I don’t want to come for
this asshole, but he’s pushing me hard. And then, as if he’s been waiting for
just the right moment, he tweaks my nipple and pleasure arcs through me
like a sword, nearly severing my brain from the rest of my body.
I’m mindless, pushing back against him, searching for release.
Grainger pulls out suddenly, and then he’s shooting ropes of white seed
onto my ass.
“Love ya, Gidge,” he says, and even though he’s trying to be a prick, he
also means what he says. He slips out of his vest and shirt as I push myself
up onto my palms, glancing back to see what he’s doing. He wipes me down,
cleaning me up fairly well before he moves away and chucks the dirty items
in his bedroom hamper.
He comes back fairly quickly and notices that Sin has emptied the
whiskey bottle.
“Shit, you really hate this, don’t you?” he asks with a laugh, accepting a
fresh bottle from Beast instead. I was so into Grainger that I didn’t even see
him grab it. Gross.
“And you love it, don’t you?” Sin grinds out, his agitation palpable. I
never really expected it, that he’d be the one who had the hardest time
sharing. He’s more dominant than I thought.
I look up and meet Crown’s eyes, but he’s already rising to his feet and
taking off his belt. He must sense that Sin is nowhere near ready for this. I
just hope that he can get there—and quick. I want him tonight. I want to
complete this circle.
“Were you worried about me tonight, Mr. VP?” I query and Crown gives
me a very harsh look.
“Gidget, I thought you were going to die.” He moves over to me and takes
my face in his hands, the first of the men to kiss me that night. His mouth is
such a beautiful sin that I sigh against it, leaving my palms braced on the
arm of the couch as his tongue slides against mine. Instead of surrendering to
it, I fight him for control of the kiss, and he laughs. I love the way that sound
feathers against my mouth. I could drink it in; I could consume it. “You like
that though, don’t you? Making me worry.”
“I like seeing proof of your feelings,” I admit, closing my eyes and tasting
a bit of whiskey on my lips from our kiss. “We’ve been through so much. It’s
been years of push and pull, and I’m ready to be done with it. I just want to
know that you’re here for me. That even if you can’t marry me on paper, that
you’ll marry me anyway.”
 Crown gives a slight downturn of his lips, but not in anger or frustration,
more like in contemplation. He reaches down and flicks the button on his
jeans, and I watch as he frees his cock from his boxers. He isn’t like a lot of
men. He doesn’t have a particular type of underwear that he likes. He seems
to mix it up. Sometimes, he doesn’t wear any at all.
It’s an interesting, unpredictable streak inside of Crown’s comforting
reliability.
“If I weren’t such a gentleman,” he starts, and I laugh. I laugh with my
leather pants shoved down my hips and my bare cunt exposed, my lips
glossy from kissing Crown. He narrows his green eyes on me, and I smirk at
him, lifting both brows as if to ask really, though? “I’d give you the ring
now. Instead, I’m more likely to take you to dinner and get down on one
knee.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warn him as he brushes his knuckles along my jaw
and moves around to stand behind me. Crown pushes his hard, warm shaft
against my folds, the head of his dick pearly with pre-ejac as he rubs that
slickness against my clit.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” he decides finally, and I look over
to see that Beast is watching him from sapphire eyes. They darken when the
mood is dangerous like it is now, the very air sparkling with dark glitter and
sensuality. My husband doesn’t move from his location, leaning against the
wall beside Sin. “Yeah, I think that’s what I’ll do.”
“Screw you,” I hiss, and then I angle my hips and push back, impaling
myself on Crown’s dick. He lets out a sharp, almost surprised breath and
then grabs at me, forcing me to hold still for a moment.
“I’m taking you out and getting on one knee, Gidge. What will you say
then? We both know it’ll be a resounding yes.” He relaxes his grip slightly,
and then smooths his palm up my side and over my rib cage. “You want to
do the work? Be my guest.”
If Crown thinks that’s a challenge, then he’s picked the wrong girl.
I brace my hands against the couch and then push back, working my hips
with this back-and-forth motion, like all I need is Crown’s dick to get off and
the rest of him is irrelevant. But even after issuing that decree, he can’t quite
give up control of the situation just yet.
Instead, he starts to move in time with me, so that when I push back, he’s
pushing forward, and we’re coming together with friction and heat and so
many sounds that I can barely tell which ones are mine and which are his.
 “Be a good girl for me,” he murmurs, feeling up my body in that
worshipful way of his, like he’s memorizing every single curve and contour
of my skin. Everything’s a turn-on for Crown. I can feel it in the way he
palms my belly, the way he swipes my hair off the back of my neck and
traces a finger down my spine while he thrusts into me.
We work well together, me and him, like partners. Like a king and queen.
Oh yes. I like that.
Crown and I are king and queen.
Beast and I are husband and wife.
Grainger and I are partners in crime.
Sin and I are fated mates.
I groan, the beginnings of a climax tightening my lower belly muscles, my
cunt clamping down so hard around Crown’s dick that he curses and ends up
rocking himself toward his orgasm since he can’t move in and out of me
anymore.
He comes hard, grinding against me with frantic finishes of his hips, and
then he leans over me, caging me in with his arms. I can see the police car
tattoo from here, and I thrill in the idea that I know a secret that could get
Crown killed. When he told me that, he was giving up the last of himself to
me, the final piece.
It’s over.
It’s all over.
I’ve got him. I’ve got Grainger. I’ve got Beast.
I thought I had Sin.
He was the first to fully relinquish his heart and trust to me, to accept that
if we were going to be together, we wouldn’t be the only players in the
game. But now? Flicking my gaze toward him as my body pulses with
fervent need, I can see that he’s staring at me, that he’s angry, that his silver
eyes are so dark they look black.
He pushes up from the wall as Crown withdraws, leaving me empty and
wanting.
“I need to come so bad,” I murmur, attempting to slide a hand between my
legs. Before I can touch my clit, I feel a vise-like grip curl around my wrist.
Sin’s fingers scald as I flick my gaze to his face, finding him panting and
hard and angry.
I thought he was going to bolt tonight, to be honest. Like he couldn’t
handle seeing me put myself in dangerous situations—at the casino or with
these other men. Instead, he’s looking at me like he plans to claim me, right
here and now.
“I’ll do it.” Sin hauls me up to a standing position and moves around
behind me, reaching between my legs and putting his chin on my shoulder.
He licks up the length of my rapidly beating pulse as he uses the easily
accessible lube between my thighs to make the hardened nub of my clitoris
nice and slippery. “What did I tell you?”
“That you’re addicted to making women come?” I murmur back, moaning
and letting my head fall back against his sturdy frame.
“Not women anymore—just you.” Sin finds this perfect, magical spot on
the upper right part of my clit, and I choke, my knees buckling so suddenly
that if he hadn’t wrapped his arm around my waist, I would’ve collapsed to
the floor. “Tell me where you want it, what you like.”
“Stay right there,” I murmur, panting as I reach down and press his fingers
to my happy spot. “Just like that, oh God, Colton.” I struggle to control my
oncoming orgasm, trying to make this last as long as possible, enjoying that
spicy cinnamon, cloves, and leather smell that permeates everything Sin
owns. It mixes with the musk of sex, the mild smokiness from the fire, and
the underlying notes of violet-scented cleaner that Crown likes to use on
everything.
I let my eyes sweep the room, finding Crown seated on his sofa with his
cock tucked neatly away, arms spread out across the cushions on either side
of him. His eyes are closed as he relaxes back into the brown leather.
Grainger sits on the edge of the armchair, a cigarette unlit and dangling from
his mouth, like he wants to go outside and smoke it but can’t bear to leave
yet.
And my husband? My magnanimous, murderous, beautiful husband, he
watches over everything like he’s the lord of the castle instead of Crown. I
know when I look at him that he was the only one strong enough to make
this all work, to hold our ragtag, fucked-up, little group together rather than
tear it apart.
Only him. Just him.
Our eyes meet just as my orgasm hits, and even though I’m coming apart
and shuddering, gasping and quivering in another man’s arms, I can feel
Beast’s heart as if it’s beating right up against mine.
With a desperate moan, I’m shoved over the arm of the couch while Sin
undoes his pants and shoves his dick into me while my cunt spasms and
squeezes and milks. I’m barely coherent, overwhelmed with pleasure, drunk
on it as Sin powers into me like he’s got a very specific purpose in mind.
He presses one of his hands against my belly and uses the other to grip my
hip.
The way he drives into me, his balls tease my clit, and the hardened points
of my nipples scrape the leather seams on the sofa. I’m tender and
overstimulated, my body thrashing against Sin’s on instinct even as I push
my ass back into him.
“I’ll make you come over and over and over again, until you beg me to
stop,” he promises, and then he reaches around and takes over my clit with
his fingers again. I’m powerless to stop another wave, shuddering and
gasping and digging my toes into the floor.
This time, the tight, silky muscles inside of me drag Sin over the edge,
too, and he’s thrusting into me so hard and fast that I get dizzy. When he
comes, the sound is low and almost pained, and then he’s suddenly pulling
out of me and picking me up.
A surprised gasp escapes me as he carries me over to the couch and lays
me down with my head in Crown’s lap. Sin positions himself over the top of
me, kissing my neck and shoulders, my jaw, my hairline. At the same time,
he puts his hand between my legs and starts working up my already aching
body into yet another climax.
I’m not sure that I can even handle being touched like that, but then he
kisses me.
He kisses me and holy shit, I can feel everything about him in the shape of
his mouth, the sweep of his tongue. He tastes like the future, like promises,
like happy things I might actually be able to have for myself.
He tastes like the radical idea that I might not have to suffer every minute
of everyday for the rest of my life.
One, last orgasm rocks me, so thoroughly taking over my body that I end
up biting Sin’s lower lip until he’s grunting and bleeding just enough that
there’s a salty taste on my lip.
He pulls back finally, collapsing against the sofa cushions and putting my
legs in his lap.
So, I’ve got my head on Crown, my legs on Sin, my eyes on Grainger, and
my heart beating concurrently with Beast’s.
“If this is what everyday of this shared relationship looks like …” Cade
starts, standing up and moving over to the back door. He kicks it open as I lie
there, panting and quivering and boneless and bloody. “Then I’m sure we’ll
die young and happy together in a hail of gunfire.”
He lights up his cigarette and exhales into the stormy night air as I turn on
my side and feel my heavy lids droop.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Whether or not the club patches me in, it doesn’t matter.
I am a Daybreaker, in my blood, in my bones, in my heart.
That’s it.
Not club princess … club queen.

I end up in a scalding shower, using the downstairs bathroom so that I can

hear all four men talking in low voices down the hall. They sit in the kitchen
together, opening up a poker set and playing a game while they drink and
wait for me.
Even though I should be thoroughly satisfied by now, I end up taking the
washcloth that Crown gave me and rubbing it against my cunt until I come
again, thighs locking together as my body sags against the wall and steam
turns the air around me a brilliant white, like I’m lost in another world.
I finish up and climb out, only to see that someone’s left fresh clothes for
me to put on. My cheeks flush briefly at the sight, but I pretend like I don’t
feel the heat rushing to my face. Instead, I towel off and get dressed in the
black joggers and loose t-shirt, padding down the hall to join the boys.
I sit in Beast’s lap, and he curls an arm around me.
“Alright, you’d think with all the shit I know that I’d be able to play
poker.” I gesture at the table as Sin leans back in his seat with a laugh.
“You don’t know how to play?” he asks, exchanging a look with Grainger.
“So there is a limit to your superpowers, eh, Gidge?” He turns back to me,
offering up one of those crooked smiles as Grainger snorts and deals a fresh
hand.
“If you don’t wipe the table with the rest of us, I’ll be shocked,” Crown
says dryly, leaning back in his chair as Beast chuckles underneath me,
vibrating my body with the sound. I squirm against him, and he presses a
scalding kiss to the side of my neck.
“Can we bet real money? I mean, can you guys bet real money since I
don’t have any?” I think about that for a moment. Cat took away my debit
card—the one with my own money on it—and he never bothered to give it
back. Not that I had much to begin with. Am I supposed to get a job? The
boys draw a salary from the club, but I won’t be able to do that … will I?
“You want to bet sexual favors instead?” Grainger queries back, playing
with the pile of chips in front of him. “I’d be interested in that.”
“No,” I say, pointing at the chips. “Real money. Except for me.”
Sin snorts.
“I’m in. You shouldn’t have to work right now anyway.” He crosses his
arms as he leans back in his chair to look at me. I almost protest because I
think he’s going to say something stupid like because you’re pregnant.
Instead, he surprises me. Pleasantly. “You should focus on getting your GED
and deciding what it is that you want to do with your life.” Sin pauses and
smirks, his scar pulling at the right side of his lip. “I mean, besides us.”
I roll my eyes at him and then let my gaze drift over to the refrigerator …
With a laugh, Sin gets up and pours me a glass of orange juice.
“I’m happy to share my money with you until you start making your
own.” Sin pauses as he puts the jug back into the fridge and then glances
back at me. “And after that, too.”
“My money is your money,” Beast agrees, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ll
get you added onto my account next week.”
His account? Like, Beast kills people. He kills people and rides dirty
chrome stallions, and he fucks me with his huge cock while three other men
watch. And yet he has something as banal as a bank account? The idea
makes me chuckle.
“I’ll support you and the baby,” Crown says with a long sigh, but not like
he’s upset by the idea. More like he’s excited. This is what he wanted. What
he wants. To have a partner, a family, someone that stands shoulder to
shoulder with him to bear the burdens of life together. We can have that,
even with the other men in my life. “Regardless of whether it’s mine or not.”
Another pause. “I mean, the first one. I’m sure Gidge told you all that I
asked for a child of my own.” He smirks. “She agreed.”
“The fuck?” Grainger growls out, flicking his attention back to me as Sin
returns to the table with my juice. “You promised him a kid?” He hazards a
glance at his superior officer and then shakes his head. “Well, if this first one
isn’t mine, then I want one, too.”
“You’re an idiot,” I tell him, but he just laughs, watching my throat with
undisguised hunger as I swallow down several gulps of orange juice. I set
the glass down in challenge and stare at him. “Well? You’re demanding a
kid, but you haven’t offered up your wallet yet. Pay up, Cade Grainger.”
He chucks one of his poker chips at me, and Beast catches it like the boss
that he is.
“Don’t you dare throw things at my pregnant wife,” he drawls out,
flipping the chip back in Grainger’s direction. It knocks over the rest of his
carefully stacked chips as he watches me.
“You really think I’d knock you up and not support you? My mom would
never look at me the same way again.” It’s one of the few times he’s ever
mentioned his mother, and I’m intrigued. I want to know more, but now isn’t
the best time. Later, when we’re alone. “So. You want to learn to play or
what?”
“So long as you learn from the safety of my lap, I’ll teach ya,” Beast
agrees, and I smile, leaning back against him and closing my eyes.
“I’m ready,” I tell him, and even though the night began in bloodshed and
sex, it ends in cards and conversation.
That’s what being a Daybreaker is all about, after all.
So … fuck it. Murder, sex, and poker.
It’s a lifestyle.
The next morning, the men are summoned to church. Not the kind Reba
likes, but the other sort. The private boys’ club that takes place in the
building behind the main clubhouse. It’s where club business is carried out,
and even after delivering the mafia queen’s head, I’m not privy to it.
“Keep this with you and stay inside with the doors locked,” Grainger says
grimly, pushing my Magnum across the coffee table toward me. I’m sitting
on the couch with Reba, Fem curled up between us. We’re drinking tea
together since she doesn’t like coffee, and it’s pouring rain outside. Reba
says rain calls for hot tea and contemplation.
So I’m contemplating.
I’m contemplating everything about last night. What it changes. What it
doesn’t change.
I need to talk to Cat, but that’ll have to wait until later.
“You got it,” I agree as Grainger takes off, the last of the men to leave. He
closes the door and I set my tea down, padding down the hall barefoot to
lock it and then activate the alarm. When I come back to the couch and curl
my legs up beneath me, tea mug in hand, I look over at Reba.
I know our time to say goodbye is coming.
I’m simultaneously ready for that … and dreading it. Because it means I’ll
be alone here with my men. It means that I’ll be pressing play on a new
phase in my life.
 “They were all worried about you,” I say, referencing our ‘friends’ from
the casino last night. Not the ones I killed, but the teenagers. I mean, my
peers. They don’t feel like my peers though. I bet they’ve never beheaded
someone with a meat cleaver. I sip my tea and pretend like Reba isn’t aware
that I did something terrible last night. I didn’t tell her about any of it—
obviously, I would never put her in danger by giving her those sorts of club
secrets—but I did tell her that I ran into our classmates at a party.
“That’s nice to know,” she says with a distant, wistful smile. She’s been
praying a lot lately. I’ve seen it, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen to find
her bent over the table with her hands clasped together. The rapturous look
she gets on her face when she talks to God looks an awful lot like the one I
get when I’m making love to one of the guys.
Reba and I both understand passion and conviction on an intrinsic level,
even if we experience those two things in entirely different ways.
“I’m sure they’re upset that I ditched them last night …” I start, grabbing
my phone and checking for any tags or messages on social media. There are
a few. Trevone asked if he could have my new number since I don’t seem to
be answering my old one. Tina Flacco messaged me asking why I was using
her name last night, wondering if I wasn’t up to something illegal and trying
to blame her for it.
How annoying.
I delete it all. If I never see those people again, I don’t care. Not all
relationships are meant to last forever. Some people are just ships passing in
the night. But not my boys. Not Reba. Not Grey.
Grey.
I really should call him, but I need to do it without Reba in the room.
I set my phone down and look over at her. She sighs and stares into her
mug before lifting her green gaze up to me.
“You don’t care though, do you?” she asks with a small laugh, shaking her
head and sliding a single finger around the rim of her mug. “If I’m being
honest, I don’t much care either. I want a clean break and a fresh start.”
My throat tightens up, and the urge to apologize sweeps over me again. I
keep the words back because at this point, I’ve said it enough. If I keep
apologizing over and over again, it’s only for my own comfort. Reba knows
that while her connection to me is ultimately what brought the mafia to the
Kellers’ doorstep, I’m not the one who pulled the blade across her parents’
throats. I can’t take full responsibility for everything the club and the mafia
do, even if it feels like I should sometimes.
“I’m going to get you a ride to the convent today,” I tell her with a certain
level of confidence that I have no right to feel. I pleased Cat last night, sure,
but will he really let Reba go? If I send her off without letting him know, I’ll
be breaking a direct order. If I have to do that, I will, but I’d rather not. “Do
you know where it is?”
She nods.
“And you do know that the place Grey is sending you is loosely affiliated
with the mafia, right?”
Another nod.
I exhale and lean my head back against the seat cushions, staring up at the
ceiling.
“I know what sort of position I’m putting myself in,” Reba explains,
watching me as I slide my gaze back to hers. We’re drinking Earl Grey tea,
and I swear to God, it smells so much like my husband that my entire body
aches with want to hold him.
I’ve become one of those people, the ones who are so disturbingly in love
that they’re impossible to be around.
“Do you?” I ask, lifting my head up and noticing that Reba is pursing her
lips at me. “What? I just want to make sure you don’t get yourself into a
situation that you can’t get out of.”
“Grey needs me,” Reba says, reaching out to put her hand over one of
mine. Fem licks her arm as she stretches it across him, and she smiles. “He
needs guidance, Gidge. You might not believe in God, but he sure does. He’s
strugglin’ with his faith. Besides, I’m not just some dumb Southern belle. I
get what the two o’ you are tryin’ to do. I want to be there to guide him when
he has more power than he knows what to do with.”
“This isn’t getting married and raising babies and teaching kindergarten,”
I warn, but Reba gives me a look. She knows that. She also knows that I said
I was leaving the club life behind and disappearing into the ether. Yet, I’m
still here. Plans change. Dreams change. Guess we’re both going to get
exactly what we want.
