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“Exactly. She more than meets the qualifications,” Lucky added. “I would have formally introduced her, but she must have just gotten here.”
“I did. Got off work about five minutes ago,” Kylie said.
“Veronica and Kayla come hang out sometimes,” Mad Dog said. “Kayla is super busy with veterinary stuff, and you know Veronica is a counselor. Most of the rest of these knuckleheads are still single.”
“Or divorced and never, ever going to get married again,” Irish interjected.
“Or bitter women hating men,” Mad Dog corrected with a chuckle.
“Did you finally get that tat finished?” Slash asked, changing the subject, jerking his head toward the Vice President, who was boasting a fresh ink sleeve on his forearm.
“Better have, or he owes me a bottle of Jameson.” Lucky chuckled, his eyes crinkling in amusement.
“Bet's a bet,” Irish shot back with a grin, flexing his arm for emphasis. The camaraderie was infectious, and Trinity found herself smiling, easing into the rhythms of their banter.
“New blood always brings good fortune,” Arrow observed, raising his beer in a silent toast toward Trinity.
“Or trouble,” Savage added with a smirk, though his eyes held no malice—only the flicker of a challenge.
“Only the fun kind, I hope,” Trinity quipped, surprising herself with her newfound boldness.
“Damn straight,” Savage agreed, his dimpled smile lighting up the room.
“To Trinity,” Slash said, raising his glass. The others joined in the toast.
“Welcome home, Little Rabbit,” Lucky said before kissing her in front of all of his men, claiming her as his.
CHAPTER 4
TRINITY
Aweek later, Trinity paced the hardwood floors of Day & Night, the soft thud of her boots a staccato rhythm against the murmurs of lingering patrons. After meeting the officers of The Spartan Watchmen, Lucky had received a call. She didn’t know who called or what it was about, but the men, Lucky included, all took off in a hurry. She hadn’t seen him since. He’d called a couple of times and texted, but she hadn’t been given any real explanation for his sudden disappearance.
Kayla and Veronica had both stopped by for coffee multiple times in the last week. Their men were also gone. “One thing I know from being with Maddock for over a year is that sometimes evil men do bad things, and the men get called off to deal with them. If you are expecting full explanations, I suggest you don’t hold your breath. Sometimes they can’t and sometimes they don’t want to tell us what they are doing,” Kayla had told her.
“As Daddies, they want to protect us from the yuckiness of the world,” Veronica added. “They don’t want us to know or see things that might give us nightmares or mar our innocence.”
Trinity nodded as if she understood, but she hadn’t. They’d just started a relationship and he disappeared. She was concerned, would he even make it home safely?
Her question was answered with a text earlier in the day. Ever since, her eyes immediately searched the door frame for Lucky. Hours passed. Breakfast turned to lunch and nothing. The anticipation of Lucky's arrival sent an electric charge through the air so palpable she could almost taste it on her tongue.
The chime above the door announced his entrance before she saw him. As if summoned by a conjurer's call, every head turned, drawn to the man who commanded the space simply by inhabiting it. Lucky strode in like a force of nature—raw and untamed. His eyes, a stormy gray, swept the room, missing nothing, measuring everything.
Kayla had given her more information about him during their talks. His were the eyes of a retired Delta Force team leader, a former US Army First Sergeant whose glance alone could command silence or elicit action. In fact, he’d been Maddock’s team leader and they’d gone to combat together.
She gasped as her eyes dropped from his eyes to the rest of his face. His beard was gone. Stitches stretched across his cheek. He looked years younger without the beard and yet, she missed it.
The distance between them closed with each of Lucky's deliberate steps, each footfall echoing like a drumbeat in Trinity's ears. She straightened her spine, her nerves steeling themselves even as her pulse danced to the rhythm of impending surrender. In his presence, she felt the dual pull of vulnerability and strength—a dichotomy that defined the essence of their emerging bond.
He was back, in her realm of caffeine and late-night wines, a place where stories unfolded between the pages and in hushed conversations. He didn’t quite fit the narrative of a Prince Charming, and she was glad for it. The hero of her fairytale wore black leather, not a crown. He rode in not on a white horse, buton roaring metal. He wasn’t there to rescue her but to Daddy her right back into her place.
Lucky stopped mere inches from her, and Trinity's breath hitched as she looked up into his eyes—pools of enigmatic desire that seemed to strip away the facade of her everyday self and reduce her to the most vulnerable space. He crooked a finger at her, pointing to the spot in front of him.
She nearly ran to stand in it.
“Hi there, Little Rabbit.” The way Lucky said her nickname was like a caress, velvet over steel, the kind of sound that resonated in places she hadn't known were attuned to the frequency of a man's voice.
“Hello to you, too.” Standing in front of him, Trinity’s emotions overtook her. She was glad he was home, and relatively safely but she was also enraged. Who just leaves without warning, disappears for a week, and returns without an explanation? “Where were you?”
