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He stopped chewing when she said, “That’s not the only scar I have.”
He jerked when she unexpectedly grabbed his hand. It took everything he had not to yank it free when she raised it to the back of her head. Singling out his index finger, she ran it along a ridge hidden in her hair.
Jesus fuck.
“I was a stupid fuckin’ kid, Stella.” Was he never going to live that shit down?
“I know you didn’t mean to split my head open, Trip. But you did because you lost your temper. Makes me wonder about that temper. And if it was the reason you ended up in prison.”
Again, a reminder they needed to have that discussion.
When she released his finger, he kept his hand there, cupping the back of her head, and turning her to face him. “Promise you. I’ll never fuckin’ hurt you like that again.”
“You sure? There are more ways to hurt someone than just physically.”
“How ‘bout I tell Judge he can kick my fuckin’ ass if I ever hurt you again. All you gotta do is let him know I caused you pain in one way or another and I won’t fight that fuckin’ beat down.”
Her eyes got big for a second, then they narrowed on him. “Judge could kill you. Especially if you didn’t fight back.”
“No fuckin’ shit.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Just don’t go runnin’ to him because you got bent that I left the toilet seat up or some stupid shit like that.”
Was that a grin?
Yeah, it was, and she covered it by taking another bite of eggs. Thank fuck.
He combed his fingers through her long black silky hair that fell loose around her shoulders. She’d had dark hair when she was a kid, but it wasn’t black like it was now. Which meant the color was as fake as the blue stripes.
He didn’t hate it, so if she loved it, then he could live with it.
He burrowed his hand under the fall of her hair and curled his fingers around her neck, tugging her closer. “Gimme that mouth.”
She rolled her eyes at his demand but didn’t fight him when he leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. When he pulled away, he mumbled, “Eat,” and went back to his own breakfast.
As he ate, he watched her out of the corner of his eye to make sure she did the same until at least half the food on her plate was gone.
Half was better than nothing.
Tonight he’d bring her a good dinner, even though she would be working the bar. Unfortunately, the bar might be so quiet they probably wouldn’t get interrupted while they ate, anyway.
Afterward he’d stick around long enough to help her close the bar and make sure she ended up in his bed at the farm tonight. Then he’d work on getting her to land in his bed every night.
Also tonight, after they ate, might be a good time to bring up the reason he’d landed in prison. His worry was the reason he went to prison was too much like what started the avalanche that took down the Fury.
His other worry was it had all been due to his temper, which was her concern. He’d admit it because he wasn’t going to lie to her, but just needed to convince her that he had that shit under control.
She had his promise he wouldn’t hurt her.
He’d do his fucking best to keep that promise.
She just needed to give him that chance.
Trip scrubbed the towel over his wet hair, then paused. He tipped his head to the side and listened more carefully.
Pounding.
On the back door.
Whenever the club could afford it, he was having cameras installed everywhere. The lane, the house, the barn, the outbuildings. Even in some areas of the bunkhouse. This way he and Judge, and whoever else, could pull up those cameras on their phones whenever they needed to.
The Fury might not have any enemies at the moment, but that could change at any time. Especially if the local pigs got a skewer up their ass about something.
In the past, the Fury and the 5-0 had a bad relationship since the members were shaking down the local business owners. At the time, the Originals outnumbered the cops. Now, things were switched, and they outnumbered the Fury. Whether that would change, Trip hoped so, but he still wanted to keep the peace with them, if possible. Especially since he had to deal with them for his repo business to keep it legit.
He hoped to fuck all the cops who dealt with Buck, Ox and the rest of them had retired or kicked the bucket. If not, Trip was going to have to make nice and do some major ass kissing.
And he did not like the taste of a pig’s ass.
He’d find out soon enough since he was headed to their pig pen shortly. But not before he found out who was still pounding on his back door and bellowing, “Yo.”