“I’ll be there for you, too, if you ever need spiritual guidance.”
I’m already shaking my head at her.
“No. Not if you’re working with the mafia. You and I will … well, we
won’t talk about that sort of thing.” I don’t say what I really mean. That is,
we won’t get to talk much. At least not in person. It’ll be hard to find a safe,
comfortable place to meet—even if Grey’s plan works out.
And that’s a big if.
“I love you, Gidge,” Reba tells me instead, giving my hand a squeeze.
“And I don’t regret anything about our friendship. Even if I could go back in
time and walk away from you, I wouldn’t.”
“Don’t say that,” I choke, suddenly feeling the prick of tears that I still am
not used to shedding. “I’ve ruined your life.”
“No. You changed the course of it.” She releases my hand and drinks her
tea, staring at the quiet fireplace. I’m glad she doesn’t know that I got bent
over that couch arm she’s leaning against and banged by four dudes last
night. She’d hate that. “Life is never ruined. It just shifts. If you learn to
follow the wind, you don’t have to fight against every storm.”
“Damn, that’s some wisdom,” I murmur, and she chuckles. “I love you,
too, you know? But if I could go back to that first day of kindergarten, I
would shove you hard and tell you I hated you, just to keep you safe from
me and my influence. I’m not even sorry about that.”
Reba smiles, but she doesn’t look at me, still staring at the fireplace.
Fem grumbles and rolls onto his back, spreading his legs wide and
begging for belly scratches. I tease the inside of his left leg with scritches of
my nails until he’s kicking at the air in bliss.
“I’ve been calling him Fem-fem, Reba,” I say, trying to lighten the mood
as I pretend to be scandalized by the idea. “You know that’s what Nellie’s
always called him, and I’ve always hated it. I must be getting soft in my old
age.”
That makes us both chuckle, chasing away the memories from last night.
Even if I don’t regret what I did, even if I’d do it again, it doesn’t mean I
want every single second of my life to be soaked in blood and violence. My
ability to flip between extremes is a necessary adaptation to live this life.
There’s no time to dwell on dark things because they’re happening
constantly, everywhere, at all times.
“There are quite a few buses leaving today,” I say, giving Fem one, last
scratch before curling both of my hands around my mug. “Families heading
to the airport. I’ll put you on one, and you can transfer to a cab when you get
there. I’ll give you money, too.” I snicker at that and lift a brow as she looks
over at me. “I won a decent amount during our poker game last night; you
can have that.”
 “I don’t need much,” she says, getting that blissful, rapturous look on her
face again. “Grey is going to take care of me. The process of becoming a nun
isn’t like it is in the movies, you know? You can’t just walk into a convent
and don a habit. It’s a whole thing.” She leans forward and sets her mug on
the coffee table, but not before carefully placing a coaster beneath it. “The
convent where I’m going is invite-only.”
“Joining the enemy team,” I tease, but not really. It’s sort of true. Also, it
scares me. I assume Grey will give Reba a new identity to keep her off of his
father’s radar. He isn’t sloppy; I know that. I can’t keep myself from
obsessing over it anyway. “Once the guys are done with church, I’ll find Cat
and we’ll work this out.”
I offer Fem a final pat before heading upstairs and locking myself in
Crown’s room. I sit down on the edge of the bed and call Grey.
He answers immediately, shirtless and standing in a large bathroom with
black marble everywhere. There’s even a chandelier that I most definitely
don’t recognize. If he’s at the cathedral, then he’s been given a bathroom
upgrade, that’s for damn sure.
The shower is running in the background, the air clouded with steam.
“Reba wants to go to the convent today,” I say, and Grey laughs. It’s a
dark, twisted sound that makes my hackles raise. “Is that still okay? Have
plans changed? I swear to God, if anything happens to her, I’ll break my vow
to watch your back and I’ll stab it instead.”
“After last night, this is what you want to talk about?” he asks, exhaling
sharply. “But no, plans haven’t changed. I would never let Reba go if I
thought she’d be in danger.”
He turns and hops up on the counter; I can see his muscular back reflected
at me from the mirror.
“I’m assuming word of last night’s escapade has made its way to your
father …”
“It’s time, Gidget,” Grey tells me, and his gray eyes sparkle with a sort of
manic light that I wonder if I wouldn’t have been able to douse if I’d married
him. Yeah, I think it would’ve been a good thing for him. I could’ve helped
keep him grounded and level. Looking at him now, I’m a little concerned.
Not that I think he’ll turn on me, no. More like, I’m worried that he’s going
to hurt himself, damage his soul, break his own heart. “Everyone knows
what you did to Giulia and Cosimo.”
Giulia, he says. Not mom.
 “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, but Grey ignores me.
“My father’s assembling an army. We’re quite literally going to march on
the club. He wants to make a move before the other chapters arrive.” He
turns his head slightly to one side, listening for something before looking
back at me through the screen of my phone. “Tomorrow, Gidge. Tomorrow.”
My pulse races, and dizziness sweeps over me.
I should’ve known that killing the don’s wife would be the final spark to
the tinder of this long-awaited war.
“Where? At the compound?” I ask, but he just shakes his head, sandy hair
shifting with the movement.
“I don’t know. We’re watching the emergency alerts, too. Have you seen
it? If the winds don’t die down tonight or shift direction, it’s possible that the
fire complex will sweep right through Ashbury. That could complicate
things.”
“We won’t leave unless absolutely necessary,” I say, thinking about Cat,
about all the people that are staying here. “There’s firefighting equipment on
the compound. And anyway, we’re further north than Ashbury proper.”
Grey takes that in and then nods.
“Please get Reba out of there today—just in case.” Grey meets my eyes,
and I can see that we both know that the next time we see each other in
person, it isn’t going to be fast-food sandwiches or quiet discussions in dark
attics.
No, it’ll be bloodshed. His side, my side.
“I will,” I promise, and then we hang up and I’m left sitting there with the
phone in my lap and a million and one impossible tasks on my to-do list.
My nails dig into the fabric of the quilt, and I close my eyes.
I’ve always done the impossible before so why not now? Just one, last
time. That’s all I need: a final miracle.
I shove up to my feet and head into the bathroom to get ready.
After church, it’s time for another face-to-face chat with my father.
Grainger escorts me back down to the clubhouse later.
“He’s in a much better mood today, but I still don’t like this,” he grinds
out, standing back and holding out a hand to indicate that I should head up
the stairs in front of him. More than likely so that he can stare at my ass in
my black leather pants. I could live in leather, fuck in leather, die in leather.
The smell, the feel of it against my skin, the strength of it.
I shake my hands out as we approach the door to Cat’s office, my eyes
dropping down to the floor where Gaz’s body slumped, a pool of blood
slowly spreading out around him like a disease. Shit. It’s so heavy; the world
is so heavy.
I make myself bear it.
I raise a fist to knock on the door and Crown opens it. Good sign, right?
This is more like normal, more like the good ol’ days. I suppress an eye roll
as I move into the room to find that Sin and Beast are also here. René, too,
and my gaze turns to his with unmasked sympathy. He isn’t looking at me
though. He’s got his hands clasped in front of him and is waiting patiently as
Sin hands another Daybreaker an iPad and sends the man on his way. The
guy sweeps past me just as Cat looks up from his desk.
There’s a quiet, still moment there where our eyes meet and so many
unspoken things pass between us. He loves me. I know he does. Even if he’ll
never say it. Even if I hate him. Even if I know that the world would be
better off if he were dead.
 “Everybody out,” Cat says with a loose sweep of his hand. The other men
in the room obey the order like they’re compelled. My men, on the other
hand, hesitate. I give Beast a look first because I know he won’t move
without my orders. Not in a situation like this.
My husband glances over at his president.
Cat isn’t looking at him; he’s still looking at me.
Whatever Beast sees in his president’s face must convince him that I’m
not in any danger because he turns and leaves the room. Sin is next, giving
my shoulder a pat as he passes by. I hear Grainger slip out behind me. Crown
is the last to move, but when he does, it’s with strong, confident footfalls, as
if he’d intended on leaving all along.
I watch him go, and then turn back to Cat at the sound of the door closing
behind me.
The men won’t go far. If I need them, they’ll be there.
“Well, good morning, Gidget,” Cat says with a bit of a laugh. He stands up
straight and looks me over. A new assessment from fresh eyes. He still
doesn’t trust me. He may never trust me again, but he’s at least marginally
pleased with what happened last night.
“You sent me in there to die, and I brought you the head of the don’s
wife.”
Cat nods slowly, crossing his arms and then reaching up to rub at his beard
with one hand. It’s impossible to miss the patch that reads President on the
front of his cut. He’s been a good one, too, turning this forgotten chapter of
the Daybreakers into a powerhouse when they used to be little more than a
street gang.
That was mostly Cat, first as VP then as president.
Death by Daybreak is really and truly his entire world.
“What do you want, girl?” he asks, and I exhale. Maintaining my
composure right now isn’t easy. My father stirs up more emotions in me than
any other human being in existence.
“My friend, Reba.” I pause and then, just for Cat’s sake, I add, “the
wannabe nun.”
“What about her?” he queries as I struggle to keep my breath even.
“The mafia is assembling their army, Cat. They’re coming for us.”
That makes him smile in a very patronizing but not displeased sort of way.
“Of course they are. You left a hell of a mess in that damn casino.” He
moves around the side of the desk and in front of it, leaning back against it
so that we’re only a few feet apart. “What about the nun?”
“With that threat, and the threat of the fire, I want her to leave the
compound.” The words come out strong, but more like a suggestion than a
threat. At this point, if Cat says no, then I’m smuggling Reba out myself,
consequences be damned. We’re about to be so embroiled in battle with
Grey Wolfe (the entity, not the person) that it won’t matter for a while
anyway. “She doesn’t know anything, Cat.”
“She knows enough,” he tells me, and I feel myself cracking on the inside.
Why isn’t anything I ever do enough for you? I wonder, but then I shake that
off. Despite myself, I’ve wanted Cat’s approval for a long time. It isn’t right,
and it doesn’t make any sense, but the world doesn’t make sense. Humans
are flawed and imperfect and messy and contradictory. It is what it is. Still, it
hurts anyway. Cat saved my life, so there’s a connection there, but if he
won’t let himself acknowledge it, there’s nothing more I can do. “But I’ll tell
you what. You tell me where to find that Grey brat, and I’ll let your friend
walk.”
I pause there for a minute, aware that this is yet another test.
We both pause at the buzzing of our phones and Cat frowns, grabbing his
off the desk. I pull mine from my pocket and we both stare at the message on
our screens. I’m just assuming that he has the same one.
Lane County Emergency System - this is an automated message. Your area
has been upgraded to a Level 2 - Be Set - Alert. There is significant fire
danger in your location. Voluntary evacuation is recommended; gather items
at your own risk. If you choose to remain, be prepared to leave at a moment’s
notice.
Oh shit.
I look back up at Cat.
“Let me get Reba out of here,” I say, squeezing the phone in my hand.
“And I’ll find out where Grey’s going to be tomorrow.”
Cat studies me carefully.
“If you fuck this up, girl, that’s it for you. You understand that, right?”
I nod.
“Good.” Cat stands up from his desk, pausing beside me. He gives me a
pat on the shoulder, much like Sin did but with considerably less affection.
It’s more than I’ve gotten from him in a long, long time though. Since I was
a small child, actually. “Nice work last night. You sure are a ruthless bitch.
Can’t wait to see the nightmare of a grandchild that you pop out.”
 Ruthless.
Grandchild.
I’m pleased on multiple levels—even if I feel guilty for having that
reaction.
My father moves away from me, and I turn to look after him as he opens
the office door and disappears down the hall. Crown peeks in at me, but then
follows after his president. Sin, too. Beast is the last to go, but he offers me
up a slight nod before leaving. Then it’s just me and Cade motherfucking
Grainger.
“Take me back to the house,” I tell him, and I try not to let the
overwhelming surge of emotion in my gaze show through. Somehow, Cade
sees it anyway, moving into the room to put his hands on either one of my
shoulders. He’s … surprisingly cuddly in bed. I know it sounds weird, but he
curls me up tight against him and uses me like a body pillow.
I don’t think that he’d ever cop to it during daylight hours though.
“Don’t stress, Gidge,” he says, but even his face is creased with worry.
Between the fire and the mafia and our very own refugee families, it’s a lot.
“We won’t let anything happen to you.”
I quirk a brow at him, trying to lighten the mood a little.
“I know that. It isn’t me that I’m worried about.” I reach up and give his
chest a rub with my hand, his dark eyes following the movement before he
looks up at me. His perfect mouth is turned down in a frown, and his stubble
is thicker than usual. He just hasn’t had the time to shave. I end up reaching
toward it and trailing my fingers over the rough hair.
“You should only be worried about yourself,” he says, and then he snaps
his fingers at me. “And our baby.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m glad he’s invested in this. There’s no point in us
having a kid if he isn’t. It has to be a commitment; we have to actually care.
“I’ll be fine—but only so long as you don’t get yourself killed during
this.”
Grainger takes my hands in his and yanks me into him, leaning down and
pressing one of his savage kisses to my mouth. He tastes … uncivilized.
Wild. Raw. We flick our hot tongues together, deepening the kiss until he’s
fisting his hand in the back of my jacket and pressing me so tightly to him
that I can feel his hardness grinding into me through his jeans.
“Fuck. We don’t have time for this.” He pulls away from me and swipes a
hand over his mouth, yanking his phone from his pocket to check the time.
“Come on. Let’s go get your religious friend.”
“Don’t call her my religious friend,” I respond automatically, and he
snorts.
“Whatever you say, baby mama.” He takes off down the hall as I huff. I
hope it isn’t your kid, just to teach you a lesson, you dickhead.
I follow after him, grabbing the Escalade from its spot in the main parking
area. Grainger lets me drive it—apparently my ovaries allow me to drive an
SUV even though club culture believes they burst like bombs if allowed near
a bike—and we return to the farmhouse.
Reba is waiting.
She has a single bag, packed with clothes.
“That was quick,” I say, almost breathless, and she nods, reaching down to
stroke one of Fem’s triangular ears.
“I’m ready,” she tells me, exhaling deeply as she looks past me at Cade.
“You’ll take good care of her for me, won’t you? I know you and I never did
get along right, but I’m trusting you with my oldest and dearest friend. Do
not …” Reba swallows, chokes a little. “Fuck this up.”
It’s literally the first time I’ve heard her curse in my entire life.
A laugh escapes me, but I clamp a hand over my mouth because I sound
hysterical.
I’m going to miss having her around, seeing her regularly. It might very
well be years before we’re in the same room again. That’s the reality of our
situation.
“If there’s one thing you can count on, Mother Superior,” he says dryly,
and she narrows her eyes on him. “It’s how I feel about Gidge. Get your shit
in the car and let’s go.”
Reba puts her hand to her chest, as if, even though she just used the word
‘fuck’ for the first time, she’s still scandalized by Grainger’s easy cursing.
That makes me smile, really and truly smile. Goddamn it, I’m going to miss
this girl.
Cade turns away and pounds down the steps as if even that much emotion
was too much for him. I lock eyes with Reba.
“I still hate ‘im. I still hate most of ‘em. But you know what? If anyone
can handle these brutes, it’d be you.” I smile at that as she gestures down
toward the bag at her feet. “I took some of Queenie’s clothes with me. I hope
that’s okay?” She looks back up at me, the slightest flicker of fear in her
eyes, like she doesn’t wonder if this might set me off again.
 I reach out and take her hand in both of mine.
“New life, new start. Queenie would be thrilled to know you’re wearing
her clothes. Lord knows I never would.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Reba says with a raise of both red brows.
“I found a whole box of maternity clothes. I took the liberty of washing
them, drying them, and folding them. They’re in the top drawer of the
dresser in my room.”
I almost cry at that one; I won’t lie. But we have more pressing matters.
Fire. Mafia. Cat.
I told him that I’d give him Grey’s location, and I will. Because Grey
would want me to do that, for Reba’s sake. I just need to call him again in
the morning for an update. Like I said, we’re friends, but we’re also rivals.
We just have boundaries that we won’t cross with one another.
“Before I go …” Reba starts, biting her lower lip hesitantly. She rubs
Fem’s ear again, as if for luck. I’ll admit, those velvety triangles are
addicting. “I know you can’t show me exactly where my parents are buried,
but …”
I exhale and then nod.
“Okay,” I say, and that’s that. I bend down to grab her bag, cluck my
tongue for Fem to follow along, and head for the Escalade.
Grainger lets Reba have the front passenger seat, sitting in the back with
Feminist. They keep their distance, but at least the dog doesn’t bite Cade. I
consider that definite progress.
I end up taking Reba to the spot where Sin and I had sex in the rain, using
the old-ass tree as a marker. It’s got a massive trunk, and it’s covered in those
aptly named resurrection ferns. This is as good a spot as any for a grave.
Reba kneels down in front of the tree and clasps her hands together in
prayer, her eyes closed tight. I hang back with Grainger and Fem near the
Escalade, watching and waiting. If she needs or wants me there, I’ll go to
her.
“I don’t hate your friend,” he tells me after a while, heaving a huge sigh as
he glances my way. We look at each other as ash drifts down around us. It’s
been bad for weeks, but it’s really bad today. As Grey said, the winds have
blown the fire straight up toward us. Combine that with the years-long
drought we’ve been having, the tinderbox like forests, the new suburban
sprawl, and it’s a recipe for disaster.
I am not surprised in the least.
 “I just don’t understand her,” he offers finally, looking back at Reba’s
kneeling form. The way the clouds shift, casting a strange glow over her and
the tree as well as me and Grainger, I assume that the divine is okay with
whichever way we worship. Bodies in the dark, clasped hands in the light.
Whatever brings us true joy and comfort.
“Sure you do,” I say, picking up a stick and throwing it for Fem. He
catches it in mid-air, missing leg be damned, and manages to land without a
hitch, bringing it right back over to me. “Just pretend that I’m God and your
prayers are the things you mutter when your face is buried in my cunt.”
He snorts at me and gets out a pack of cigarettes, moving away from me
before lighting up. He tosses a glance back in my direction and mumbles
around the cigarette in his mouth. “At least I know that when I go to hell,
you’ll be right there with me.”
Grainger walks off, and I move a little closer to Reba. When she hears my
footsteps, she gestures me over and I kneel beside her. She clasps our hands
together as ash filters down around us like morbid snowflakes.
And then she prays, and I sit patiently beside her and listen.
When we head back down to the clubhouse and Reba offers me one, last
heartwarming hug, I squeeze her to me as hard as I can.
“I love you,” I whisper in her ear, and she chokes on her words. But she’s
already told me so many times that I don’t have to hear it again to know that
it’s true. “When you get the chance, call me. I know you don’t have a phone
…”
We part reluctantly, and she nods.
“Will do, sugar,” she says, her drawl making me think of Beast and how
they’re both from Tennessee, and I wonder if she wouldn’t be able to visit
someday with us. Nuns can take trips, can’t they? Just … maybe not ones
associated with the mafia.
Reba kneels down to offer Fem a hug, and then she’s grabbing her duffel
bag and disappearing up the steps into the bus. It’ll be driven to the airport
with a full escort. I’m not worried.
We’re past small snipes and guerilla warfare.
Tomorrow, come what may, we’re going to war.
Grey and I just need to find a way to stop it.
I’m sure I’ve already figured it out, but I don’t want to put words to it.
In order to halt two armies, what do you do? You cut off their fucking
heads. Literally, if necessary. So … Giulia. Alvise.
 But also … Cat.
I exhale and swipe my arm across my face, rubbing away tears and ash.
“I’m going to check in with the other wives and see what they need from
me,” I tell Grainger, and he nods, his gaze distant, like he’s already in the
process of doing something else. “I want to make sure Nellie takes Fem with
her when she leaves for Seattle.”
