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I’d lived in plenty of places in my life, but only one place I’d ever truly called home. That was Aunt Myra’s house, and I’d always been so grateful to have that memory in my heart.
But now I had hope, a tender, blossoming feeling blooming in my chest, telling me I could have that again and more. I had the man I loved, a family of my own, and I had a new home.
Right by Rocky’s side.
Chapter 33
Rocky
“Someone has that I just got laid glow.” Gio clapped me on the back with a big, shit-eating grin on his face the minute I stepped into the clubhouse. “How goes married life, brother?”
I glared at him and shrugged off his touch. “Not married yet.” Though that was next on my list. Peyton had agreed to live together, but I knew she wanted to feel that she had her shit together, so I had to wait.
“Yet? That means he’s already bought the ring.” Gio roared with laughter as if it was the funniest goddamn thing he’d ever said.
I bought the ring the day after we came home from the hospital three months ago. “Jealous, little brother?”
His smile faded, but only for a moment. “And save all of this for just one woman? Nah, I like to spread the love around.”
“Sounds like something that requires antibiotics,” Slate joked, a teasing grin on his face.
Gio flipped him off, but his carefree smile never wavered. “No need to worry about that when the only pussy you get is virtual, right Slatey?”
“All right, kids, that’s enough.” Diesel’s deep voice sounded over the collective laughter of the brothers gathered in the clubhouse. “Slate figured out who paid the Red Skulls to fuck with us. It ain’t good.” Diesel looked at Slate as he dropped down on the nearest empty chair, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Right.” Slate sat up a little taller and nodded. “Robert Carter was even dirtier than we realized.”
“Carter again!” Hawk spat in disgust. “Fuck’s sake.”
“Yeah, fucking Carter again. Some of his former business partners are pissed as fuck that we took him out.”
“You mean one of the bajillion assholes we’re bribing?” A prospect asked from the back.
“Nah, they’re not from the list,” Slate replied.
“Do they have a name?” Maverick asked, annoyed as much as the rest of us were with Slate’s slow reveals. “This ain’t some fuckin’ crime drama, Slate. Spit it out.”
“Yeah, they do have a name. One most of us know. Black Death.”
There was shocked silence in the room. And then Rebel let out a long, slow moan of despair. “Shit. Can somebody please explain to me why in all fuck the most deranged cartel this side of the border is sending us a polite warning?”
Slate shrugged and sent the room a sheepish sort of grin. “Something to do with the Carters?”
“But surely they have bigger shit on their plate than worrying about a sweet, innocent little group of bikers such as ourselves,” Maverick cried. “What god did we piss off to deserve this?”
“Listen,” Slate said, “don’t ask questions, okay? I’m keeping you posted with all the relevant info that I know. When I get more intel, I’ll tell you more. Oh-fucking-kay?”
“God damn it, Slate,” I sighed. “Couldn’t you do a little more digging before dumping this on us?”
“I’m just one fucking man!” Slate yelled, throwing his hands in the air, before standing with a dramatic finger-point at our prez. “Blame him for not bringing me any help. Gimme an intern, at least, not some lame ass prospect who just wants to be balls deep in clubhouse pussy! Jesus fuck, I’m drowning in zeros and ones for you bastards!”
“I don’t even know what that means,” one of our older members with a belly-long beard muttered.
Diesel rolled his eyes and waved a hand at Slate. “Sit down, dickhead.”
Slate sat, slumping in his chair and crossing his arms with a grumble.
“We all need to be extra cautious with this new threat lurking.
