Maybe that affected her more than the violence itself. That might be one of the reasons she avoided talking about Warren at all. It embarrassed her when it really fucking shouldn’t.
Either way, she shouldn’t dwell on hindsight. They all could get caught up with wishing they’d done or seen things differently before it was too late.
Unfortunately, life wasn’t that fucking easy or clear. It was a deep mud puddle that sometimes sucked your boots in so deeply, it was a struggle to get free.
Warren had the skills to suck Reilly in. He had honed those skills with many women prior to her.
He shuttled her into the motel room—relieved the housekeeper had already been in their room for the day—stripped her down to her panties, tossed one of his T-shirts over her head and tucked her into bed.
All without a fight from her.
That was not like her. No words? No spark? Definitely not her normal Reilly-self.
It worried him. And not just a little bit.
Worse, he couldn’t call the one person who might be able to snap her out of it. Calling her older sister would cause a lot of grief and then turn a mess into a complete disaster.
Hopefully, she’d soon snap out of whatever shock she’d fallen into.
He’d never seen her this down. That made him wonder how deeply she’d been burying what happened that day in her apartment.
“Why don’t you just sleep for a bit?” he suggested. “We were up most of the night, you’re probably exhausted.” He tucked the bedding around her and leaned over to brush a kiss across her forehead.
As he pulled away, her hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “Where are you going?” Her question held much more panic than it should.
“Back to the unit to finish goin’ through the boxes and load them in the truck.”
“Don’t leave!”
Fuck. He didn’t want to leave her, either, but… “Need to get that shit done, babe. Not sure how long we’re gonna be here. If I finish it today, we can hit the road as soon as my father bites it.” Which he hoped was within the next couple of days.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she whispered.
The bed dipped when he sat on the edge, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. He flipped through the channels, bypassing anything with blood, guts and gore and found some sappy-assed, kissy-face movie. Some chick flick.
He knew what else might help her. Normally he kept that shit in his cut, but he hadn’t worn his cut once since leaving Manning Grove. One reason being, he was driving a cage instead of his sled. He also didn’t want to wear it at his parents’ house and get questions he wanted to avoid. Because it had a “Manning Grove” patch right on the front, it might also give them an idea on where to look for Saylor.
It was bad enough Matthew had found the info where he worked. He did not want them, none of them, trying to contact her.
But another important reason was, a Pagans MC support club had territory in the southeast of Pennsylvania and he did not want to step on any other club’s toes, possibly causing issues. Especially since he’d be a lone Fury member versus a club of rivals. Out of courtesy and respect, most MC members gave a heads up before entering another MC’s territory whenever possible.
If another club rolled into Manning Grove and didn’t keep moving, Trip would have a problem with it. They all would. It was one thing to simply be riding through, it was another to stop and stay any length of time without permission. Doing so could be considered a threat.
Since the Blood Fury, Dirty Angels and Dark Knights MCs controlled all the territory on the western side of the state, and were allies, they were careful about who else might be in the area. Territory grabs were a real threat. The DAMC had way too many issues with a former nomad club called the Shadow Warriors. A decades-long war all three allies would like to prevent in the future.
She made a sharp noise and grabbed his wrist tighter when he stood up. “Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he said softly. “Just gonna run out to the truck and grab somethin’ that’s gonna help.” He didn’t want to leave it in their room while they were gone, so he had removed it from his backpack and hid it in his truck.
He was out and back within a couple of minutes with his tin full of hand-rolled cigarettes, a small baggie of quality weed and a metal pipe in his hands. Her green eyes followed his every movement as he removed his boots, climbed onto the bed with her and sat up against the headboard. As he packed the pipe, she curled up against him, laying her head in his lap.
Christ, she looked way too good there. Like she belonged in and owned that spot. In a bed, wearing a shirt that smelled like him, blinking those green fucking eyes up at him filled with all that damn trust.
He suddenly saw what could be if she wasn’t who she was. If she didn’t have a red warning label slapped right in the middle of her damn forehead.
If he could, he’d strip down and join her under the sheets, but he really wanted to get the storage unit dealt with so she could put it out of her mind. And he wanted to get the fuck out of Coatesville as soon as he could.
He lit the bowl and took a long hit, letting the smoke fill his lungs before blowing it up and away from her.
“C’mere, babe,” he murmured, pulling her up by her elbow to face him. He took another hit, not inhaling this time, but filling his mouth. He cupped her face with his free hand and pushed their mouths together. She opened hers automatically and when he sealed his to hers, she stole all the smoke, inhaled it and managed to hold it for longer than he expected.
He’d take one hit, share the next, until they were both a hell of a lot more relaxed and zen-like. Rev was also ready for some cold, leftover pizza from last night. He was pretty damn sure it had turned to cardboard but he might be willing to gnaw on it for a while like a dog with a bone.
When they were done with the bowl, she settled back down onto her side, using his lap as a pillow again. He stroked her hair until her eyelids got heavy and finally closed. He didn’t stop until she went totally limp and her breathing became deep and heavy.
Just listening to her made the sleep pull at him, too. They’d spent half the night fucking and making each other come in a variety of really fucking fun ways. Because of that, he could use a few hours of solid sleep, too.
But it could wait. He’d head back down to Media, then come straight back. To fuck with checking in on his father today. If the fucker died before tomorrow morning, then so fucking be it. Reilly came first and with his asshole sire’s death, at least that part of his life would be over with, too.
Two doors closing. For him, on his youth and for her, her time living near Philly and her past with Billy Warren. Once those doors slammed shut, neither had to step through them ever again. The past would remain the past and they’d have nothing but the future to look forward to.
They just wouldn’t have a future with each other.
He lightly traced the thin scar that ran along her right temple by her eye and barely missed her cheek. Her face she saw as flawed wasn’t, to him the now soft and relaxed face framed by blonde hair was flawless. Perfect, even.
She’d find someone else. Someone not tied to the club, and he’d…
Continue doing what he’d already been doing.
Fucking randoms.
Fucking sweet butts.
And waking up alone every morning.