My mother’s being shipped up north with most of the remaining club
wives and children to stay with the Seattle chapter of DBD. My dog will go
with her.
“Don’t leave the clubhouse without letting me know,” Cade commands,
and off he goes. I head inside to find Nellie, helping her to load bags into
SUVs and cars and minivans. All of the remaining families on the compound
have decided to take the risk and obey the evacuation order, heading out the
way they came.
Instead of returning home, they’re all leaving town until the fire danger
passes.
Or … consumes the entirety of Ashbury.
By then, we’ll have moved forward with this war, one way or another.
I work for several hours, and the business and the chaos help chase away
my sadness over Reba. I make myself be happy for her. Happy that she lived.
Happy that she’s leaving.
Eventually, when my nausea starts to get the better of me, I grab some
orange juice and head out to the back deck, looking for a quiet place to relax.
Grainger’s voice is what draws me down the steps and around the corner.
I don’t expect to see him with a woman. One of the club whores,
specifically. One of the prettiest, curviest, bustiest club whores to be exact.
She steps close to him, reaching out to put her palm on his chest.
I feel a surge of violence shoot through me, but I stay where I am,
watching quietly. Hoping. Choosing to believe in him.
He doesn’t disappoint. He grabs her wrist and forces her back a step.
“Don’t touch me,” he says, his voice sharp, edged with a bit of a threat.
“You can’t possibly be satisfied being her whore, can you?” the girl scoffs,
and even though I don’t know her name, I recognize her. She’s been hanging
around the clubhouse for years. One of Amber’s friends, I think. “You need a
woman to yourself.”
Cade laughs at that, pushing her back another step with the pressure on her
wrist. He leans down and lifts the edge of his lip up in one of his signature
sneers.
“Even one-fourth of her is worth a hundred times the whole of you.” He
releases her and she frowns at him. “Get out of here and go find somewhere
else to stay for a while. If I were you, I’d bail while I had the chance.”
He turns to leave when he sees me standing there.
I walk right up to the pair of them, reach into my back pocket, and pull out
the remaining cash that I stole from the guys while they shamelessly let me
win at poker; Reba truly didn’t want or need much of it.
“Here.” I put the money in her palm and meet her eyes. “Catch a ride from
one of the other women and go.”
The girl looks at me like I’m a crazy person, flicking her attention to Cade
once more, and then off she goes with a huff, heels clacking across the
cement. I turn back to my (possible) baby daddy.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks, and I just smile.
“She’s alone and scared, Cade. I don’t appreciate her hitting on my man,
but I also don’t blame her. Not today.” I lean against the wall beside him and
sip my juice as he studies me like an alien creature.
“You’ll cut a woman’s head off one day and then give a club whore money
the next?” he asks, and I sigh.
“Morality is complicated,” I explain, continuing to drink my OJ. Cade
watches me for a minute and then exhales, like he’s made a decision about
something.
“Come with me,” he says, and then he pushes off the wall and heads
around to the parking lot, making his way with long, steady strides toward
the front gate. I almost have to jog to catch up with him, surprised to see a
woman with reddish brown hair and a small boy waiting just inside the
compound.
The woman looks nervous, but also like she’s been here before. Her eyes
light up when she sees Cade, and she smiles.
“Mom,” he says, offering her a small hug and a pat on the back. She kisses
his cheek and then pulls back, pushing the boy forward a small step. For a
second there, I almost panic. I get that the woman is Cade’s mother, but who
is the boy? Please don’t let it be his son. I’m too jealous for that. I’m way too
fucking jealous.
Hypocrite, right? But like, who is this kid who looks to be a carbon copy
of Cade Grainger?
 “Say hi to your brother,” she says gently, and the boy moves up to Cade
when he squats down, offering him a familiar hug and a shy smile. He can’t
be more than maybe … five? Six? I’m not good with guessing kids’ ages.
Cade stands up and glances back at me, beckoning me forward with a jerk
of his chin.
“Gidget, this is my mother, Raelynn.” He holds out his hand to indicate
the woman. She looks to be in her early fifties which means she must’ve had
Cade too young. Then again, I’m not in the position to judge anyone. Cade
is, what, thirty-two? So if his mother had him when she was my age, she
would be fifty on the dot. I look down at the kid. “And this is my little
brother, Matthew.”
“Hi, Matthew,” I say with a slight smile. It must come across more as a
feral grimace than anything because the kid shies away and Grainger
chuckles.
“Mom, this is my …” Grainger takes a moment to decide how to describe
me; our eyes meet in a clash of heat and understanding. “My old lady.” He
turns back to her and then he … smiles. It’s tainted with a healthy dose of
fear and worry for what’s to come, but it’s a real, true genuine smile. It
makes my heart sing in ways I never could’ve imagined. “We’re expecting a
baby.”
“Oh,” the woman says with another soft half-smile of her own.
“Congratulations, Gidget.”
“Thank you,” I say, tucking my hands into my pockets as Grainger digs
into his back pocket and pulls out a faded brown leather wallet. He extracts a
huge amount of cash—all hundreds, I think—and passes it over to his mom.
Her eyes widen slightly when she sees how much money he’s given her.
“Take this and get out of town. I don’t have a good feeling about this fire
… or anything else.” He reaches up to scratch at the side of his head as he
studies her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you in the hospital,” she says, but he just
shakes his head at her.
“Doesn’t matter.” It does; I can hear it in his voice. “Just take that and
leave town for a while, okay? I’ll call you when it’s safe to come back.”
She nods at that, reaching up to tuck a strand of her mussy hair behind one
ear. There’s a timid, almost skittish look about her that’s the exact opposite
of her son.
 “Thank you,” she says, lifting up the money and turning to look at me.
“Both of you. We appreciate it.” She puts her hand on Matthew’s back as he
peers up at me with umber eyes that are disturbingly reminiscent of his older
brother. “Stay safe, son.”
“I will,” Grainger promises her, and then Raelynn and Matthew are being
let out of the gate by the on-duty guards. Cade watches them leave, his
expression a strange, distant sort of thing. When he turns to me, I find my
heart warming up toward the asshole even more.
“Please tell me that really is your brother and not your son,” I say, and he
cocks a brow at me.
“Fucking really?” he queries, running his fingers through his red-brown
hair and messing it up just enough that I can see that hidden tattoo near his
hairline again. I want to kiss it so bad that it almost hurts. So … I do. I move
forward and put my palms on his chest, rising up on my tiptoes and, when he
leans down to kiss me, surprising him by gently putting my lips against his
ink and sighing. Cade tightens his arms around me and holds me against
him. “He’s my brother, I assure you.” He allows me to step back and then
sighs heavily. “If he were my son, I sure as hell wouldn’t leave him with
Raelynn. My mother’s much better now than she used to be, but she’s no
saint.”
He nods with his chin back in the direction of the clubhouse, and I turn
with him, hooking our arms together while we walk. Grainger looks a tad
weirded out by that, but he rolls with it anyway.
“Do you see her often?” I ask, because there was a level of familiarity
there, but no closeness.
“She comes once a month to get money from me. I can’t give her too
much at once or she wastes it all.” He gives me a sharp look. “Alcohol or
drugs or shopping. Whatever. She’s always addicted to something. It’s just in
her personality apparently.” He turns away from me again, working his jaw
as he thinks. “I keep my distance from her for obvious reasons.”
“I see that she isn’t staying in the clubhouse,” I offer up, and he nods.
“No need. She lives about forty-five minutes south of here. She drove up
when they got the level two notice.” Grainger keeps walking, guiding us
back in the direction of his bike instead of the clubhouse. I assume he’s
taking me home now. It’s starting to get dark anyway. “We barely see each
other.”
 “And your dad …?” I start, wondering if he isn’t going to buck at such an
intimate conversation and blow me off the way that he always has. But no.
And I’m so damn grateful that I could scream. This man knows so much
about me and yet, I know so little about him.
“My dad—not Matthew’s, by the way—was a Daybreaker.”
I lift both brows at that.
“Really?” How had I not known that? Of all my men, Cade was the last to
join the club. The thing is, he basically stepped into the roll of sergeant-at-
arms right off the bat. I never really thought about it—because I didn’t care
—but I’d love to know now. Men don’t just walk into the club and take up a
roll as an officer.
“Yep. Right here in Ashbury,” he says, but he doesn’t sound impressed.
He stops walking to look at me, removing his arm from mine. “My father
knocked my mother up, but he didn’t want her as his old lady. He never even
acknowledged me as his son.” He grits his teeth at that and forces a long,
slow exhale. “Anyway, he died when I was fourteen. I never got to know
him at all. The only thing I knew was that he was in the club.” He shrugs his
shoulders and looks past me again, toward the clubhouse. I can see that he’s
uncomfortable, but he pushes through it, returning his attention back to my
face. “For years, I fucked around, moved around, did whatever the hell I
wanted. And then I moved to California and patched-in there. Not sure why
since I hated my fucking father. But you know what?” He reaches up to
touch the side of my face. “You made it worth it.”
“Whoa,” I say, blinking back at him in surprise. “Stop talking like that or
I’ll be convinced you’re a body snatcher. Cade Grainger doesn’t say things
like that.”
“Why the hell not?” he snaps, grabbing my wrists and pulling me into
him. His dark eyes search my face. “We met because of it, didn’t we?”
“Why did you agree to transfer up here?” I ask, trying to avoid the gleam
in his eyes. There’s a primal hunger there that I know we don’t really have
time for. Shit, we’re at war. There’s a wildfire burning on our doorstep. Even
now, as we stand here together, ash is floating around us in big, fat flakes. It
looks like fish food, if I’m being honest. Not quite so funny when you really
think about what it is and where it came from though.
“Because I thought that maybe if I came here, I could understand him
better. A man who fathered a child and wanted nothing to do with him.”
Grainger yanks me even harder against him, and I can see that we’re going
to have to release some of this tension whether we have time for it or not.
Those base urges connect us. It’s a way for us to show with our bodies what
we’re feeling in our hearts.
Even for him, my consummate asshole.
“Do you?” I ask, and Grainger shakes his head.
“Not at all. Not even a little.” He exhales and then leans down, resting his
forehead against mine and making my entire body warm then hot then
scalding. I burn for him. I burn so badly that I’m turning to ash, just like the
flakes on the wind. “Knowing that you’re pregnant, I’m already too attached
to let go. I wouldn’t. I won’t.”
“What if it’s not yours?” I ask, and he scoffs at me.
“It’s mine,” he says for the millionth time and then, like a lightbulb going
off in the darkness of my skull, I see it. I see it just like I did when he kept
saying ‘I hate you’ to me. When he says ‘it’s mine’, what he means is … no
matter what.
“Goddamn it, Grainger,” I snap, and he smiles. It isn’t a nice smile.
“Get your ass on my bike. Now.” He releases me and stalks off, and I
resist the urge to scream as he goes. But I follow him. Of course I do.

We don’t even make it in the front door before we’re kissing, hands grabbing
greedily at one another’s clothes like they’ve committed cardinal sins. We
both taste like ash and rainwater, but who cares?
I stumble on the rug near the front door, but Grainger keeps me upright
with his hands on my waist, growling at me as I shrug out of my jacket.
Since it belongs to Beast, and I’m trying to be respectful, I hang it on the peg
to my right.
Cade gives me such a dark, disturbing look that goose bumps break out
across my skin.
“Really?” he hisses, biting my lower lip so hard that I cry out. “You hung
your jacket up when I’m about to fuck you?”
“I—” I start, but Cade is just done with me, pushing me back and
releasing me at the same time. He slips his cut and shirt off and tosses them
to the floor, stalking toward me like a monster who’s just scented his mate.
I should probably run, or at least make my way into his bedroom. Instead,
I find myself backing up and sitting down heavy on the steps of the staircase.
We’re all alone now—no Grey, no Reba, no Fem, and all the other guys are
working—so the house should feel empty and sad.
It doesn’t.
It’s charged.
Every air molecule in that house is vibrating with the toxic passion
between me and Grainger. He descends on me hard and fast, pressing me
into the staircase as he tears my shirt off and shoves my bra down so that my
swollen, heavy tits fall out of their cups.
I can already see what this is for both of us: a fear fuck.
We’re both afraid. Afraid that this could be the last time we have sex with
one another. Afraid that the world will be a different place come the end of
the day tomorrow.
Even though it seems silly, almost inane, for us to be fucking right now,
it’s imperative.
Grainger shoves his pants down as he tears mine over my hips, yanking
them down and then growling when my boot gets in the way. He chucks it
off, pulls the pants over that one leg and leaves them to hang off the other.
He mounts me right there on the staircase, his fingers digging into my
scalp, his mouth eating at mine with frenzied, primal hunger. He’s rutting me
against the stairs as I arch my back into him, my bare breasts scraping his
naked chest.
His pecs are so hard that they provide just the right amount of pressure for
my nipples, stirring up heat that travels straight down to my core. I’m so wet
that there’s this messy slapping sound as Grainger shoves into me with
desperation, seeking the end of me, bottoming out as I gasp and hold him to
me.
Please don’t let this be the last time we’re together like this, I pray. Once
again, I don’t know who it is that I’m praying to. It doesn’t matter. I send the
wish out into the universe, letting the energy of our joined bodies carry the
message up into heaven and down into the depths of hell.
If it reaches the ears of any sort of divine being, I hope they take me up on
my plea.
I’ve had a hard life. I’m going to have a hard life. I only want and need
this one thing: this new family that I’m making. My boys, my dog, and my
baby. Please, please, please.
Cade groans as he shoves into me again, spilling his seed with a shudder
that travels through his entire body, making him quiver as he collapses on
top of me. We stay there for a moment before he’s pulling back and lifting
me into my arms.
“Grainger,” I murmur, nuzzling against him as he lets me cling to his
neck, supporting me with one arm as he yanks his jeans up with the other.
Once he’s sure they aren’t going to tangle around his ankles, he supports me
more fully, carrying me into his bedroom.
He lays me reverently out on his bed and then takes a moment to stare
down at me, watching as I slip my bra off fully and toss it to the floor. My
remaining boot is next, my pants and underwear last.
Then I stay where I am, naked and bare to his eyes and his heart.
“Oh Gidge,” he grinds out, like he’s in pain. “You’re a blessing for my
cursed heart. What did I do to deserve this?” He looks away, swiping at his
face with his hand. “I should’ve introduced you to my mom a long time ago.
My brother. I should’ve taken you to lunch or some shit and let them see
what an amazing woman I had.”
“Cade,” I whisper, feeling my eyes prick with hot tears. “If you keep
talking like that, I’m going to cry, and I don’t want to do that right now.
Come here.”
He takes off the rest of his clothes and joins me, pulling me into his arms
and kissing me like we’re teenagers or something. We make out as he slips
his hand between my legs, driving three fingers into me right off the bat and
making me gasp. I bite his neck for luck, leaving a hickey there that’ll last all
day tomorrow. It’s a charm, for safety and good health. That’s how I think
about it.
“Why do you pretend you’re such an asshole when you’re really a
sweetheart?” I whisper, and he laughs at me. There’s that dangerous, cocky
tint to it, like he’s the old Cade, the one I despised with every beat of my
heart. I like that, though, the way he can stir me up and twist my emotions
around.
“Listen to me,” he commands, grabbing my chin and making me look at
him. “Sweetheart? You’re the only sweetheart in here, mama.” He squeezes
my ass and pulls me close to him. “I fucked you in the clubhouse bathroom
when you were sixteen; I let you snort coke with me. I took your virginity
even though I knew better. Don’t act like I’m a saint; it’ll only get you into
trouble.”
“Sure thing, cowboy,” I whisper back, and then he’s rolling me over and
mounting me yet again. Our fingers are intertwined against the mattress, our
mouths brushing with heat and steam and affection.
Yep. Cade and I are making love. Finally. Thank you, thank you, thank
you.
He takes me over the edge more than once. Even when we hear the other
guys return, their footsteps loud in the house, the sound of the front door
echoing down the hallway.
Grainger even digs out some of those sex toys—the dildo and the vibrator
specifically—that I put in his nightstand drawer. He uses them on me until
I’m climaxing around the toy, and then he tosses it aside and mounts me
again.
By the time we’re finished, I’m shaking and boneless, exhaustion
sweeping over me in a wave. He curves his body around me, enveloping me
completely, and tucks me against him.
“Do not die tomorrow,” he growls into my ear, and I smile.
I’d love to promise him that.
But I don’t know.
Someone—probably a lot of someones—are going to die tomorrow.
We both know that we have no control over the outcome, much as we
might like to.
Our fate … is in the hands of the universe.
Don’t do me wrong, you crazy bitch. Don’t you dare. Don’t you goddamn
dare.
Much as I want to believe that I’m prepared for the inevitable heartbreak
that’s about to come, I’m not.
I’m really, really not.
Gidget, the unbreakable? Guess we’ll see about that.
Outside, the winds pick up, a tempestuous howling swirl that rattles the
windows and snaps smaller trees like twigs. In here, wrapped in my lover’s
arms, it feels safe.
But it won’t be, not for long.
Grainger and I doze off for a few, precious hours before Crown is opening
the door and light is bleeding across our tangled legs. Oh yeah, Cade is a
cuddler. He very quickly pushes away from me and sits up, unwilling to
present vulnerability of any kind to anyone but me.
I’m okay with that.
Actually, I like it.
His tender side, it’s mine and mine alone. Nobody else’s.
“I need the two of you up and dressed. We’re meeting Cat at the
clubhouse.” Crown gives me such a long, searching look that I feel it in my
bones. This is it, I think, swallowing hard. It’s time. “Even you, Gidge.” He
curses slightly and lets out a heavy breath. “Though I wish I could send you
away from all of this. It’s not going to end well.”
I know that. I do. But I’m not leaving.
I’m a part of this just as much as anyone else, and I refuse to live my life
inside a cage.
Cade curses and rubs at his forehead, flinging his legs out of bed and
moving over to dig through his mess of clothes piled on the surface of the
dresser. As for me, I slip out and head down the hall, ignoring the low
murmur of Sin, Beast, and Crown in the kitchen.
I lock myself in the upstairs bathroom and make one, last call to Grey
Wolfe.
 He answers right away, fully dressed in black jeans and a pullover sweater.
He’s armed to the teeth, too.
“Good morning, Gidge,” he says, his voice this strange, detached thing. I
can see it in his face, that heavy resolve. He knows what he has to do, and so
do I.
“My father wants to know your location,” I say, tapping my fingers
against my thigh. I’m wearing one of Grainger’s t-shirts and that’s it, but
Grey and I are past that now. At least, I am. Whether he is or not doesn’t
matter at this point. “I agreed to find out in exchange for him letting Reba
leave safely.”
Grey nods and offers up a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite reach his
pretty gray eyes.
“She arrived at her destination unharmed and settled in nicely. Don’t
worry about her. Worry about this.” He gestures between himself and the
screen. “Me and you.”
“Where are you?” I ask as my phone buzzes and a message pops up on the
top of my screen.
Ironically enough, when I see the message, my blood goes cold. It’s an
odd response considering that the world … it’s on fire.
Lane County Emergency System - this is an automated message. Your area
has been upgraded to a Level 3 - Go - Alert. Do not collect belongings.
Leave immediately. Fire danger to your area is imminent. If you choose to
stay, understand that emergency services will not be able to assist you any
further. Re-entry into evacuated areas may be prohibited until fire danger
passes.
Shit.
I shove up from the edge of the bathtub and Grey waits patiently as I
sprint into the hallway and across to the spare bedroom with a south-facing
window. This was Reba’s room; I can still smell the scent of Posey’s old
shampoo that she was using while she stayed here.
I fling open the window and crawl partially onto the roof, rising to my
knees for a better view. It’s still dark outside, so there’s no mistaking the
vibrant orange glow in the distance. It lights up the ebony sky like a
warning.
