I chuckle and press a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll bring you back chicken nuggets; don’t you worry.” I stay there for a moment, my nose against the soft curve of her neck, and simply breathe her in. Her long hair tickles my cheek and the sandalwood of my bodywash lingers on her skin, but it smells sweeter. I don’t want to leave her, but I have to.
I open the drawer to the nightstand, grab a memo pad and a pen, and leave a note that says I’ll be back later.
She whimpers as I walk to the door. Giving her one last look, I do my best to memorize the image in front of me, the moment. Her hair is melted milk chocolate along the covers, pure silk draping the sheets. Her body is small, her arms are slender, and while physically she doesn’t look strong, she’s one of the strongest people I know.
Finally getting my feet to move from under me, I leave my future behind to go deal with a threat. Opening the front door, I step out into the early morning sunrise. The air is cooler, and the promise of fall is just around the corner. I inhale, exhale, stretch, feeling the muscles she latched onto the hardest protest as I move. I grin at the memory of her gasps, her moans, the whispered way she said my name in my ear as I drove into her.
Fuck, I’m getting hard again just thinking about it.
The way her hips felt in my hands, the way her pussy clenched around me and pulsated as she came…
Damn it! I need a breather. I take a minute to myself and place my hand against the beam of the porch. My fingers curl, clenching my hands into fists when I think about how good she took my dick in her ass.
“Jesus Christ, the woman is going to be the death of me.” I shake my head and hop down the steps, kicking up red dust as I walk. My eyes are set on the destruction around me. Skirt’s home is gone. Bullets are everywhere. Glass is broken.
Lives were almost lost.
My home was almost gone.
Someone dared to fuck with my house, and I don’t mean where I sleep. I mean once I enter those gates to the compound, this entire area is my fucking house.
A place that was once a sanctuary is now a death trap. We don’t forgive anybody when they fuck with our home, our lives, and threaten our hearts.
And I don’t mean my heart, none of the guys do when we talk about it.
Our hearts are what make this place.
Us, the guys, our hearts are stone-cold black most days.
No, what makes this place special is the love that was breathed into it when ol’ ladies starting popping up left and right. Bikers aren’t warm and fucking fuzzy, but the women are, and the ol’ ladies have worked too damn hard to make this place home.
Everyone should know once you fuck with a Ruthless, you get ruthlessly fucked until the desert soaks up your blood. Whoever these guys are that dared attempt to demolish us, I’m going to rip their organs out, put them on ice, and fucking FedEx them to their leader.
Or.
Talk to Reaper about organ donation. A useless life can save a worthy one. We can figure out the semantics of it. I’d offer black market, but I’m not sure if Reaper wants to dive into that world. All I know is if this man is healthy and his organs are in good shape, letting them go to waste would be a real fucking shame.
As I walk by Skirt’s house, my boot kicks a burnt piece of wood toward the front door of the clubhouse. I want to offer to rebuild the house for him before he’s up and moving around. Maybe a group of us can get together. Half of his cabin is burnt down, black and charred, while the other half still looks newly built. Skirt has done so much for us, and it’s time we do something for him.
I step across broken glass from the shot-out windows, and the sound grinds across my nerves. I jump onto the porch and reach for the door handle but find it locked. It’s too early for the door to be unlocked. I’m an idiot. I jump off the porch and make my way toward the back door and find it open like it usually is and take a deep breath as I make my way inside.
As the sun rises, the lights against the stained-glass bring a kaleidoscope of colors to life as they dance against the wall across from Reaper’s office.
The first thing I notice is how quiet it is. There’s no rambunctious noise, no conversations echoing from the kitchen, no laughs around the breakfast table as people sip their coffee.
Something has died.
The known clanks of someone moving around in the kitchen has me breathing easier. I walk through the hallway and eye the old photos on the wall of what the MC used to be. Reaper’s dad is standing in front of his bike, Reaper on his shoulders. It’s hard to believe that little boy grew up to be the most dangerous man I’ve ever come across.
When I get to the kitchen, Sarah is there, scooting around to each cabinet. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head while Maizey is sitting at the table, right next to Ellie. Ellie’s eyes are rimmed red, crying from being worried about Melissa. Maizey is sniffling too, but when Badge walks through the kitchen to get to his workstation, she brightens.
“Badge!” Maizey squeals, and it scares Sarah, making her drop a plate in the sink. It shatters, and Sarah lays a hand over her heart, then hisses when an edge of the plate cuts her palm.
“Damn it,” Sarah curses, and I watch the blood well up. I hurry over to her to make sure she’s alright.
“Let me,” I say, gently grabbing her wrist and inspecting the wound. “You’re going to need stitches.” The cut is deep and about four inches long. I open the drawer to the left of the sink and pull out a clean dish towel, then apply pressure. “Hold this against it, and let me clean up the plate.”
“I’m sorry,” Maizey starts to cry. “I didn’t mean it.” Maizey hugs Badge’s leg, and the man seems lost, staring at Maizey with fascination and a little disgust. The man doesn’t like kids, but Maizey seems to always gravitate toward him.
“I know, babe. It’s okay. Ellie, can you make her oatmeal, please?” Sarah asks.
“I’ll make coffee too for everyone.” Ellie sniffles as she gets up, and her chin wobbles. Poodle walks into the kitchen next, and I can tell he’s been crying too. Ellie runs to Poodle and they crash together with an audible thud.
I can’t take the next few day off, not when my family needs me.
Suddenly the kitchen is full as Reaper, Tongue, and Bullseye come in. Reaper flies to Sarah’s side and takes her hand. “What happened, Doll?”
“Broke a plate. It isn’t a big deal,” she states. “Doc has me covered.”
I glance around the room to see all the broken hearts, and I know it’s up to me to give them hope. “I’m going to go check on everyone today. I don’t want anyone to worry, not unless I come to you specifically and say you need to. I think everyone is going to make a good recovery. I’ll update everyone when I have more news. Including you, Bullseye.” I give him a knowing expression, telling him silently I will check his test results to see if they are in yet. I should have checked, but things have been hectic.
Bullseye gives me a nod, and Reaper gives him a curious glance, then he narrows his eyes at me. “I told you to take the next four days off.”
“And I decided my patients need me now—my family needs me now. I can take a break when I know everyone is safe.” I lift the rag off Sarah’s hand and see that it is still bleeding, and the pressure isn’t helping. “I need to get Sarah downstairs for stitches.”