“Yes, but then I’d know you’re wearing them, and then I won’t be able to focus on being the big bad man they want me to be, because all I’ll be able to think about is the sexy underwear you have on.”
“You’ll live.”
He crosses his arms and watches me get dressed. His eyes stay heated as I slide on a pair of jeans, taking my sweet time, so I torture him. I throw on a shirt, then my leather jacket, put my hair up, and go brush my teeth. When I’m in the restroom, I spray on perfume and apply my red lipstick. I’m not sure what it is about it, but it makes me feel empowered.
I walk out of the bathroom, and Knives’ fists clench. “You do this just to test me.”
I rub a finger down his chest as I strut away from him and head toward the bedroom door. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Oh, but I do.
I love testing him.
I stop by my bedroom and grab a few ninja stars per Slingshot’s request. Mary is behind me, safe and alive, and it’s hard not to think about what waits for us in 13 days. She’s so nonchalant about it, and it irks me.
I don’t care what we have to do. I don’t care if I have to lock her in jail 13 days from now; she isn’t going to be anywhere near me. I’ll make damn sure of that. “You ready to go see what the fuss is about?” I ask her, noticing how I don’t like that her leather jacket doesn’t have my property patch on it
Holy shit.
The pain in my ass is the love of life.
Go fucking figure.
I want my name tattooed on her too. I want there to be no doubt who she belongs to. Everyone here knows, but everyone out there in the world doesn’t. One look at the woman tattooed on my arm, and then one look at the woman by my side, makes it obvious I belong to her. I want it to be obvious that she belongs to me.
“Yeah, the voices are getting louder, so that can’t be good,” she says.
I wrap my arm around her shoulder as we walk down the hallway to the main room, and saying the voices are getting louder is an understatement.
Reaper and Mercy are going at each other’s throats.
Whistler is behind Mercy, gripping someone by the back of the neck that has seen much better days. One, Whistler’s righthand man, has a gun aimed at the stranger’s head.
“Go in the room with the other girls, Mary. I’ll get you when it’s safe.”
She nods at me, giving me big round Hershey’s kiss eyes when Reaper turns around and points at her. “She stays!” His booming voice has her flinching.
Mercy shakes his head and says something, but I can’t hear it since Tool shoves him from behind, which starts a fucking brawl. Mercy rears his fist back and punches Tool, which dislodges the screwdriver from his ear, and it clatters to the floor. Tyrant latches onto Whistler’s arm, and Yeti is in front of Tool, growling so deep, drool starts to drip off his canines.
Another one of Whistler’s men, Socks, according to his patch, gets a hard hit from Skirt. Socks stumbles back, and before I can pull Mary back, he slams into her, knocking her off her feet. Her head bounces against the wall, and her eyes roll back.
“Mary!” I dive for her, gathering her in my arms before she can hit the floor.
Okay. Now I’m fucking pissed. “Enough!” I yell, flinging a star across the room until it lands right in Whistler’s shoulder. I throw another before anyone can think, making sure the next one lands in Socks. The fucker.
Everyone stops yelling, and Doc comes from the kitchen, wiping his hands off after dealing with Maximo, and squats down to check on Mary. “I’ve got her,” he whispers.
I stand slowly, wanting to kill everyone in the room. “What the fuck is going on?”
Something hits me on the forehead, and I see Slingshot across the room, hiding the slingshot behind his back, pointing at Patrick, who then throws a bag of skittles in his face. One annoying MC brother at a time.
“You fucking got me with a ninja star,” Whistler groans, leaning against the couch. “I knew you were good with them, but holy shit.” He cups the star and has to let go of the guy he has a hold of, but he stays right where he is, so he isn’t a prisoner. “Someone get this fucking thing out of me.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Bullseye says from behind him, then moves to the side and flicks the star, pulling a hiss from Whistler. “Whoops.”
“Knives, Mary is fine. She’s just knocked out,” Doc informs me.
“Just knocked out? She wouldn’t be knocked out if everyone in the room could act civil.”
“Knives, that was before Mercy came to our doorstep and said he had information on Mary’s father. Apparently, the FBI has been investigating him for a while now,” Reaper says.
I stomp forward and press a star under Mercy’s chin before he can blink. “Are you even good at your job? He abused her for twelve years. Twelve. Where were you and your agents?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that,” he says, the crinkles around his eyes not only showing age, but sorrow. I hate that I know he is sincere. “I hope we can take him down. He has really built a name for himself over the years.” Mercy looks toward the guy they brought in, who has a black hood over his head. “He can help.”
“Why is he hooded?” Patrick asks, popping a peanut in his mouth. Ever since he stopped drinking, Patrick has been eating his weight in peanuts. I think it helps him stay off the bottle.
“That’s One’s doing. He said he didn’t like how ‘sad’ the guy looked.”
“I don’t like sad people. They freak me out,” One says, shrugging a shoulder as he holsters his weapon.
“This fucking star hurts! Get it out,” Socks yells.
“No one help him. He is the reason why Mary is knocked out,” I say.
“Yeah, suffer, asshole,” Bullseye grumbles, and he and I tap knuckles.
Mercy rips the star from Whistler’s shoulder, and the guy’s knees buckle while he rolls his lips together to hold in the pain. “Thanks,” he says on a held breath.
Mercy side-eyes me and tosses my star to me, then rips off the black hood from the guy. “I believe you know each other,” Mercy states. “Thomas, this is your brother. Mason.”
Blood rushes to my head. My heart beats so fast; I’m positive it is about to pump right out of my chest. “That’s impossible.” I stumble, and Reaper catches me. My world tilts as I become dizzy, memories flood my mind, and his death plays over and over again in my head at the speed of light in this very moment.
“Thomas,” Mason says my name with a familiarity that only a brother would. He struggles to get out of One’s hold, but he can’t. “Let go of me. Thomas, it’s me. It’s Mason. I swear to god, it’s me.”
“No,” I shake my head. “No!” I yell. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. I gasp for air, pressing my hands to my head when the pressure becomes too unbearable. “You can’t be. You can’t. I watched you die! I saw it.”
“It’s me. You always take responsibility for your actions,” he says, tilting my crooked world back into place.
Only Mason would know the very last words we ever said to one another.