“Oh my God,” I choke as Grey lets out a soft sigh of acknowledgement.
“Ashbury is a ghost town, Gidge. There’s nobody there. Police were going
door-to-door this morning and telling anyone that was left to leave.”
 The thought of that gives me chills.
The regular citizens have evacuated. The club’s families have left. It’s just
us now.
Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club and Grey Wolfe Mafia.
“You’re in town now?” I ask, and Grey gives a slight shake of his head.
“Not yet, but I will be soon enough. My father and I were originally going
to fly, but our estate—with his helicopter pad—is quite literally in flames.
The winds changed so quickly last night, and the fire moved so fast, we had
no choice but to drive instead. This is our chance to corner Alvise.” Grey
pauses here, tapping the fingers of one hand against his leg as he holds his
phone with the other. “The bulk of my father’s men are headed your way,
toward the compound. If you hurry up, you can bypass them all and meet
me, my father, and his bodyguards at the Artefact; there’s an intersection
right in front of the house that splits off and leads to the highway. That’s the
way we’re going.”
“He’s still sending his men to war during a wildfire?” I ask, and Grey
gives another nod. I don’t even know why I asked; Cat would do the same if
he were in Alvise’s position. If the mafia lays siege to the compound, and the
fire comes in from the south, it’ll force us out from behind our own walls
and into their waiting arms.
“Do you know where the Artefact is?” Grey asks, but of course I do. Not
only did I pass out the mafia’s bad drugs there—at Cat and Crown’s request
—but that’s where I found Queenie and Kian’s declaration of love scratched
into the upstairs baseboard.
“I do.” The words are short and clipped as I stare into the distance at the
otherworldly glow of the fire. It’s burned over a hundred thousand acres, and
I imagine it’s nowhere near done yet.
“I’ll be there in about three hours; there are so many roads closed due to
the fire, we have to take the old highway that skirts the national park. It’s
going to take a while. Can you meet me there?”
“I’ll bring the cavalry,” I promise, wondering what the fuck we’re even
doing here.
We both must be insane.
We hang up, and I exhale, turning and scooting back inside the room. I
return to Crown’s bedroom, dress myself up in head-to-toe leather,
motorcycle boots, and a shoulder holster with my Magnum tucked inside of
it as well as a spare pistol in a second holster. For luck, I add Queenie’s knife
to my boot, and then I head downstairs.
All four men are in the kitchen, waiting for me.
“I just spoke to Grey,” I tell them, my nerves sparking and glittering with
anticipation. I don’t know how today is going to go or how we’re going to
work this out, but I know that there is no more time. Either Grey and I figure
out what we’re doing here, or the club and the mafia are going to mow each
other down until there’s only a few lone souls left standing on one side or the
other. “He says his father’s men are on their way to the compound, but that
he and the Don are fleeing the fires. They’ll pass by the Artefact in three
hours.”
“The Artefact?” Beast asks, and Sin’s mouth curves up at the edge. It isn’t
a happy smile. Maybe he’s remembering that he picked me up on my way to
party there, that he took me to the clubhouse when I was sixteen years old,
and he really should’ve left me alone. It all worked out for the best though. I
mean, I think it did.
Guess we’ll see how today goes before I make my final judgement on that.
“The house where Gidge passed out the mafia’s bad dope,” Crown
explains, and Beast works his jaw in thought.
“Sounds like another great place for a trap.” Grainger looks down at me,
and then shakes his head. “What do we do? Pass the information to Cat?”
“He asked for Grey’s location in exchange for letting Reba go. Let’s give
it to him.” I pause as Sin hands me a Kevlar vest.
“Put it on under your jacket,” he instructs, and I do, slipping off Beast’s
leather for just a minute so that I can fit the vest underneath it. The guys are
wearing them, too, I see.
“I have a feeling that Grey is playing us a bit,” I admit, because I know
him far too well at this point. He allowed Beast to see him at the Palm Motel
with the dual purposes of giving me Reba and also granting his father a boon
at the same time. He sold me out, but he also warned me. I suspect more of
the same today. “If I were a betting woman, I’d guess that the Don isn’t
breaking off from his men; he’d stay with the bulk of his army.”
“At least until they engaged us, and he could take off,” Sin says, as if it’s
the most obvious thing in the world. His eyes, they sparkle like embers, that
last flicker of violent heat before the coals turn gray and go silent … or spark
into something new and start a secret inferno. He kicks a boot up as he leans
against the wall, and he mulls the idea over for a minute. “Why come to the
compound at all? Why not just wait for us to be pushed out by the fires, so
they can hunt us in more neutral territory? I’m not saying the Don isn’t
going to turn tail and run, but I bet Gidge is right: the whole of the mafia is
going to be either in Ashbury proper or at the Artefact. There are only two
ways out of here that avoid the fires.”
“Shit,” I breathe, and chills spring out across my skin. It makes sense. We
could hunker down in the compound, and maybe the winds will shift, but
what if they don’t? Then we’ll be pushed out anyway and we’ll find
ourselves running right into the mafia’s army in a place they’ve scouted in
advance. They’d have plenty of time to set up at the Artefact or in the
downtown area. Explosives, roadblocks, snipers, you name it.
Yikes.
“We need to get to Cat—now.” Crown moves toward the front door as Sin
pauses next to the fridge, opening it and handing me a bottle of orange juice
to drink.
“You’ve got a long day ahead of you,” he says as I snatch it from his hand
and unscrew the top. Sin grabs my wrist in tight fingers before I can lift the
drink to my mouth, his eyes locking with mine. “Obey orders today, Gidge.
If you love us, please God, listen to what you’re told and maybe we can all
come back here alive at the end of this.”
“I will,” I tell him, and he releases me, leaving me to down half the juice
in one go.
“Come on, wife,” Beast says as I set the bottle aside and follow him out to
his bike.
It’s … apocalyptic out here.
And it turned so fast.
The sky is dark and strange with charcoal swirls digging through silver
clouds, and the ash that was falling yesterday is thicker, whiter, more like
snow. There are downed branches everywhere from the windstorm, and one
of them is even speared through the roof of the porch, sticking out like a
javelin.
Holy fuck.
It’s excruciating, the air out here. It’s thicker and denser than air should
ever be. Like, it has its own, menacing presence. It oozes into my lungs and
makes my entire chest ache. There’s this physical quality to it that’s
disturbing. It clings to my lips so that when I run my tongue across the
dryness, I can taste the ash. It was okay inside, with the HVAC system
filtering out some of the gunk, but out here, it’s unbearable.
I yank my helmet on and climb up behind my husband, wrapping my arms
around his huge, muscular form. The sound of four simultaneous engines
whips through the air like the screeches of four warhorses signaling the
beginning of battle.
Our demon wings unfurl to catch the wind—and trust me, there’s plenty of
it—and off we go.
We end up parked at the front of a horde of bikes, many of them covered
with the drifting ash, turning their shiny surfaces a grimy, muted color, like
we’re all standing inside an old movie. Not black and white, of course, but
shades of gray.
The whole world is gray.
Seems fitting considering everything that’s about to happen is hinged on a
boy named Grey, on the crime syndicate that he’s named after.
The boys park and remove their helmets before heading inside.
Just yesterday, the clubhouse was a bustling mess of women and children.
Now, it’s packed wall-to-wall with men in leather vests (and a few of the
scrappier old ladies brave enough to stick by their husbands). Some are from
the Ashbury chapter, others from Seattle, more from Los Gatos. There are
three more chapters on the way from Bentonville, New Orleans, and Denver,
but none of them are here yet.
All eyes turn to us when we walk in.
I can feel the collective weight of the room on me, but there’s less
judgment in it than I expected. Because not only am I Cat’s daughter and
Beast’s wife, I’m also shacking up with Crown and Sin and Grainger. More
importantly than any of that, I cut the head off the alpha female wolf and
killed the leader of Alvise’s tactical team.
So maybe some of these men will never be able to see me as anything
more than an extension of Cat or Beat, but there are plenty who’ve seen what
I can do, what I’m willing to do, how far I’ll go.
We ignore the crowd downstairs and head up to Cat’s office. He’s in there
with René and a half-dozen other men, but he waves them all out when we
come in. Once the door’s closed behind them, my father gives me a look
from across the desk.
“Well, your nun left. What do you have for me, girl?”
 There’s the undertone of a threat in his words, but there’s something else,
too. He’s eager to hear what I have to say. Information is power in a world
like ours, and mine is good. I’ve proven it not once, but twice now.
“Grey is going to be at the Artefact,” I tell him, referring to the crumbling
old party house, the one whose real name is the Jensen Manor and Inn, an
Artefact of Historic Downtown Ashbury. Or so it says on the plate outside the
front door. “In …” I check my phone to see the time. “About two and a half
hours.”
Cat stares me down, searching my face for lies. He won’t find any. How
could he think that, after all the things I’ve done?
He has to die.
I tell myself that, letting the thought echo in my head. In order for this to
really work, I know that to be the truth. Cat will never enter into a peaceful
agreement with Grey. He really won’t like the idea of me being the liaison
between the club and the mafia either.
Yet … even as I stand here, even as I know that this is the conclusion Grey
is hoping I’ll come to, I’m not sure that I can do it. Breathe, Gidget, breathe.
“We think he’s bringing the whole of the mafia’s army to wait for us
there,” I tell Cat as he mulls this over and glances at the silent forms of his
four officers. “But they could also be on their way to the compound. That’s
what Grey told me, but I’m not sure if I believe it. The Don and Grey, at the
very least, will be passing by the Artefact on their way out of town.”
“If we can take out the Don, it’ll cause a power struggle within the
organization. We won’t have to kill ourselves trying to slaughter them,”
Crown offers up, rubbing at his chin. That’s true. Grey isn’t going to
automatically be able to step in and fill his father’s shoes. He’s going to have
to fight for the privilege.
“You want us to go to war today?” Cat asks with a bit of a dry laugh.
“Sounds like a stupid ass fucking plan to me. I don’t know if you’ve looked
outside, but the world is on fire.” He sits down in his chair and leans back,
one elbow on the arm of it, his hand stroking his beard.
“The compound may burn as well,” Crown continues, looking over at Sin.
“Maybe we should take all of our men into town and deal with Alvise? Let
the mafia have whatever’s here—if they show up at all. If it doesn’t catch
fire, we’ll deal with it later. At least then we’ll have the Don’s head.”
Cat doesn’t say anything and neither do I.
 I have no idea how to work out the logistics of this. All I know is that we
need to be at the Artefact when Grey told us to be. That’s it. Everything else
is unimportant.
Besides, Crown is right: the compound might burn, too. We’re further
north than Ashbury, but so what? That doesn’t mean it’s safe here.
The thought of losing the yellow farmhouse makes me immeasurably sad,
but my insistence that it belonged to me, that Crown accept my ownership
over it, was never truly about the house itself. It was about the symbolism
behind it. We belong together, me and him. Me and Beast. Me and Sin. Me
and Grainger.
This is it.
It doesn’t matter where we live; that’s geography.
“I’ve got men working on a firebreak on the southern side of the
compound,” Cat muses aloud, his rust-red eyes dark as he thinks things
through. “We have the hoses and the trucks. But is it enough? Is it worth our
time to sit here and fuck around?”
“There’s always a chance the wind could shift.” Crown turns and peers out
the window at the dystopian landscape outside. He looks back to his
president, acting as the voice of reason, as he’s always done. “But if we wait
around, we’re off the compound anyway and the mafia has the upper hand.
Leaving later gives them the chance to set up and anticipate us.”
“They’re going to want to battle this out right here and now,” I agree, and
all eyes turn to me. Not sure anyone expected me to speak up again. “They
don’t want us to retreat and then return after the fire with reinforcements.
The more this war escalates, the more chapters will pledge to help, the
higher our numbers will grow. Alvise is going to push this today. It’s in his
best interest.”
Cat listens to me and then turns to look at Sin.
“How fast can we move?” he asks, and Sin crinkles his brow, staring
down at the floor in thought.
“Honestly, it’s just us here now. We don’t have anyone else to move. We
could be up and out the doors in … fifteen minutes?” Sin looks back up,
meeting my father’s gaze. There’s no tension or politicking happening in
here right now. It’s as if Gaz never showed Cat that damn picture. DBD is
functioning the way it was meant to: as a single unit. “The problem is that
with the fires the way they are, we only have two routes out of town at this
point. One goes straight through the center of Ashbury, the other goes by the
Artefact.”
“We’d never go through town,” Grainger adds, looking over at Beast who
nods once. He isn’t the type to brainstorm or throw out ideas. He’s waiting
until he’s certain of the right move before he speaks up. “The mafia could set
up, what, two dozen guys? The buildings are all abandoned now; everyone’s
evacuated. If they’re up there with long-range precision rifles, they could
just pick us off as we rolled into town. Even if we reacted quickly, left our
bikes, searched the buildings, then what? They could bring their army
anyway. Or hell, maybe the fire would catch up with us.”
“That means we have one choice: take the back road that connects with
the highway,” Sin agrees, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Wait here and pray the wind changes, take the alternate route out of town
and fight another day, or attempt to engage the Don—whether he’s with the
bulk of his army or not—at the intersection near the Artefact,” Cat reiterates,
looking over at his vice president. “I say we move now and beat a hasty
retreat. There’s no sense in waiting around here and getting cornered
between the mafia and the fucking fire. We’re in a far worse position if we
wait and things go south—which they usually do.” My father’s already
rising to his feet. He looks from Crown to Beast. “Any objections?”
“We should leave,” Beast agrees, nodding and then moving forward to
pause beside me. “We may still run into trouble. I’d be surprised if we left
this town without bloodshed.”
He takes off and the others follow behind me, Cat included.
My heart is racing as I realize that we’re not going to get the chance to kill
the Don today. Instead of finishing this, we’re going to run and postpone it
for another day. It makes sense, what the men are saying. I even agree with it
all.
But goddamn it.
When are we going to get another chance to face off against the Don? He
isn’t like Cat. He doesn’t ride into battle with his soldiers. That’s why there’s
such a thing as RICO charges, to nail the leader of a crime syndicate who
never gets his hands dirty.
There’s no time to worry about it or to wonder if Cat won’t hold this
against me. Reba is gone, but he doesn’t have Grey’s head. I did, at least,
deliver on the information he asked me for. We know where Grey is going to
be; we just won’t be there when he arrives.
 I’m sorry, Grey. But we couldn’t predict this.
The fire has changed everything.
This time, it isn’t the club or the mafia who gets the last laugh: mother
nature has made us all her bitch.
Cat makes an executive decision to load up the bikes with precision rifles—
just in case. It’s an extra ten minutes that makes Crown antsy as hell, but at
least it gives Sin time to check road conditions and make sure it’s still safe to
take the backroads.
It is, but only for now.
We’re in the middle of what’s called a ‘high-wind’ event and the fire is
moving fast. Not only that, but with the entire state of Oregon as well as
California, Washington, and Idaho also in the middle of their own wildfire
season, resources are spread thin.
I don’t think anybody on that compound wants to find themselves
surrounded by the hungry red, orange, and yellow fingers of the devil. They
might be monsters, but even monsters can burn.
I stand aside while the bikes are loaded up since I don’t know shit about
weight distribution. That, and I don’t know where any of the stuff is that
needs loading. I’d just get in the way. I stay close to Sin as he works on his
iPad, confirming our route and then tucking it under his arm with a grim
expression on that sharp mouth of his.
“I don’t like this,” he tells me, glancing my way. “There are too many
variables.”
“The fire really has thrown a wrench in all our plans, huh?” I ask, trying
not to feel frustrated by the sudden turn of events. I killed Giulia. The mafia
wants blood. If they’d come for it under normal circumstances, thrown their
soldiers at the compound walls, we’d have a distinct advantage. Their only
other choice would be to cede this territory—and the casino—to Death by
Daybreak. Because if they waited too long, the other chapters would’ve
arrived, and we’d have an even greater advantage.
Of course, all of that might’ve led to the same damn conclusion: more
years of this drawn-out war. This is what happened last time; the two groups
came to a stalemate, backed off each other, and then restarted this shit all
over again.
Grey and I, we just want to see it all come to an end before anyone else
that we love has to die. That’s the goal. We both want our power, but we also
want our peace.
I pull my shirt up over my nose to help filter some of the smoke. It’s
making my eyes water and when I turn my attention toward the south, I can
see the sky lit up like it, too, is on fire.
“We’re ready,” Crown says, reporting directly to Sin. The VP glances over
at me, reaching out to cup my face in a warm hand. He doesn’t say anything
else which is okay. There’s nothing more that needs to be said.
I love him. I love all of them. Words have been said. Declarations made.
They’ve voiced their displeasure at having me involved in this; I’ve laid
down the law of what I want for my life.
So here we are.
“I hate that you’re riding up front,” I tell Sin, but he just flashes me a half-
smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, leaning in to give me a kiss that’s far too
ashy to be pleasant but somehow is anyway.
“I’ll be okay,” he assures me, looking me over and then shaking his head.
“It’s you that I’m worried about.” He points to the row of bikes, lined up and
ready to head out the gate. “Crown and Grainger will be right behind me.
You’ll be in the center beside Cat. If anything happens, stay with Beast.”
“I will,” I promise him, and he takes off, grabbing his helmet and turning
to survey the row of motorcycles.
I head for Beast’s bike but not before pausing to give Grainger a quick
kiss on the cheek. Luckily, his helmet is still in his hands so I’m able to
brush my lips over his dark stubble.
“Don’t die on me. I’m not giving birth by myself. I hear it’s brutal.”
He slaps me on the ass as I pass by and scoffs.
“Watch you squat and drop a baby while wearing a leather miniskirt and
wielding an Uzi. Don’t act like you won’t conquer childbirth the way you do
everything else.”
Grainger’s words make me chuckle, but not for long. Beast looks so damn
serious, and so does Cat. This is war. Literal fucking war.
I grab my helmet, slip it on, and take a seat behind my husband. I can see
Cat watching me for a moment but eventually, he too puts his helmet on, and
the entire column of bikes roars to life. It’s absolutely magical, this
resounding scream of engines that tears up the early morning sky. If you
squint, it seems ethereal, like the world is shrouded in sweet fog.
In reality, it’s just smoke. I can’t even see the north gate from where we’re
at. Normally, I’d be able to see right past it, across the street, and into the
woods on the other side. It feels like we’re lost in time, surrounded by such a
thick blanket of white. And still, ash keeps falling, falling, falling.
It’s coated the entire world in grit.
Oddly enough, it doesn’t feel like such an unfamiliar place.
Sin leads the way and out we go, moving like a flock of birds. It’s actually
quite pretty, the way the ribbon of bikes turns and leans with the shape of the
road, moving at a quick clip but a reasonable one.
We’re going to arrive at the Artefact about an hour and a half too early to
run into Grey. I have to admit that in some cases, discretion really is the
better part of valor. Cat is making the right choice. For himself, for me, for
the club as a whole. Even if he wants Grey and Alvise’s heads on pikes
beside Giulia’s, this makes more sense logistically speaking.
There’s always time to track them later if we don’t die today.
We continue on, bypassing the road that would take us straight through the
middle of town. I see Grainger’s point: there’s no safe way to send an entire
army of motorcycles down a small two-lane street with high rise buildings
on either side. It’s a recipe for disaster, like shoving soldiers down a funnel.
We’d be sitting ducks.
The woods disappear briefly as we weave through empty suburban streets,
but they return fairly quickly on the other side, thickening as we approach
the pothole strewn road that passes in front of the Artefact and then hooks a
sharp right, essentially giving the house a corner lot. Once upon a time, the
city had planned to turn this into a thriving downtown area. They ended up
losing their battle against an environmental group, and so the Artefact
remained frozen in the middle of the woods—but not until after they had that
pretty little plaque made and placed beside the door.
