He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, reaches into the drawer and pulls out a syringe. Doc disappears behind the curtain, and a second later the screams come to a halt. The curtain opens again, the metal hooks grinding against the rod.
“I’m going to be gone tonight, and I won’t be back until late,” he tells Reaper as he tosses the used needle in the biohazard bag. “Juliette is in charge until tomorrow night. I’m not going to be available. Jo, you’re coming with me.”
I open my mouth, then close it, open it, and close it again. “Where am I going?”
“With me,” he grunts and takes my hand, dragging me toward the steps. He doesn’t leave any room for argument as he gently applies pressure to my fingers to hurry up the stairs. It has my heart stuttering, wondering if it means more than it is. He’s being gentle, remembering the wounds on my arms.
When we get to the top of the stairs and shut the door, he doesn’t say anything to me. He grabs keys off the hook and instead of going straight toward the front entrance, we go out the back, passing Reaper’s office. He opens the door for me, and the night is cool, immediately hitting me in the face. The reminisce of smoke still lingers in the air from Skirt’s house burning down. My heart aches for him, Dawn, and their new baby. I hope he wakes up soon to meet his beautiful daughter.
The sun is setting below the desert, dark oranges and reds saturate the blue and black sky. Stars are peeking out, and the moon can’t be seen. Looking at the sunset, it’s hard to believe that three days ago catastrophe struck here.
Pieces of glass, bullets, blood, and fear have created a veil around this house. It’s hard to breathe. No one feels safe anymore, and I know Reaper is on a rampage to figure out who would destroy their safe haven. That’s what this is. It’s a sanctuary. The Ruthless Kings are a zone where people come for safety and protection. They always get it with loyalty, strength, and perseverance.
Eric still hasn’t spoken a word. He opens the passenger side door for me, and his boots crunch against a piece of glass that is hidden in the sand.
“Why aren’t we taking your bike?”
“You can’t hold onto me tight on the bike. In the truck, you’ll be safe.”
There goes my heart again, flying high to the clouds like a balloon. I just hope it doesn’t pop. I eye the leather seat, wondering how I’m going to get into this behemoth of a truck when suddenly I feel Eric’s arms around my waist, lifting me up as if I’m a feather.
I’m not.
I have junk in the trunk, and no matter how hard I exercise, with the food I eat, that ass isn’t going anywhere.
Eric growls behind me, as he pushes me in the seat, then spins me around, laying his hands on my thighs. I hold my breath, staring into his tired, yet beautiful blue eyes, and wait to see what he wants.
“We’re going to stop pretending about this thing between us, and we’re going to acknowledge it.” His hands drift up to my hips, and he sighs, like he’s less stressed or something. “We’ve been tiptoeing, and I’m too damn tired to walk on my toes, Jo-love. I’m a tired fucking man, but I’m not too tired for you.” His hand brushes over the tops of my arms, but it’s a light touch, not painful. “We both have our own cuts.”
I don’t say anything; too afraid that I’ll pick the wrong words to say. I’m terrified.
“You’re mine, Jo. No more space. No more denying.” He takes a step back, leaving me feeling cold from the lack of his warmth.
His hand is on the door as he turns around and steps away from me. The warm desert air takes the time to blow, and I’m masked in the scent of hard work of the past three days, sweat, exhaustion, and blood.
And it smells just as good as his cologne.
I try to move my legs forward to sit in the correct position, but Eric’s hand grips my thigh suddenly. I get a quick flash of his eyes as he moves in and slams his lips against mine. My lips are paralyzed, and I whimper in shock. I blink, wondering if I’m dreaming, but then his tongue takes the opportunity to slip through my lips, and it’s like a pinch to the arm—it makes me realize this is reality. Doc is kissing me, and he is giving it all he’s got. I don’t kiss him in return. His lips pull away from mine, and it yanks me out of my stupor. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close, eager and enthused to know what it’s like to feel his lips against mine. They are soft, plump, and feel just as good as they look. He is firm and talented, slanting his lips over mine in an expertise that I can’t match.
He groans as I awaken for him. I meet his tongue thrust for tongue thrust. For the first time in years, I’m not thinking of a razor, I’m not thinking about ending my life—I’m enjoying the moment. I’m savoring the moment, hoping like hell I can feel his lips again. His fingers are individual torches searing my body as they wrap around me to pull me closer. His mouth is an endless pit of addiction.
Eric groans down my throat and somehow pulls me closer. My legs spread, and I welcome the closeness, our pelvises adjoined, and his heartbeat strumming against mine. The breeze slows, and for a moment the world stops spinning. It’s me and him. I’m giving into the feeling I’ve had for way too long. I’m giving into an emotion that’s been eating at my soul.
He’s here. He wants me. He feels this too. I hope he doesn’t regret this because I’m in this. I’m in this with my heart, mind, and soul.
My soul.
I thought my soul was too far gone. I couldn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel it when I cried or when I cut myself. I’ve been numb for far too long. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be alive. He’s a defibrillator, shocking me back to life, one electrical pulse at a time.
I’m living again.
I can feel his cock between my legs, hard, long, and thick. I groan in want, my clit throbs for the first time in a two years, and I gasp in shock, breaking the kiss. He puffs air down my throat as he takes the time to enjoy how his erection feels against my hot cunt. The air in the cab of the truck has thickened. I’m ready to strip him of his shirt and feel the abs ripple between my fingers.
“We need to stop.” He has difficulty catching his breath as he huffs against my face with lust. “I’m already running late to see my mom,” he says, placing one last kiss on my lips before pulling away and closing the door. I’m stunned for a moment, thinking about how badly I want his kiss and to feel his erection between the folds of my sex when the last of what he said resounds with me.
I’m watching him run around the front of the truck with my jaw to the floor. Did he just say his mom? His mother? The person who gave birth to him?
No.
He can’t be serious.
I’m not even dressed.
I have bandages on my arms from self-inflicted wounds. I’m wearing a t-shirt and shorts I borrowed. My hair is filthy and still smells like a bonfire because Skirt’s house was on fire. Eric is kidding. He should know that right now is not a good time to meet his mom.
Why would I meet her now? I can barely breathe. I’m barely out of the hospital bed. I’m somehow supposed to be ready to have a mother fall in love with me?
I don’t even love me.
Oh my god, I need out of this truck.
I don’t do parents. I don’t do family. I barely got along with my dad. He only said he liked me when I got him booze.