 The city still owns it, but they have no use for it out here, so it just sits and
festers into glorious decay. I keep my eye out for it as we pass, spotting it
just ahead, this strange blight in the woods, like an old witch’s cottage. From
afar, it’s still an impressive piece of architecture, but the closer we get, the
more it seems like the Jensen Manor is losing its shine. An aging beauty lost
to the trees.
As we approach that sharp right turn, Sin slows down and takes it wide.
It’s impressive. Not only does he have a keen eye for politics, but he can also
plan routes in real time and anticipate difficult maneuvers while in the thick
of things.
What he can’t predict—what I don’t think any of us predicted—was that
we would run straight into a motorcade of black Cadillacs.
Holy shit!
The way their tires screech as they slam on their brakes makes me wonder
if they aren’t just as surprised as we are. What happened to the timeline,
Grey?! I wonder, but even if he hadn’t given me any information at all, I’m
pretty sure Cat and the boys would’ve made the same choice. The fire
changed everything. We couldn’t just sit around and wait to burn or get
blocked in with flames on one side, mafia on the other.
So here we are.
Three of the cars immediately try to maneuver around the others as they
come to a stop more or less in the center of that T-shaped intersection. I can
only imagine that the Don is in one of those vehicles.
Beast stops his bike so quickly that we skid to the side, but we don’t go
down. My heart leaps into my throat as flickers of trauma scatter through my
brain like knives. Turning the corner, seeing the Cadillacs, crashing and
bleeding and suffering. I make myself breathe through it as Cat barks orders
through the radio.
I know everyone in the club has Bluetooth in their helmets; they can hear
him through those, too. I’m sure I’m not the only old lady who wasn’t given
one of those. But it doesn’t matter. My husband not only has a radio attached
to his belt, but we’re only about three feet away from the president.
“Don’t let those fuckers get out of here!” he shouts as several motorcycles
—including Sin, Crown, and Grainger—whip through the mess of Cadillacs
and take off after the other vehicles.
Beast hauls me off the bike and shoves me in the direction of the Artefact.
“Go.”
 I don’t argue; I listen. I’m determined to do every goddamn thing my
husband tells me. I have a feeling that if I don’t, I’ll die out here today.
He unloads the two rifles strapped to his bike, tossing both over his
shoulder and then jogging to catch up with me. Beast kicks the front door in
just as shots begin to ring out through the woods. A quick glance over my
shoulder shows me that most of the Cadillac doors are open and men are
crouching behind them for cover, bullets pinging off the bulletproof glass.
The thing is, it’s never truly ‘bulletproof’ (which is why it’s more
accurately called bullet-resistant or ballistic glass). It absorbs the impact of
gunshots, but repeated trauma can break through it. Before Beast grabs my
arm and pushes me inside the house, I see that happen.
One of the windows on the frontmost Cadillac shatters, and a shot goes
right through the chest of the man behind it. Blood spatters the broken
window before he stumbles back and then falls to the ground.
I turn away and follow Beast’s instructions, heading up the stairs and to
the right. He checks every door, looking for attic access, finds it, and then
thinks on it for a minute. He closes the door and continues down the hallway,
taking me to the last room on the right. Coincidentally, it’s the same room
that I was in before, with the old mattress, and my sisters’ names scratched
into the wall and baseboard.
Goddamn it.
Melancholy follows. It follows and follows and follows. It never stops; it
never rests. It simply walks after you until you’re too tired to move and curls
its cold arms around you. Of all the places we could’ve had a final
showdown, why here, in this dank, decrepit pit of memories?
Beast locks the door and closes it behind him, setting up the rifle next to
the floor-to-ceiling window and then taking aim. I do the same with the
second rifle as he glances over at me.
“You ever fire one of these before?” he asks, and I laugh.
“Cat is my father,” I reply, which is enough. Beast grunts as I position
myself beside him. He’s stretched out on the floor with a Ruger Precision
Rifle while I’m lying down with a Remington MSR and aiming around the
edge of the window.
I search for a target, spotting the three runaway cars about three hundred
feet down the road that leads out of the woods and onto the highway. The
tires are blown out and the cars are parked haphazardly in the center of the
road. I don’t see any people, but the doors are wide open.
 I switch my attention back to the melee at the intersection only to see that
the mafia has changed their tactics: they’ve abandoned the cars and are
rushing the house instead. I can already hear shouts and gunfire from
downstairs.
Shit.
The first thing I do is pick a mafia goon, squeeze the trigger, and put a
round through the center of his face. We likely don’t have much time before
the door is kicked in and we’re forced to switch to more intimate combat.
Lovely.
While I’ve still got the opportunity, I pick off as many of the mafia’s
soldiers as I can before they disappear into the woods or up the stairs of the
Artefact’s sagging front porch. I switch the rifle out for my Magnum and
Beast does the same. The sound of approaching footsteps makes him grit his
teeth.
“Out,” he says, offering yet another single word command that has me
blanching. He kicks both rifles right out the window and leaves them to
tumble to the ground below.
“Onto the roof?” I choke, and he nods. Goddamn it. I hate heights. I’m not
even sure the roof will hold my husband’s weight, but out he goes anyway,
keeping to a low crouch. There’s a definite possibility of being shot up there,
but there’s also the chance we’re going to find ourselves cornered inside this
bedroom.
I see why he picked it and not the attic.
Beast seems to think there’s less chance of being shot out there than in
here, and I trust his judgement. Here goes nothing.
I make myself climb out, taking care to test each portion of the roof before
I put any weight on it. God knows there are parts of this building that are
already in the process of collapsing.
He moves to the edge, turning and grabbing onto the roof, hopping down
and then grunting as he makes contact with something below. I creep closer
as Beast reaches up a hand for me. He’s standing on the roof of a rusted-out
van that I never noticed before, giving him the height needed to safely
descend from the second story.
Damn.
Talk about attention to detail.
I take his hand and join him before using the hood of the rusted-out
shitbox to finish our climb to the ground. Beast pushes the rifles beneath the
van with his foot; they aren’t useful to us anymore, and we don’t really have
the time or leisure to deal with them anyway. He gestures for me to follow
him around the back of the house, keeping a low profile and holding his gun
in a firm two-handed grip.
The inside of the Artefact is alive with shouts and screams and gunfire,
but it’s much quieter out here. No doubt there are men from both sides
hiding amongst the trees, but the shots are fewer and farther between.
We step over the body of a dead Daybreaker as Beast approaches the rear
of the building. The mafia isn’t keen to let us continue sniping them from
inside the house, so they’ve thrown everything they have at it. It’s a fucking
bloodbath in there.
The wind is howling all around us, swirling smoke and ash like a gray
blizzard. It sticks to my eyelashes, clogs my lungs, taints my lips. I can see
that orange glow creeping closer, bright embers mixing with the cool ash.
That stresses me out.
We had to get closer to the fire in order to take this route, and it’s catching
up with us.
“This way.” Beast makes a decision to cross the open expanse of space
between the rear of the house and the old barn near the trees. Just as we’re
approaching the barn’s front entrance, I see Crown, Grainger, and Sin appear
from inside. They spot us right away, waiting for us to catch up to them.
“Alvise is inside,” Sin pants, blood running down the side of his face. The
sight stresses me out until I realize that it isn’t his, just a thick splatter that’s
draining down his bronze skin. “He’s got an entourage, obviously.”
“Do you know where Cat is?” Crown asks, but Beast just shakes his head,
casting a look back at me.
“More important things to worry about,” he says, which I appreciate, but
which also stresses me out. Should it though? If Cat were to die here today,
that might be best for everyone. Still, I can’t shake the wild rage that travels
through me at the thought of my father going down under mafia gunfire.
“He’s not responding on the radio,” Grainger admits, sweat-soaked and
agitated. He gives me another look and a scoff. “Can’t believe I brought my
baby mama to a shootout.”
I ignore him as he takes off down the side of the barn and I follow, already
noticing several small fires burning in the dry grass nearby. It won’t be long
before this entire area goes up in flames.
 The five of us move along the barn’s exterior until Grainger locates a
ladder, climbing up it and moving into the shadowy interior with silent
footfalls. Crown follows up after him, but Sin, Beast, and I remain on the
ground.
The boys keep their gazes on the woods around us, and I do the same,
holding my Magnum in steady hands and watching for the slightest flicker of
movement. It’d be hard to spot someone behind a tree with all the smoke, the
ceaseless fall of ash, and the spot fires. Doesn’t stop me from trying though,
waiting for my opportunity to contribute.
A rifle goes off inside the building, and I hope to God that it was Crown or
Grainger that fired it and not vice versa.
“Stay here,” Beast commands, running down the side of the building and
rounding the corner. I’m left with Sin, his silver eyes a charcoal gray in the
strange light. It’s so fucking eerie out here, knowing that there are literally
hundreds of men in and around the house, inside this barn, in the trees. Yet,
we see nobody.
Where are you, Grey? I wonder, knowing that I shouldn’t be concerned for
him but that I am anyway.
A group of mafia soldiers appear at the back door of the Artefact. Sin
spots them before they see us, cursing under his breath and making a snap
decision. That’s a lesson I’ve learned today that I will never forget: always
be decisive. Whether the decision is right or wrong, it’s usually better to
make it quick and act on it.
That’s what saves our lives right then.
“Up the ladder, Gidge,” he says, and I start to climb, awkwardly holding
my gun in one hand and using the other to help myself up the ladder. Sin is
right behind me, but he keeps his body turned, watching my back as I
scramble up into the loft.
I don’t see Crown or Grainger anymore, but I can hear shots being fired
just below us.
Sin kicks the ladder down and then holds his position near the entrance to
the hayloft, taking aim and firing several shots of his own as he trusts me to
watch his back this time. I survey the loft, looking for any movement—
friend or foe—but finding it empty. There’s another ladder to my left that I
move over to, peering down at the melee below.
I’m surprised to see Grey and Alvise standing just below me. Crouching
more like. It seems as if they’re trying to hide from the ruckus taking place
in the rest of the barn. My eyes flick that direction, but I don’t actively see
anyone except for hints here and there. Daybreakers and mafia men alike are
using old farm equipment and rusted vehicles as cover, taking aim back and
forth.
I turn back to the scene below me.
Grey is watching his father’s back like he’s preparing to put a knife
through it. Actually, I think that’s exactly what he intends to do. He’s got one
held in his hand, tightening his fingers on the hilt just before Alvise turns
back to him.
Their eyes meet, and I can see in that moment that neither of them trusts
the other.
Maybe Alvise hasn’t trusted Grey for a long time—just like Cat didn’t
trust Gaz.
Without warning, Alvise lifts his gun up and then pistol-whips Grey in the
face, hitting him directly in the right eye. Blood splatters and Grey lets out
this sharp, surprised sound. I imagine that if Alvise wasn’t concerned about
being heard or seen by the other people in the barn with him, he’d have just
shot his son.
Instead, he hits Grey again, causing him to drop the knife in his grip.
Again. Again.
Even though I know I shouldn’t do it, I can’t stand here and watch this.
I lift the Magnum with the intention of firing a single shot into Alvise’s
hideous face when he turns his attention up to me, as if he knew I was there
all along. He darts around the tarp-covered stack of crates on his right,
disappearing from my view.
My eyes flick over to Grey but just for a minute, just to see if he’s still
alive. There’s a huge pool of blood widening around his head, and he isn’t
moving. Fear threatens to seize my muscles and paralyze me, but I push
through it.
“Sin,” I hiss, drawing his attention back over to me. He makes his way
across the loft as I slide down the ladder, ignoring the pain in my left palm as
it skims down the old wood. Splinters are nothing right now; I care only
about speed and quiet.
I don’t kneel down next to Grey or check to see if he’s still alive; there’s
no time for that.
Sin moves up behind me, watching my six as I check around the side of
the crate stack, looking for Alvise. I can’t quite shake the idea that maybe we
really could end this today, cut the head off the enemy hydra so to speak.
Maybe not literally this time, but still.
I continue around the crates, putting myself between the front wall of the
barn and the stack. It’s not nearly as defensible a position with the entrance
to our right. The smell of smoke has intensified to an almost unlivable level.
I can barely fucking breathe.
The urge to cough is strong, but I choke the feeling back, glancing over at
Sin.
He catches my meaning without my needing to say anything aloud and we
swing back around the stack, pausing beside Grey’s comatose form. Shots
are still being fired between the two sides, bullets whizzing along the length
of the barn and pinging off rusted metal, burying themselves into old,
decaying posts, or spearing through flesh and blood and bone.
I try not to focus on that part of the equation; I need to find Alvise. He
can’t have gone far.
Sin encourages me to move away from the crates and beneath the platform
of the hayloft. There are old, moldering stacks of hay bales here to provide
cover, but not much protection. If someone decides to shoot blindly at these,
they won’t do much to stop a bullet.
We continue on, moving along the length of the wall until I see Beast up
ahead, crouched behind a massive tractor tire. He’s spotted us already, of
course, but there’s a wide-open space between us and him that isn’t worth
crossing just now.
The sound of splintering wood draw’s Sin’s attention around quickly.
Someone’s just kicked their way through a rotten board on the wall behind
us, and a man is stepping through. Sin takes a shot at him before I get the
chance to, but even with the silencer on his weapon, there’s still plenty of
noise to draw attention.
The man he hits gurgles loudly and stumbles back, cracking another board
as he grasps desperately at it before collapsing. Hell breaks loose then. A
series of shots are fired our way and, as I predicted, the rotting hay bales do
little in the way of offering protection.
Sin shoves me down and I stumble, hitting the ground hard but flat. He
crouches, too, his attention lifting as a man appears around the edge of the
hay bale stack. They’re far too close together for either of them to take a
proper shot, so Sin throws himself at the man’s legs, knocking him down
instead. He brings his weapon up so quickly that it becomes a blur, firing
into the man’s chest twice.
That’s the last thing I see before this horrible creaking sound comes from
above. I curse as a hot spark falls and burns straight through the leather of
my pants, searing my calf as I let out a hiss of pain. When I look up, it’s like
staring into a nightmare.
Flames are dancing right above me that I swear to God weren’t there five
minutes ago.
The old barn groans dramatically, and the platform above us tilts to the
side. I’m barely able to scramble out of the way as it crashes into the dirt in a
sea of sparks and flame, cutting me off from both Sin and Beast.
It’s fallen at an angle, too, effectively trapping me on this side unless I’m
willing to run clear around it in the open space in the center of the barn. Shit,
fuck, damn it. I shove up to my feet, ignoring the burn in my leg and the
acrid reek of the smoke. It’s coming in thick, charcoal gray plumes now,
embers drifting down around me like bright orange raindrops.
Pretty sure the fucking roof is on fire.
I’m almost blind here now with all of that smoke, and so I end up running
straight into someone else’s back. The lack of leather is a dead giveaway that
this isn’t a Daybreaker. Or maybe it’s just instinct that tells me to lift my
weapon.
I do, but it’s too late. The person I’ve just run into slams their hand
beneath my outstretched arms, spins and then nails me right in the stomach
with an elbow. I grunt, the air knocked out of me, and then I stumble back.
I’m proud of myself for keeping both my feet and my weapon, but I can
hardly see.
Rather than to try to fight my attacker in the thick of the smoke, I start to
run, the air clearing dramatically with each step that I take. Unfortunately,
it’s still too hazy for me to see much at all, and I end up tripping on Grey’s
body, stumbling to the ground and knocking my elbow so hard against the
exterior wall that I see stars.
I’m still registering what just happened when a foot comes down hard on
my wrist, loosing the gun from my fingers. A knee slams me directly in the
face, and I taste blood. Whoever it is that’s attacking me grabs me by the hair
and yanks me away from the wall and my lost weapon, dragging me through
the dirt.
 “You little bitch,” the voice hisses as I’m thrown against the wall of crates,
knocking several of them down around me. I throw my arms up to protect
my head, but even though the crates are empty, it hurts when the wooden
corners stab into my arms, cutting and bruising me as they tumble around,
trapping me in the center of the mess. I look up to see Alvise stalking toward
me. He’s missing his gun, and his suit is torn wide. He’s bleeding, too, but
he’s obviously more than capable of kicking my ass.
Get up, Gidge! I throw myself forward and hit him in the knees, knocking
him back a few steps but failing to put him on the ground with me. I push
back to a crouching position and throw a hard punch right at his balls. I
manage to hit him in the crotch, but although he snarls in pain, he doesn’t
stop moving.
He lifts up his foot and kicks me as hard as he can, sending me sprawling.
Even though my body is screaming in pain, I’m used to it at this point. Been
here, done this before. I shove up to all fours, crawling quickly across the
ground and snatching a loose piece of wood that broke off the side of a crate.
I turn just in time to slam the wooden board into Alvise’s midsection. That
buys me enough time to get to my feet but not enough to reach for my
second pistol. The asshole is on me that quickly, grabbing onto the wooden
board and yanking on it so hard that he drags me forward with it and we end
up slamming together.
I’m coughing like crazy now; it’s so goddamn hard to breathe. It’s thick
and hot and cloying, and all I want to do now is find my men and get out of
here. I still have no idea if Grey is alive or not, but I’m not sure that I’ll have
the luxury of rescuing him this time.
My skull flares with pain as Alvise knocks his forehead into mine,
wrenching the wooden board away from me so hard that my hands are torn
apart by the splinters. He swings it at me and manages to nail me right in the
stomach.
The air rushes out of me as I double over, chills skittering across my skin
despite the heat. No! No, no, no. Alvise hits me again and I stumble, stars
dancing in my eyes as I gag and choke on the dark plumes of smoke, my
eyes watering with the pain, with the grit of the smoke. He kicks me then,
his foot nailing me hard in the stomach.
A groan escapes me as I curl up involuntarily, clutching my arm over my
belly.
 “Whispers on the wind say that you’re pregnant. Congratulations, by the
way.” Alvise tosses the board aside and bends down, digging under my
jacket for my spare pistol. I snatch Queenie’s knife from my boot and flick
the blade out with a scream. I no longer care if we’re quiet, if we draw
attention to us. I want that. I want my men to find me.
The blade sinks into Alvise’s shoulder, but he snatches my wrist too
quickly for me to yank it back out. He shoves my arm back as I scrabble
with my left hand, trying to get to the gun before he gets hold of it.
I manage to yank it from the holster as he pulls the blade from his
shoulder and then proceeds to stab me with it. The knife glances off the bone
in my arm as I grit my teeth in rage. I’m certain in that moment that I was
right with my metaphors: I’m a grizzly bear.
And you know what happens when you approach a bear’s cub?
You get fucked-up.
I might lose this pregnancy, I tell myself, but I can’t worry about that right
now. Instead, I swing the weapon in Alvise’s direction, pulling the trigger
and hitting him in the same place where I sunk my knife. My aim is off
because my arm is trembling. I’m aware that I’m bleeding, but I can’t feel it
right now. The shock and adrenaline hide the reality of the injury from me as
I attempt a second shot.
A small section of the roof breaks off, falling in a mess of flames. It
smashes into the ground between me and the Don of the Grey Wolfe Mafia,
disrupting our fight for the time being. I use the opportunity to get to my
feet, my stomach cramping as my chest seizes and I cough so violently that I
almost drop the pistol.
The man is maniacal. He appears out of the smoke and tackles me before I
can shoot him again. We wrestle for control of the gun, and it ends up
tumbling to the ground. He snatches it before I can get to it, jerking away
from me and stumbling to his feet.
“Biker bitch,” Alvise snarls, his eyepatch blocking his right eye from me
while the left one gleams with an endless storm of rage. He lifts up the gun
as my mind frantically searches for a way out of this.
A figure appears out of the smoke behind Alvise. It takes me a second to
realize who it is, my eyes widening as I see Grey. His face is a mess of
blood, and I’m not even sure what the fuck happened to his eye, but he’s
alive.
 Before his father can fire the weapon, Grey is drawing a blade along the
pale line of Alvise’s throat. His skin splits like a second smile, blood
blooming prettily along the sharp slice until it begins to spurt. Red sprays
into the air as the man chokes and stumbles, careening to the side and
tripping over the pile of downed crates while Grey sags to his knees on the
floor.
I force myself to crawl over to him, reaching out to grab his shoulders.
“Grey!” I shout, but he isn’t particularly coherent, lilting to one side as I
struggle to keep him upright. Even though I’m hurting, and I can’t breathe,
and I’m bleeding like crazy, I make myself stand up. With a scream of
frustration, I haul my friend up and into my arms, his legs dangling on the
ground in front of me. I’m not even sure how I’m managing this. Call it
adrenaline. Call it love. I don’t fucking know.
I drag Grey across the floor in the direction of the barn’s entrance. Or …
at least what I think is the entrance. I’m so disoriented that I wonder after a
minute if I’m going the wrong way. I pause, hefting the limp body as I look
around.
I can’t see shit.
I have no idea where I am. My eyes scan the room before I realize that I
have a radio attached to my belt. I drop Grey rather unceremoniously to the
ground and then reach down to grab it, lifting it up and tuning into the
frequency that DBD uses.
“Gidget!” I hear my voice straight off and relief spikes through me,
making my tired body sag prematurely.
“I’m … in the barn,” I choke out, my voice a weak, fluttering thing, as
small and insignificant as a sparrow’s heartbeat. I find myself suddenly on
my knees beside Grey with no memory as to how I got there. They’ll come
for me, I tell myself. I’m not worried. I’m not.
“We’re on our way,” the voice snaps back. I have no idea which one of my
men it is. I’m too disoriented. All I know is that it’s one of them for sure. I
can feel the truth of that in every beat of my heart. I wrap my arms over my
belly as the world tilts and spins around me. So tired. It’d be so easy to lay
down beside Grey and fall asleep.
I keep myself low to the ground, trying my best to breathe through the
smoke as pieces of the flaming roof crash down around me. It’s probably a
good thing, right? Letting in all that fresh air … Or not. Maybe it’s just
fanning the flames? I have no idea.
 I’m not in my right mind.
A man materializes out of the haze, and I choke back a sound of relief.
I’m sure for a moment that it’s Beast.
Only … it’s not.
It’s Cat.
It’s fucking Cat.
He moves forward confidently, his gun held by his side. Did he hear me
on the radio and come for me? Did my daddy come for me?
I hate that thought even as I swallow back a choked sound of relief.
Cat walks right up to Grey and lifts his gun on the comatose boy. I might
be fading at the edges, but I’m at least coherent enough to recognize that I
can’t let this happen.
“No!” I shout, throwing myself over Grey’s body. “Leave him, Cat. Leave
him and take me out of here.”
“Girl, move,” Cat snarls, reaching out to grab my arm. His fingers smear
in the blood that’s draining out around the slice in Beast’s leather jacket, and
he pauses. But only for a second. Cat yanks me up and into the circle of his
right arm. He’s strong enough to hold me there and still take aim at Grey.
I throw myself at his arm, and his shot goes wide. Cat curses at me, but
before he can right me and try again, another figure appears from the smoke.
A tall, slender figure that I definitely don’t recognize.
It’s Ivan Wolfe, the mafia’s underboss. Cat stiffens up with me still
clinging to him.
They’re both holding guns, and they’re both there with people they really
don’t want to lose. The roof creaks and groans again. I look up and wonder if
it isn’t going to collapse completely, kill all four of us in one go.
Ivan looks at Cat, his gun still held in his right hand, and he bends down,
hefting Grey over one shoulder with a surprising amount of strength.
“Good luck,” Ivan says, backing away from Cat as my father curses, his
breathing heavy and labored from the smoke. There’s a minute there where
Cat has to make a choice: save me or kill Ivan and Grey.
He can’t have both.
I’m almost convinced that he’s going to choose the latter, put the club
ahead of me the way he should. Instead …
“Goddamn it, girl,” he growls out finally, tucking his gun in its holster and
hauling me up into his arms. He carries me in front of his chest like I’m a
little girl, my head bobbing as he takes off at a jog in the direction of the
barn’s rear entrance.
We’re nearly there, the smoke fading, fresh air filling my lungs. I feel a
sudden, bright clarity as the oxygen tears through my chest.
And then …
There’s a screaming sound from above us, and then the world is tumbling
and rolling. Or … I’m the one that’s tumbling and rolling? I’m so disoriented
that it takes me a full thirty seconds to realize that Cat has fallen and thrown
me forward in the process. I’ve rolled toward the open barn doors and come
to a hard stop in the dirt.
I brace myself on my palms and look back.
My mind refuses to accept what I’m seeing.
“No!” The word rips from my throat like a storm, and even though I’m
bloody and hurting and suffering from severe smoke inhalation, I scramble
across the dirt toward my father.
He’s pinned beneath a large section of roof, his body crushed to the dirt
floor. Not only that but the fallen pile of lumber is on fire. The flames
haven’t quite reached Cat yet, but they’re licking their way across the wood
and old roofing tiles. I do my best to stand up, stumbling a bit as I reach out
and put my palms on one of the beams, shoving with all of my strength.
But I know I can’t move it.
The beam itself is massive. It’s also attached to several other large pieces
of the roof. Even if Beast, Grainger, Sin, and Crown were all here … we
couldn’t move it.
I drop back to my knees in front of Cat, putting my cheek to the ground
beside him.
“Talk to me, Daddy,” I whisper, struggling against the violent,
overwhelming urge to cough. “Talk to me.”
His fingers curl into the dirt and he groans as several fat teardrops roll
down my sooty face.
“Gidge …” he whispers as I reach out and stroke some of his dark hair
back. It might be streaked with gray, but there’s no doubt that it’s the same
color as mine. Same hair, same eyes, same strength. Me and Cat. No, no, no.
I don’t want to lose my baby and my daddy in the same day.
“You’ll be okay,” I lie, even though I know that isn’t true. He’s going to
die. I can already see blood, spreading out from beneath the pile of debris
that’s collapsed on top of him. The fire’s just caught on the leg of his jeans.
There’s nothing I can do. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. “You’ll be
okay,” I sob, curling my hand around Cat’s as his eyes flutter open.
For the last time, we lock matching gazes.
For the very last time.
“Gidge,” he repeats as I cry as freely as I ever have before. I’m completely
torn open on the inside now. There’s no going back. I can never be the cold,
cynical girl that I was in the past. “I love you, baby girl.”
“Not this way,” I whisper, and I can tell I’m starting to hyperventilate.
“Not this way, Cat. You can’t go this way.”
“Don’t leave me like this,” Cat chokes out, and then he coughs and blood
flecks his lips. His pants are on fire. They’re on fire, so he’s on fire, and I
just hope that he can’t feel anything. “Do it. You always knew … it’s always
been you.”
I know what he’s asking.
But I don’t want to know.
I don’t want to do this.
Don’t make me do this!
I crawl beneath the heavy beam that’s across Cat’s back, reaching down to
grab his gun from the holster on his belt, and then I slide back out. I hold the
weapon in my lap, staring at it like I’ve never seen a gun in my life before.
“Do it,” Cat whispers, choking on the smoke and the blood. “Please,
Gidge …”
I hate him for asking me to do this. I love him too much not to.
I bend down and press my lips to Cat’s forehead, stroking his hair back
with shaking fingers.
“I love you, old man,” I choke out, tasting tears and grit and ash on my
lips. “I love you so much. And I forgive you. I forgive you for everything.”
He doesn’t answer me, his eyes fluttering as he groans in agony.
I can’t let him suffer. I can’t. I can’t.
I shove up to my feet and, before I can lose my nerve, I lift up the gun …
and I pull the trigger.
Someone starts wailing and screaming. It’s so loud; it hurts my ears. I just
wish they would shut the fuck up.
Then I realize who that person is: it’s me. I’m the one that’s screaming.
Strong hands grab onto me, hauling me up against a broad chest. It’s
Beast, I think, but I don’t care. He’s dragging me away, and I’m fighting him
even though I know that I shouldn’t. There’s nothing here to fight for
anymore.
“Daddy!” I scream as Beast finally chucks me over his shoulder, hauling
ass out of that barn as flames rain down and my hand stretches out toward
the deepest and most profound love I’ve ever felt. It was coupled with an
equal amount of hate. Those two things existed—and continue to exist—
simultaneously. One never could cancel out the other. “Daddy!”
“Oh God,” Sin breathes when he sees me. All around, there’s fire. The
whole world is burning. I can’t tear my gaze away from that barn, watching
the orange glow bathe the dark woods with perversely bright light.
“I’ve got the bikes,” Grainger says, panting from somewhere on my right.
I barely care. All I can think about is what I’ve just done. How … how …
No.
“Cat …” Crown starts, but I know that he knows. One need only listen to
my wracking sobs to understand what’s just happened, to hear me scream
daddy over and over again. “Fuck. No. No. Fuck.”
“We have to go now,” Sin says firmly, keeping hold of his emotions as an
explosion sounds from behind me. I shove at Beast suddenly, and he
reluctantly sets me on my feet. I turn with a tear-streaked face to see that the
flames have consumed the sea of black Cadillacs. Their tires are melted to
the pavement, and one of them has just exploded.
“Fuck,” I whimper, blinking through the smoke as I turn toward the guys.
The fire is everywhere, all around us.
“Come, wife,” Beast whispers softly, grabbing me by the hand and
dragging me along behind him. I know he’ll carry me if necessary, but I
want to run. I want to run and run and run and never stop. I want to collapse
and scream. I want to know why there’s blood between my legs, and I want
my daddy back, and I … I have to live through this first.
We move through the trees even as I notice quite a few abandoned bikes
on the road to our right. Daybreakers who don’t need them to get home
because they’re never coming home. Like Cat. Like Daddy.
I shove that emotion aside, sprinting along beside my men until we get to
our own bikes. Someone moved them before the flames could melt the tires.
We don’t bother with helmets, climbing on and starting the engines. I curl
myself around Beast, pressing myself as hard as I can into his back. I’m
afraid that if I don’t, I’ll give up and let myself fall off the bike, just so I
don’t have to feel this pain again.
 I keep thinking I’m immune to it somehow, as if losing my sisters and
losing my awful brother turned me into an emotionless lump of flesh and
blood and bone.
Except that’s not true.
It’s not true, and they’re all dead, and … it’s just me.
We maneuver slowly through the woods (driving on dirt on a motorcycle
is like driving on ice), making our painstaking way back to the road that
leads to the highway. Once we hit that pavement, the boys pick up speed and
then … we’re flying.
We’re flying, and I can feel my wings unfurling behind me.
I’m not sure they’ll ever be angel wings, but demon wings work, too.
I was born of a demon, and I’m okay with that.
For the first time in my life, I’m proud of it.
I love you, Cat. I love you, and I forgive you.
Forever, always a Daybreaker.
Three weeks later …

A lucky shift in the wind saved the Death by Daybreak compound from the
fire. Ashbury, on the other hand, lost several outlying suburbs and nearly
three dozen homes and business on the southern end of the downtown area.
The Artefact, of course, is nothing but ash. I know that because I went
back later for Cat’s body. Or what was left of it. I’m sitting in the cemetery
now, my elbows on my knees, hands clasped together in front of my face.
Nellie is screaming on her knees beside the open hole in the ground where
the shiny black casket sits, ready to be buried beneath the soft, sweetness of
the earth. I guess when I had that dream about Cat and the coffins, the empty
one wasn’t for me, it was for him.
Just like my father did the day of my sisters’ funeral, I remain calm and
stoic, sitting beside the new president of Death by Daybreak, his vice
president on my right side. And by that, I mean Crown and Sin. Just as I
predicted. Fuck, I should set up a fortune telling booth and charge for my
premonitions.
After Cat died, the club needed to vote in a new president quickly to deal
with the aftermath. With so many dead, with the Grey Wolfe Mafia’s new
Don demanding an audience, we needed someone who could handle the
stress of it all.
 The position suits Calder Reid; the position of VP suits Sin much better
than road captain did.
I sit up straight as the priest drones on, his words meaningless to me. I
hope they bring some comfort to my mother though; I’m worried about her.
She … isn’t doing well. I think I’m going to encourage her to go to rehab.
Without Cat, she feels like she’s nobody and nothing, and she’s
medicating that way, too.
I know now that whatever happened between us in the past, I love and
care about her. I don’t want to see her suffering like this. She needs purpose
in life, but first, she needs to get clean again.
“My love,” she’s sobbing, crawling over to the hole as several of the other
club wives reach out to draw her back by the shoulders. “My love. Oh, God.
Please. Please, Leroy, don’t leave me.”
I can’t stand the thought of her melancholy; it’s breaking me.
“He’s the president first, and a father second when he’s in public.” Crown
told me that once, when I remarked on my father’s seemingly empty
expression during Queenie and Posey’s funeral. I try to embody that today.
I’m the president’s old lady first, and a daughter second when in public.
Life is already complicated enough for me. As the liaison to the Grey
Wolfe Mafia, I’ve got a unique position in the club, but it isn’t one that’s got
full support from all of the members. A majority, yes, but I still have a lot of
work to do.
I can’t let them see me cry.
Anyway, I’ve done enough of that. I’ve been crying for weeks. Ask my
men. I’m sure they’re sick of it by now, even if they’ve been nothing but
supportive.
Sin curves his hand around mine and squeezes it. I look over to meet his
eyes, recognizing the glitter of pain buried deep in their silver depths. I’m
not the only one mourning Cat. The entire club is—my men in particular.
I caught Crown crouched down in the backyard yesterday, rubbing at his
forehead and squeezing his eyes so tight that his entire face was scrunched
up in pain.
“Do you want to take a walk?” Sin asks quietly, but I shake my head. I’m
going to get through this. Then I can break down. For now, I’m keeping it
together.
The priest invites us to throw our own handfuls of dirt onto the surface of
the coffin. Nellie refuses to do so, collapsing into the grass. I move forward
then, dressed in all black, all leather, like a proper Daybreaker.
I kneel down next to the pile of dirt, reaching into my pocket and pulling
out a few small items. Queenie’s sonogram, Posey’s hoop earrings, a toy
truck that belonged to Gaz when he was little. I chuck them all into the hole
before curling my fingers into the loose soil next.
Nellie doesn’t know that her son is dead. I don’t think it’s prudent to tell
her with how hard she’s taking my father’s death. Eventually, I can tell her
the truth. But not right now. For now, Gaz is just … off doing his own thing.
I toss the dirt in, the sound of the rocky soil hitting the lid of the coffin a
musical requiem that I will never forget. It will forever stick in my mind and
play on repeat when the moon is just right in the sky.
Crown tosses his handful in next followed by Sin, Grainger, and Beast.
They’re standing just off to my left, never too far away. Always close. We’re
always close now, the five of us. They can probably sense how close I came
to falling over the edge.
I’m alright now. I’m getting better with each morning that I wake up in
one of their beds.
We wait together patiently beside the hole as the rest of the club takes
their own time to say goodbye to Cat. In the end, Nellie is too distraught to
even stand on her own. Amber Clearwater and some of the other club wives
offer to take her back to the clubhouse for the wake, and I agree.
It takes a while for everyone to finish—Cat was the president after all—
and I swear, the hole is already half-filled with dirt. I can’t even see the
coffin’s shiny surface anymore.
The boys escort me back to their bikes.
I climb up behind Beast as the rest of the club joins us. Not just local
members either. We have guys from chapters all over the country who knew
and loved my father. When those engines start up, they consume the careful
quiet of the cemetery, a roar that reaches both heaven and hell, I’m sure.
Wherever Cat is, I’m certain that he can hear it.
I’m fucking certain of it.
The sea of bikes moves as one, a glittering snake of chrome and leather, a
funeral procession that winds from the cemetery all the way to the north end
of town and then back again. We pass through the cemetery once more
before heading toward the southern part of town with its burnt shells of
buildings and the blackened trunks of dead trees. We even drive past what’s
left of the Artefact and its collapsed barn.
 I close my eyes then because I don’t want to see it. I’ve already seen it
once, when we came back to retrieve all of the bodies. Now, it’s Crown who
has to pay off the authorities to hide our dirty deeds. He doesn’t seem to
mind. He was born to lead anyway.
We end up back at the clubhouse, parking beside the deck as the sound of
music booms into the night. We don’t do quiet, cloistered wakes here on the
compound. Oh no. There’ll be drinking and smoking and fucking. Basically,
it’s my wedding reception all over again—kegs and cocaine included.
Nobody’s worried this time. Not only do we have plenty of the antidote, just
in case, but the Grey Wolfe Mafia has undergone a change of hands.
I don’t know how he did it, but Grey has stepped into his father’s
expensive loafers like he was born to be there. The last time I saw him, it
was over video chat and were negotiating a tentative peace.
The main road that runs through Ashbury is actually part of a major
highway that cuts the state in half. It runs from the Oregon coast and into
Idaho. We’ve decided that it’s a boundary line. For the time being, we’re
going to continue our operations on the northern half while the mafia works
in the southern half. The only exceptions are major highways that run from
north to south.
The casino, which is set on reservation land, is neutral ground.
No more laundering there. Control has been relinquished back to the tribe.
For now, it’s a meeting place if ever the club and the mafia need to talk in
person.
I don’t know how long this is going to last, but I do know one thing: in
order for this peace to break, either Grey or I will have to die. That puts a
pretty big price on both of our heads.
“Wife?” Beast asks as I blink myself out of my stupor. He’s holding out a
hand, offering to help me off of the bike.
“Husband.” I take it without complaint, letting him lead me up the steps
with the other four men trailing behind us.
We head into the clubhouse and into the sometimes overwhelming,
sometimes welcoming, but always interesting embrace of Death by
Daybreak.

I collapse onto the sofa with my arm around Fem, too tired to even bother
trying to figure out which room I want to sleep in. For weeks, I’ve been
switching from one room to the other in an almost mechanical sort of way.
Like, if I was with Grainger last night, I’m with Sin tonight, Crown
tomorrow, Beast the next day.
To be frank: we haven’t had sex the entire time. Not once. Not only was I
hurting bad after that night—I actually spent the rest of it in the hospital—
but my heart was broken. Still is. I can feel it now, jagged pieces shifting
around like glass and cutting, making me bleed.
“Hey.” Sin sits down on the coffee table, putting his elbows on his knees
and looking down at me. Fem curls his lip at the man’s presence but
otherwise doesn’t move. “Do you want some orange juice?”
My mouth twitches slightly. There wasn’t any OJ at the reception. Plenty
of vodka, whiskey, cheap beer, weed, and tobacco though. But no juice.
“I want a gallon of it,” I murmur, my cheek pressed into a leather pillow.
“With a straw. Oh, and lots of pulp.”
Sin chuckles at me before rising to his feet and disappearing into the
kitchen to get me my drink.
“Look at you,” Grainger says, kicking the leather armchair closer to the
couch so he can sit next to me. He’s clingy as fuck, I’m not even gonna lie. I
like it though. I’d like it a lot more if my chest didn’t ache with this
desperate sadness.
I force myself to sit up and exhale, giving him the sauciest look that I’m
able to manage. It’s probably lukewarm compared to the usual scalding
sneers I used to feed Grainger, but hey, it’s the effort that counts. Feminist
adjusts himself to curl into a ball on my left side, tail over his nose. He’s
been extra clingy lately, too.
“Look at me, what?” I query with a lift of one brow.
“You used to be so fun. Now you just drink orange juice and watch Sons
of Anarchy on repeat.”
“I have never once watched Sons of Anarchy,” I retort with a curl of my
lip. “Are you kidding me? I couldn’t think of anything I’d want to watch
less.” I pause as Sin returns with my drink. Beast pads back into the room on
bare feet, shirtless and steamy from the shower. Some random Daybreaker
accidentally upturned an entire bottle of whiskey down his shirt on our way
out the door.
He takes a seat next to me, his blond beard growing back in. It’s a nice
length now, short and manageable. I missed it a little, so I’ve decided he can
grow it out for a while before he shaves again. He takes my feet in his lap
and gives one a rub, making me groan in a highly inappropriate way.
Sin sets my drink down and then pulls up another chair, this red leather
thing that I picked out. I also picked out a dining room table, but it hasn’t
been delivered yet. I’m sure that Crown took me to buy furniture in an effort
to distract me. He’s hardly had time to breathe let alone go shopping with his
old lady.
I make a face as I grab the jug of OJ—Sin really did bring the entire jug in
here—and put the straw to my lips. It’s extra-long, so it doesn’t fall into the
orange liquid and disappear. I’ve been making half-hearted jokes about how
it’s only half as long as Beast’s dick.
“You watched one episode,” Beast reminds me, and I toss him a look. He
grins at me, reaching up to touch his beard in a way that reminds me of Cat.
Fuck. I could barely stand the man when he was alive, but now … I miss
him so much that I can barely go an hour without thinking about him.
“I wanted to see if it was realistic,” I suggest, just before Crown walks in,
chucking his cut over the back of another chair and then moving over to start
a fire in the fireplace. He’s getting more comfortable with the idea of us all
living in his house—my house. But you know what I mean. Then again,
maybe he’s just too exhausted to care about propriety anymore?
“If what was realistic?” he asks, before sighing like he could very well
sink into that grave alongside Cat. There’s one key feature that gives away
his true mood: that glint in his green eyes. He loves being president. As Grey
was born to be Don, I think Crown was born to be president.
And what a pair they make.
“Sons of Anarchy.” As soon as I say it, he looks back at me with an
expression dripping with disdain. “What? I didn’t say I liked it.” I slurp more
of my juice and then lean my head back against the couch cushions, the
fingers of my left hand teasing the husky’s silky fur. He lifts his head up and
sniffs the air, just to make sure that everything’s still okay.
I’m guessing he’s this clingy because of the baby.
Miracle beyond miracles, I’m still pregnant.
Apparently, I had what’s called a subchorionic hematoma. Like I said, I
don’t speak hospital, but apparently that means you bleed from your vagina
and have bad cramps, but it isn’t overly serious. No thanks to Alvise. If Grey
hadn’t killed him, I’d have gone on a mission to find him and torture him
every day for a decade.
 Prick.
I think about Ivan Wolfe picking Grey up off the floor and carrying him
out of the barn. Apparently, he’s been on Grey’s side all along. Him, and that
doctor guy. What was his name? Tommaso Setola. Pretty sure they poisoned
any dissenting voices in the organization after Grey took over from his father
… Anyway, I never get straight answers out of Grey so who knows?
So long as the mafia isn’t causing the club problems, I don’t care.
What’s interesting is that Grey now wears an eyepatch—just like his
father. He won’t let me see what’s underneath, but he says that he can still
see out of his right eye. I have no idea if it’s just a vanity thing or a trauma
response or what, but if he doesn’t want to show it to me, I won’t press him.
“Please don’t ever put Sons of Anarchy on when I’m the room,” Crown
suggests, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. He offers me up a
genuine smile to soften his words. “I’d much rather watch more of those old-
school slasher films you’re so obsessed with.”
“What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.” My words are
lighthearted, but my soul is dark and heavy. I don’t want it to be. This is a
whole new life for me. New house, new relationships, new baby.
Grey is alive. Reba is doing great—she’s always loved studying scripture
so … cool for her, I guess. Trevone Hundley invited me to prom when we
ran into each other at the grocery store and ended up with Sin scowling at
him over my shoulder. That was fun.
But Nellie is struggling and needs help. The secret of Gaz’s death sits
heavy on my shoulders. And without Cat, the world just looks a little
different.
I pull my phone from my pocket, hooking it up to Crown’s Bluetooth
speakers.
I select a song from Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons. “December, 1963
(Oh, What a Night)” starts to play. It was one of Cat’s favorite songs. I know
that because when I was little, I’d hear it playing in the garage of our shitty
old house while he was on his back, tinkering with his bike.
“God,” I groan, putting my hand to my forehead. You should see the way
all four of those men lean in toward me, like they’re afraid I’m going to
break. They should know me better than that. If this life hasn’t broken me
yet, I don’t think it ever will. There’s nothing I can’t handle. Doesn’t mean it
can’t hurt me like hell though, stab me right in the heart and make me ache
like I’m coming apart at the seams. “I miss him. I miss him so bad. I thought
I’d be glad he was dead. But not I’m not. Not even close.”
“Your daddy loved you, suge. He certainly wasn’t perfect, but he loved ya.
That’s for damn sure.” Beast presses his thumb into the arch of my foot, and
I groan again. Can’t help it. It just feels so fucking good.
“He was abusive toward you,” Sin agrees with a long sigh. “But you were
the love of his life. You and your mom.” He looks down at his lap. “You
know, it’s probably for the best that it happened this way. He was really
struggling after Gaz’s death. I’m not sure that he would’ve been okay in the
long run.”
That thought makes me even sadder, so I push it aside. I make myself
remember that day in his office when he clamped me on the shoulder. “Nice
work last night. You sure are a ruthless bitch. Can’t wait to see the nightmare
of a grandchild that you pop out.” That was a defining moment for us.
Although we never quite got the father-daughter talk that I wanted, I’m
glad that I was able to tell him what I needed to say. In the end, I got an I
love you and that was a lot coming from him.
“He was excited to be a grandfather,” Sin offers up, as if that makes things
better instead of worse. “He mentioned it multiple times.” My throat closes
up, and I turn up the music. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
Crown gets up and grabs a bottle of whiskey—Crown Royal, actually—
and passes it around to everyone but me. After we listen to the song a few
more times, I turn it off so we can listen to the crackle of the fire in the
fireplace and listen to the patter of rain on the roof.
Then the guys start to open up. Grainger first, then Sin. Even Beast.
Crown is last. But they start to dig up their best stories about Cat. My initial
response is to bolt, to hide myself away and let sleep take me.
I make myself stay, drinking my juice and petting Fem, enjoying the brush
of Beast’s warm fingers on the arches of my feet. I don’t remember falling
asleep, but I must because the next thing I know, I’m waking up in Sin’s
bedroom and he’s cleaning, picking up clothes off the floor as sunshine
streams in through the wood blinds.
And the song he’s singing … it’s the same one we listened to last night,
Cat’s song.
I keep my eyes closed, fighting a smile as I try not to love the sound of
Colton’s voice or the way the beams of sunshine feel like a warm caress on
my scarred legs. Yesterday, I felt like the world would be forever dulled.
 You know what? Sometimes, grief makes it seem that way. Music isn’t as
pretty; TV shows aren’t as entertaining; colors are dull. Over time, things
don’t necessarily return to the way they were, but the sound of the music
morphs into something else. The TV shows hold different meaning. The
colors change.
It’s never the same, but it can be okay again. Even happy.
“Hey,” Sin says, gently sliding the length of a leather belt across my
calves. “You awake?”
I am; he knows it.
I turn over and stretch, lifting my arms above my head as I arch my back
and yawn.
I’m starting to understand the purpose of funerals: they’re for the living,
not the dead. I actually feel better today.
“I just wanted to hear you sing,” I tell him, and he smacks me gently with
the belt on the leg.
“Naughty,” he says, and I know it’s meant to be a joke. It’s said casually
enough, but then the air between us stretches, heats, darkens. Sin looks down
at the belt and then up at me, and then he’s on the bed and I’m laughing as he
ties my wrists to the headboard, pushes my panties aside, and fucks me in
the early morning sunshine.
Yep.
Things are hard, but they’re going to get better.
We might live in the darkness, but that doesn’t mean we don’t understand
how to appreciate the light.
Another four weeks later …

I’m standing in the kitchen in a pair of short-shorts and one of Queenie’s

maternity shirts. A lot of her stuff is cheerful and covered in flowers, so I
have a hard time making myself wear it, but this particular top is solid black
with a deep V in the front that shows off a fair amount of cleavage, so I’ve
taken to wearing it a lot.
I’m sort of a skinny bitch to begin with, so I feel like my stomach looks
extra huge, like a cantaloupe shoved up under my shirt.
I open the fridge door as Fem waits beside me, hoping for a treat of some
kind. I grab a packet of deli meat from the door and open it, peeling off a
few slices and tossing them for him. Feminist likes to show off his skills,
leaping in the air to snap the treats out of the sky, and then landing gracefully
back on his three legs. He doesn’t even seem to miss the fourth which is a
relief.
My throat gets choked up, and I close my eyes. I shouldn’t cry over my
father in a moment like this. He truly deserved what he got when you think
about it, when you consider that he shot my dog for no other reason than to
teach me a lesson.
But that’s not how the heart works.
I miss him anyway.
 With a deep breath, I remove the rest of the deli meat from the package
and toss it over to Fem, throwing away the trash and washing my hands
before I dig four cool, brown bottles out of the refrigerator.
Holding two in each hand, I cluck my tongue for Fem to follow me and
head down the hall toward the back door. I bump my way through the screen
door with my hip, pausing on the sun-warmed cement step with my bare
feet.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
All four of my men are working in the yard, putting the finishing touches
on what was once just a bare dirt patch. Now, there’s a fence that encloses a
good quarter-acre, plenty of green grass, a small deck, and fresh plantings
surrounded by mulch.
None of that is what’s mesmerizing to me; it’s all gone up slowly, over the
last several weeks. Just one hard day of labor after another. I even helped
with a fair amount of it. Doesn’t stop the guys from trying to pamper me or
put my feet up, shower me with overprotective alpha male urges.
Sometimes, I let them. Sometimes, I stay on my knees and dig into the earth,
pulling plants from their pots and teasing their roots with my fingertips
before I put them in the ground.
No, the reason I’m mesmerized right now, the reason I’m staring … is
because all four of my men are shirtless and wearing jeans, dirt smeared on
their hard chests, their arms. Sin is even wearing gardening gloves which
makes me wet my panties like they’re going out of style.
Crown and Beast are maneuvering the new table into place. It’s this long,
wooden farmhouse table that looks like it came straight from a magazine.
But no, they built it.
You heard me: they built it. The four of them.
They also strung up lights, Edison bulbs dangling above us and waiting
for later, when our guests show up and we switch them on for a warm,
companionable glow.
We’re having a party here tonight; did I mention that? Not a big one. Just
a welcome-home thing for Nellie. She’s just gotten out of rehab and for the
time being, she’s going to be staying here with us. I don’t know how I feel
about that, but I also can’t leave my mother alone right now.
She might be clean, but that’s only a for now sort of thing.
 We’re selling her house—that house, the bloodstained one—and then
we’ll look into finding something more permanent for her. The thing is, her
identity is tangled up in the club. She doesn’t know who she is if she isn’t
the president’s wife. I imagine she’ll marry herself off to one of the other
old-timers.
I know René, the treasurer, has been visiting her in rehab whenever she’s
allowed visitors. I think he’s lonely, too. He misses his son and
granddaughter, and his wife passed almost ten years ago. He’d be good for
my mom. She needs that, anyway, to be a club wife again.
She can’t really be a mother anymore, not that she ever really acted like
one anyway. But with Queenie and Posey gone, with Gaz … err, missing,
and me here with four lovers and a baby on the way, she needs a new hobby.
“You okay there, wife?” Beast asks, moving over to me and offering up an
enigmatic smile. “You like what you see, huh?”
“I, uh,” I start, trying to remember what I came out here to do in the first
place. Fem prances past me, lifts his leg to piss on a new rose bush that I
planted, and then proceeds to trot after Grainger. He’s fallen in love with
him. Fem, I mean. He likes Cade now. They even cuddle sometimes when
neither of them thinks I’m looking. “Here. Beers. I brought you beers.”
I have this weird flashback of a memory where Nellie is bringing cold
beers to Cat and his friends. It makes me a little dizzy when I think about it;
I never wanted to become my mother. This though … it’s different.
“Thank you, sugar,” Beast drawls, kissing my cheek easily, even though
I’m standing on the step and he’s on the ground. Evens out our height
difference a bit. “You like it?”
“I love it,” I say, admiring the table as I come down the step and hand
Crown his drink next. He takes it from me with a grateful sigh, reaching up
to swipe his arm across his forehead as he looks back at the table.
“It was a lot of work, but worth it,” he says, nodding his head. Being
president has taken up a lot of his time, but he still makes sure to make time
for me. He even helped the other guys with the table construction. More like
… he drew up the plans and told them how he wanted it done, and they did
it. But still.
“So worth it,” I say as Sin comes up behind me and wraps his arms around
my waist from behind, making me groan as he puts his chin on my shoulder.
He smells heavenly as fuck, like fresh sweat and dirt and cloves. Oh my God.
I know we don’t have a lot of time before our guests get here, but I might
need to fuck … “Take your drink and stop smearing sweat and dirt all over
me,” I grumble. In reality, I mean the exact opposite of that, and Sin knows
it.
He chuckles at me as presses a kiss to the side of my neck, taking his
drink and then moving up to stand on my other side. Grainger comes over to
us last, patting my dog absently on the head as he turns around to look at the
table.
“Now we just gotta drag the fucking chairs out here,” he says with a
scowl. He looks down at me as I pass over his beer, and the edge of his lip
quirks up in a smile instead. “Thanks, mama,” he says, and I narrow my eyes
on him.
“You know I hate that,” I say. He does. But he does it anyway, just to get
under my skin so that we can despise each other a little bit, and then bang it
out. “The yard looks amazing.” It gags me a little bit, but I make myself say
it. “Thank you.”
“Why don’t you thank us by getting under that table and sucking us all
off?” Grainger quips, and he moves away before I get a chance to pick up a
rock and throw it at him.
“Don’t you harass my pregnant wife like that,” Beast says, his voice mild
but edged with a bit of a threat. He’s joking though. Mostly.
Cade ignores him, moving into the house and returning with a single chair
in his hand, chugging his beer as he goes.
“Sit,” he commands, putting it at the head of the table. I do, and he sets his
beer beside me. The other three men do the same, setting their drinks down,
and then working to bring out the rest of the chairs. There are a dozen in
total which freaks me out a little.
We’re having Nellie over obviously, as well as René, Amber, Big Jack,
another couple that Crown knows and likes, and a man whose club name is
quite literally Tigger—like the cartoon tiger, yes. Lord knows where he got
that nickname. I truly do not want to hear that story.
When Sin comes back with the final chair, he also has a glass of orange
juice with a squiggly straw for me which I appreciate. A pleased smile
curves my lips even though I try to hide it.
“You’re making me too soft,” I grumble, and Sin snorts, putting his hand
on the surface of the table and leaning down to look into my eyes.
“Gidge, you beheaded a mafia queen. Nobody would ever accuse you of
being soft.” He takes the seat next to me, Beast beside him. Grainger’s on
my other side with Crown on his left.
The boys and I sit together in companionable silence for a little while.
I look out across the yard and then lift my gaze up, past the fence and
toward the trees. We got so damn lucky that the compound didn’t burn. Of
course, it occurred to all of us that if we’d stayed put here, Cat might’ve
survived.
That’s the thing with war; there are no right answers. We just as easily
could’ve burned up or been driven off the compound into traps set by the
mafia. There’s no way we could’ve known what was going to happen with
the wind.
I sigh and lean back in my chair, enjoying the sunshine on my skin and the
easy quiet. For a second there, I feel like I see a firefly, but then, of course, I
remember that we don’t have fireflies in Oregon. It’s just a flash of sunlight
off the edge of one of the Edison bulbs. Too bad.
“Hey, Beast,” I start, dropping my chin back down. “Do you have fireflies
in Tennessee?”
He looks over at me, his mouth shifting up into a gentle smile.
“Lightning bugs?” he queries, and then his smile turns into something of a
grin. “Sure do. The bugs in the Smoky Mountains make pretty, synchronized
light shows; they flash in unison.” He taps his fingers against the side of his
beer bottle. “I was thinkin’ we could pay my family a visit after the baby is
born, just to show off a little.”
“I’d like that,” I say, glancing over at Grainger to gauge his reaction. He
seems fairly neutral toward the idea. Crown, on the other hand, is frowning
hard. Sin just sips his beer, and I can’t seem to get a read on him either way.
“All of us or …?”
They all turn to look at me. I like that, when their collective attention is on
me and me alone. It makes me feel safe, powerful, wanted.
“Your choice, darlin’,” Beast continues, standing up and taking his beer
with him. “I’mma shower before our guests arrive. I stink to high heaven.”
He takes off, and I watch him go, hesitating for just a second.
“Go on, we all know where your dirty ass mind has gone to,” Grainger
growls out, taking another sip of his beer. “Just don’t forget to service the
rest of your poor, blue-balled husbands.”
“Oh please,” I spit back at him, using my straw to flick orange juice his
way. “As if you don’t get fucked at least every other day, sometimes more
than that.” I stand up and shove my empty glass toward him. “For being an
ass, you can clean this up.”
I take off after Beast, slipping into the downstairs shower just in time to
find him naked and waiting for me. He’s leaning back against the bathroom
counter, palms flat for support. I very carefully close the door behind me and
tuck some hair behind my ear.
“You know I love you, hun,” he drawls out at me, and I swear, that sound
goes straight to my nipples, turning them into hard, pert points and flooding
my core with even more heat. Not that I needed it: seeing all four guys
sweaty and shirtless and covered in dirt just about made me come right then
and there. “You don’t have to come in here and offer yourself up to me.”
“Oh, I know that,” I tell him, putting my arms around his strong neck and
kissing that warm, sultry mouth of his. “But I want to. I’ll die if I have to get
through an entire dinner with people without getting fucked first.”
He laughs, the sound feathering against my lips before I kiss him again,
slowly working my mouth down to his neck, his chest, teasing one of his
nipples with my tongue. I continue licking and kissing and laving him until I
get down to his waiting erection.
I’m not kidding when I say he has a huge goddamn cock. It’s so big that
when I curl my fingers around the base of him, they don’t meet up. Down
here on my knees, it’s hard to imagine that he fits inside of me the way he
does, as if we were made for each other.
Then again, I feel like that with every single one of the guys.
“Damn it, Gidge,” he murmurs, kneading my scalp with his strong fingers.
“Not sure how I feel about this, my pregnant wife suckin’ me off like this
…”
“Shush,” I breathe, darting my tongue out to tease his tip. He lets out a
long exhale as I lick down his length, paying special attention to his balls
before lifting my head back up. When I go to put him in my mouth, I have to
really stretch my jaw to make him fit. Even then, it’s almost uncomfortable. I
can only do it for a second, sliding down and then back up again, releasing
his shaft with a gasping breath.
“Oh fuck,” he groans, removing his hand from my hair and putting it back
on the counter so that he can curve his fingers around the countertop. “That
feels too damn good.”
“It should,” I whisper, letting the heat of my words and breath tease the
glistening wet head of his dick. “It takes some effort, husband. You’re huge,
you know that?”
He looks down at me with that perfect blue gaze of his, and for a while,
it’s just us in that bathroom. Just me and him. There are no bad memories or
flashes of blood and fire. That’s what I like best about these men; they’re all-
consuming. But in a good way.
They make me feel … human.
I work Beast with my mouth and tongue until my jaw is sore, and I’m
sneaking a hand between my thighs to pleasure myself. He doesn’t like that.
He ends up reaching down and hauling me to my feet, turning me around
and bending me over the countertop.
I brace myself with my hands against the edges of the sink as he undoes
my shorts, wrenches them down my hips, and slides his huge, wet cock into
me. I’m so turned-on by that point that he only stretches me a little, just
enough to leave this kiss of delicious invasion as he rocks his hips into me.
Deep and hard and slow.
I end up lifting my head so that I can look at him in the mirror, and we
stare at each other while he works my body with his. This time, when I sneak
a hand between my legs, he allows it, and I work my clit with vigorous,
circular motions until I’m contracting around him and milking his body with
my cunt.
Beast groans and pounds into me, enjoying the ride before his own climax
hits and he’s filling me up with the heat of his own pleasure.
We relax there for a few minutes before he pulls out and helps me into the
shower, gently cleaning me with a warm washcloth and washing my hair for
me. Can I say how amazing it is, to have this huge man, the enforcer of the
Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club, using honey-scented shampoo and
conditioner to wash my hair?
I love it.
I love all of this.
Them, our house, our new life, our future.
If I think about it like that, I feel lucky.
If I think about the past … well, I try not to let it haunt me. If I do think
about it, I try to force myself to conjure up pleasant memories instead. It’s
not easy, and I’m not very good at it yet, but I’m trying.
“Alright wife, out,” Beast commands, drying me off and then leaving with
a towel wrapped around his hips to fetch us both a change of clothes.
 Once I’m fully dressed and my hair and makeup are done, I grab
Queenie’s cookbook from Beast’s nightstand drawer, and I open up to one of
her recipes. I’m supposed to be making mashed potatoes, mac ‘n’ cheese,
and potato salad to go with the barbecued fare that Grainger is cooking up on
the grill outside.
He comes in about halfway through me fucking up the noodles for the
mac ‘n’ cheese—why are they so slimy?!—and heaves a tired sigh.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he says, moving over to me and pushing me
gently away from the pot on the stove. “You’re as bad as your mother when
it comes to cooking. Stick to killing people and sucking dick, huh? You’re
good at those things.”
I kick him right in the ass. No joke. I actually lift my leg up and nail him
in his hard cheeks, and he growls at me.
“You. Out. Now.”
I listen, but only because I’m relieved not to have to cook anything. It’s
been well-established at this point that I suck, but I keep trying anyway.
When I glance back however, I see that Grainger is peeking into Queenie’s
notes to see how she did things.
That makes me happy in a way that I can’t explain, like she’s still here
even though she’s not.
A knock on the door drags me out of my reverie, and I move over to open
it, finding my poor, grieving mother waiting on the doorstep.
“Nellie,” I say, feeling my throat get tight with emotion again. I blame the
pregnancy hormones for that shit. I’m not really this soft, I swear it. “Mom.”
Her blue eyes fill with tears, and she leans in to give me a huge hug, one
that’s bigger and tighter and more real than any she’s ever given me before.
Somehow, even though I know things are tough for her, that we haven’t seen
the end of her deep melancholy, it heals my broken heart a little.
“Gidge,” she sniffs, and I don’t correct her. I decide that, for once, I’ll let
this one slide. “I’m happy to be home.”
Even though this isn’t nor has ever been her home, I know what she
means.
Back in the fold of the life, in the club, surrounded by extended family.
“Come with me,” I say, taking her hand and leading her into the house and
down the hall, past Grainger who calls out a mumbled greeting. We head
outside, and I get her seated at the table, offering her up a soda and sitting
beside her. Sin, Beast, and Crown make excuses to give us some space.
“Talk to me.”
Nellie looks around in awe for a moment before she turns her gaze to mine
and takes my hand between two of hers.
“I miss him,” she says, tears building up in her blue gaze and then falling
down her face in big, salty droplets. “I miss him, baby, and you look just like
him. You look just like your daddy.”
And then we’re both crying, and I’m hugging her, and night is falling and
the Edison bulbs are twinkling and somehow, even though I know it isn’t
possible, I feel like Cat is watching us. That he’s smiling. That even after the
tortured life he lived, he’s found peace.
Here, in this yard, with my mom and, later, our guests, I feel like I find
peace, too.
One second, one minute, one day at a time.
While I’m working on, you know, growing a kid, I focus on getting my
GED. I guess I must be smart as hell (I already knew that) because it’s easy
as fuck. Once I have it, I’m not even sure I know what to do with it.
In the end, I decide to stay on the compound, taking up part-time work in
the garage fixing up bikes. That only lasts so long because I get huge. My
belly is plump and round, and I end up spending more time at the farmhouse,
sitting in the backyard and staring up at the trees with the sunshine on my
face. I read a lot of books out there, too. All kinds. Fiction, non-fiction,
whatever.
The club wives—spearheaded by Nellie—host me this huge, horrible,
over-the-top baby shower that I hate every second of. Before that though,
they host a small wedding for René and Nellie that takes place in the same
church where I married Beast, where she married Cat. I even have her old
wedding dress dry-cleaned so that she can wear it again.
After that … I have to face the reality of my predicament.
Birth.
I have to give birth.
And you know that? It’s fucking disgusting. It isn’t pretty or magical or
anything like that, but at the end, I get a tiny baby girl who has a dark swatch
of hair on her head and a face that somehow reminds me of Cat even if I
know it’s all bullshit.
 Because I’m apparently sentimental and not very creative, I name the baby
Katrina. Kat, for short. I must be a goddamn masochist.
The guys were all in agreement, too, which I appreciated. Not that it
matters because I would’ve named my baby whatever the hell I wanted
anyway.
They all take to being dads in a way that’s actually not all that surprising
to me. Walking in and seeing any one of them holding the baby in their arms,
cradled against their leather cuts, makes my ovaries go crazy.
I have a bad feeling about that. Like, how many goddamn kids am I going
to end up with?
As time passes, and the six of us—plus Fem and sometimes Nellie—
morph into a beautiful, cohesive family unit, I start to notice something.
“Katrina came from Colton’s balls,” I say one night when we’re sitting in
the living room, and the kid is asleep. It’s become obvious at this point. Not
sure if it’s her nose or her mouth that really gives it away, but I can tell. My
daughter, of course, has the same red-brown eyes and dark hair that I have,
that Cat had, that Gaz had. It’s in our blood, our wicked, wicked blood that I
both hope and fear that she’s inherited.
If she’s as wild and untamed as I am, then I feel sorry for her already.
“Bullshit,” Grainger growls out, pouring a Scotch and then handing it over
to me. I’m twenty-one now, so I can drink legally. Cool. Thanks US
government for your permission. Not that I haven’t been drinking for
fucking years at that point. “I don’t see it. How do you figure?”
I just give him a look, leaning back on the couch with my dog curled up
by my side, Sin seated next to us. He’s smirking already and pretending to
hide it as he takes a sip of his drink.
“Guess I just had the youngest sperm, so it took, you know?” he says with
an insufferably smug chuckle. He glances over at me, and my breath catches,
my lower stomach muscles tightening. It’s not just his silver eyes or his now
black and green faux-hawk, it’s something else. A dark memory of him tying
me up with a belt and fucking me from behind in the basement of my Gram’s
house during a mafia attack.
That’s how we conceived our kid.
Yep.
Sounds about right.
I sip my Scotch and enjoy the burn as Grainger narrows his eyes on the
pair of us.
 “You know what,” he says as Beast and Crown finally get home after a
long day, the front door slamming shut behind them, their boots loud on the
hall floor as they make their way into the living room to join us. “If you
think that’s the case, then I want a DNA test. That way we can plan for the
next one.”
“Pardon?” Beast purrs, moving over to get a glass of Scotch for himself.
“We talkin’ about having another kid already?”
“Uh, it’s my body, so I’ll decide that, thank you very much.” I move to lift
my drink to my lips when I notice Crown staring at me. Right after Katrina
was born, he took me to a fancy five-star restaurant, got down on one knee,
and presented me with his aunt’s ring while asking me to marry him in front
of a bunch of annoying strangers. I said yes, and they all clapped and
cheered which was irritating as fuck.
I pretend to examine the ring instead of looking at his face. We had a
wedding in the church, too, just like I did with Beast. I’m sure I’ll end up
having two more weddings with Sin and Grainger, but I doubt either of them
would want to use the stuffy church. Maybe … Vegas or something? We
can’t get married on paper, but we can walk down the aisle with Elvis or
some shit.
“If we’re talking about making new babies …” Crown starts, trailing off
before he moves over to get his own drink. “You promised me: within five
years, everything in your power.”
“Why are we even talkin’ about this?” Beast queries, turning back around
to study me and Sin.
“Because we can all tell that Katrina came from me,” Sin offers up, and
the self-satisfied expression on his face makes me want to deny it. But I
can’t. Because it’s true, goddamn it. “You guys better get cracking before
your balls shrivel up. Aren’t you like, forty or something?” He teases Beast
who narrows his blue eyes on him.
He’ll be thirty-seven this year, but that’s nowhere near old. We’ve got
time. I grin and down the rest of my drink, pausing when I hear a small voice
calling for me from up the stairs.
I put my glass down and head up to grab my daughter, lifting her into my
arms as she rubs her fists against her eyes and blinks at me. We look at each
other, and she smiles because she knows what the sound of boots downstairs
means.
 It means one or more of the dads are home. That’s what we call them in
the plural, the dads. When she wants one of them specifically, she just says
Daddy Crown, Daddy Cade, Daddy Colton, or Daddy Beast. It’s a mix of
real names and club names, but it works.
I don’t know what we’ll tell her when she gets older. I guess if she gives a
shit, we can say she came from Sin’s balls and be done with it. Doesn’t
matter to me.
I take her downstairs and we put on our favorite song—December, 1963
(Oh, What a Night)—dancing together while the men watch us with love
brimming in their eyes. Once Katrina goes to bed, that love turns to lust, and
I bend my ass right over that couch arm.
I welcome the four of them to fuck me, just the way I like, and sometimes,
if we’ve all had enough alcohol, we go to bed together. It’s rare, but nice, to
have them touching me at the same time, inside of me at the same time.
When that happens, I can feel it, that kiss of dark magic in the world that
only we can conjure up, a troupe of demons, of hedonistic bastards, leather-
bound outlaws, lovers, parents, a family.
All of those things are true together, regardless of their contradictions.
And it’s more than I ever could’ve allowed myself to dream.

Seven years after Cat’s death …

When Katrina was maybe one at the most, the guys worked together with the
club and figured out a way to put me on salary. I deserve it, considering I’m
the one who has to deal with the Grey Wolfe Mafia.
Grey and I are the only people in the world who could keep up this sort of
peaceful arrangement for so long. One, because we’re both ruthless as fuck.
After Crown took over as president, we rooted out the remaining rats in the
club, lined them up, and put them in a hole.
Grey did the same on his side.
Things have been relatively easy between our two groups ever since for
the second reason behind our success: we’re friends. We love each other. We
are each other’s hard lines.
Because of all that, I also have my own bike.
Now, I still ride behind Beast during official events, and I only wear his
jacket on the compound, but sometimes, when we take road trips, I’ll switch
it up. I’ll wear Crown’s jacket one day, Sin’s the next, Grainger’s after that.
It’s sacrilegious in club culture, but I’ve never cared about any of that.
We’ve been sinners from the get-go, so what does it matter?
Anyway, on the third Friday of every month, I attend a ‘Pilates class’.
I know, I know, it doesn’t seem right. Gidget Kesselring taking a Pilates
class? The fuck is that?
But wait for it.
Just wait.
I climb on my bike, yank my helmet on, and head into town with all four
boys. Nellie watches the kids (Kat and our four-year-old son, Avery—
Crown’s bio kid) back at the farmhouse with René and Fem by her side. As
much as I dislike leaving the kids there without one of us for protection, it
has to happen this way.
I’ve had hits put out on me before, assassination attempts. Grey, too. But
what did we expect, that just because we were at peace, that others wouldn’t
seek to manipulate or exploit that?
Some people seem to make the mistake of equating our friendship to
weakness.
In reality, it makes us stronger than ever.
I head to the usual spot in downtown Ashbury, parking along the sidewalk
while the guys do the same.
“After this, you want to have lunch or something?” I ask, turning around
and walking backward so that I can see all four of them, dressed in leather
and denim and ink. Women flick their eyes our way, but there must be
something about me that screams fuck off or I’ll kick you in the ovaries
because they always, always, always give us a wide berth.
“Don’t you eat at these things?” Sin queries, reaching up to ruffle his hair.
He glances over at Grainger who’s already scowling.
“Yeah, whatever. Just make it quick.” Cade moves up to open the door for
me before Beast gets a chance to do it.
“Actually, the food is gross. Do you even know what the fuck a watercress
sandwich is?” I lift a brow in question as Beast snorts and shakes his head.
“We’ll be waitin’ for ya, wife, as always.” He presses a kiss to my temple
before assuming his usual post just outside the front door.
“Okay, yeah, lunch,” Sin agrees, offering up a wave as he moves down the
alley to the right of the building to take his spot next to the back door.
Grainger goes with him, still grumbling and cursing because he fucking
hates getting up early.
Crown follows me inside, and, before I can even slip past the door of the
Pilates studio to the small staircase in the back of the building, he puts his
hands on my hips and breathes in the scent of my hair.
“Stay safe,” he whispers, and I roll my eyes. He knows that I will; he’s
just being extra protective because … well.
“I promise,” I agree, turning and throwing my arms around his neck for
another searing kiss. We get carried away sometimes like this, enough that
we’ve actually fucked in the janitor’s supply closet more than once. But not
today. I’m already running late.
I pull back from DBD’s president before I get lost in him, turning and
pounding up the steps to the private restaurant that sits on the second floor of
this building. It isn’t advertised. It has no sign. It’s just here, and you either
know about it or you don’t.
I ring the bell and wait to be let in. The hostess greets me with a nod—she
sees me once a month so we’re familiar with each other—and then slip past
her to take my usual table near the window. The glass is frosted enough that
I can see a hint of downtown Ashbury, but not enough that anyone can see
me through the other side. Also, it’s ballistic glass. Not bulletproof, no, but
close.
“Gidge,” Grey greets, standing up from his seat and offering me a
proprietary kiss on either cheek. He takes my hands in both of his and then
looks down at my still-flat stomach. “I see this one’s coming along nicely.”
It’s a bit of shade thrown at me in a dry but somehow still cocky tone of
voice.
“Grey, go fuck yourself,” I tell him with a grin, turning to Reba as she
rises out of her chair next and throws her arms around me in a shameless
hug. “Sister Keller.”
“Oh, stop that,” she drawls, slapping playfully at my arm as we pull apart
from one another. “How are you feeling?”
“Reba, I’m fine,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “I’m only six weeks
along; I’ve got a ways to go.”
I take my seat as the waitress brings over a towering silver tray filled with
… things. Mafia things, is what I call them. Really, it’s just fancy tea service
shit. Finger sandwiches and whatever. It’s all gross, too. I never eat here. The
tea’s nice though. Usually, we order oolong to go with our discussions of
murder and mayhem. Sometimes, it’s green tea. Others, Earl Grey.
“This one’s Grainger’s baby?” Grey queries, and I give him a death glare
before picking up a brightly colored macaron and chucking it at his face. It
hits him in the eyepatch, and he frowns prettily, plucking it off of his lap and
wrapping it in a cloth napkin. “Oh, so it’s Beast’s?”
“You know what?” I query, putting my elbows on the table—because I
know he hates it—and leaning forward to narrow my eyes at him. “It isn’t
too late for me to kill you and pretend like it was an accident.”
Grey snorts as Reba sighs and fills her plate with several sandwiches. She
loves them. Maybe it’s because she spends too much time trailing Grey
around his stupid mafia palace and acting as his spiritual guide? They’re
both a bit uppity, to be quite honest with you. Not that that’s any different
than the way they’ve always been.
“I could just as easily poison your tea,” he replies smoothly, smiling in
such a wicked, awful way that I almost believe he’d do it. But no, not Grey.
He really does give love sparingly, and I can see why. Once it’s out there in
the world, he can’t take it back. I guess that’s why he’s still single?
I ignore him. As frustrating as he can be sometimes, he and Reba are the
only people I can just be myself with outside of the compound. Shit, even
when it comes to people in the compound, I can never be fully honest.
But here? Here I can be. Here I can talk about everything from my third
pregnancy to worries about cartels from down south. I can discuss the way
Grainger flips pancakes and makes Kat laugh to the way Sin sings with
Avery while he works in the garage outside.
Reba listens and nods, and sometimes she reminisces about her parents, or
talks about the kindergarten class she teaches that’s full of mafia royalty
brats. She and Grey are like fucking this, so they share a lot of the same
drama: politicking amongst silken snakes inside the cathedral, trips to Italy,
espresso beans.
Grey is really, really obsessed with coffee.
“You two are downright insufferable,” Reba drawls, and then,
unsurprisingly, she quotes the Bible. “Hatred stirreth up strifes; But love
covereth all transgressions.”
Grey and I both grin at her, giving each other looks that promise we’ll be
good for the rest of the luncheon.
 “I can’t stay long today,” I admit finally, leaning back in my chair and
sighing as I look down at the teacup in front of me. “We’re picking up
Cade’s little brother for the weekend. His mom is finally getting her shit
together, and she has some training thing for her new job up in Portland.”
I pick up my drink, letting the cup warm my hands, and then sipping it
with a loud slurp for the sole purpose of irking Grey and Reba.
“Mm,” Grey murmurs, giving Reba a look. That’s when I know there’s
something going on, something that I probably won’t like. “We have a
problem.”
“Do we?” I query back, and he nods, reclining in his chair and entwining
his fingers across his lower stomach. He always wears a suit to these things,
a different one, every single month. “What is it?”
“I need your help.” He glances to one side, and I wonder again what he
looks like under the eyepatch; he’s never showed me what his father did to
him that day. I will, however, never forget the sight of him appearing out of
the smoke like a specter and slitting Alvise’s throat. It’s burned into my
brain.
There are other things there, too, but I try not to think about those. I only
allow myself to think of my father when it’s a happy memory. Not for him,
not to pretend he was a saint or anything, but for my own mental health.
“You always need my help with something,” I say with a long sigh.
“Alright.” I lean forward and put my teacup down as I look between Grey
and Reba. “What’s next?”

My first memory is of feeling protected, safe. Even now, the scent of leather
and motor oil calms my nerves, the roar of an engine a siren song that I can’t
resist. For years, I lived under the weight of so many lies, knowing that there
were people out there who would protect me, no matter what, who had my
back. It made the world seem less scary, more manageable.
Then one day—I can’t remember when—I woke up and realized it.
I could be my own protector; my men could be my family—even if we
were all monsters.
I was born ruined. I soon found myself dressed in sin. But for my future? I
choose to revel in my own glory.
Was, am, will.
Past, present, future.
The darkness can choose you, but it doesn’t have to define you.
You are the master of your own fate and me, I’ve got control of mine.
Forever, always a Daybreaker.
The End…
Grey Wolf Empire, Book #1
Alpha Wolves Motorcycle Club, Box Set
The Havoc Boys, Book #1
Stepbrother Inked, Standalone
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 About the Author
C.M. Stunich is a self-admitted bibliophile with a love for exotic teas and a
whole host of characters who live full time inside the strange, swirling
vortex of her thoughts. Some folks might call this crazy, but Caitlin Morgan
doesn't mind - especially considering she has to write biographies in the
third person. Oh, and half the host of characters in her head are searing hot
bad boys with dirty mouths and skillful hands (among other things). If being
crazy means hanging out with them everyday, C.M. has decided to have
herself committed.
She hates tapioca pudding, loves to binge on cheesy horror movies, and is a
slave to many cats. When she's not vacuuming fur off of her couch, C.M.
can be found with her nose buried in a book or her eyes glued to a
computer screen. She's the author of over a hundred novels - romance, new
adult, fantasy, and young adult included. Please, come and join her inside
her crazy. There's a heck of a lot to do there.
Oh, and Caitlin loves to chat (incessantly), so feel free to e-mail her, send
her a Facebook message, or put up smoke signals. She's already looking
forward to it.