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“Look at me, Tate. Please.”
Her simple pleading nearly breaks my fragile heart. As if she has to ask me twice. I take a shallow breath and focus all my concentration on opening my stubborn eyes, even though my eyelids feel like they weigh a million pounds. Christ, she’s gorgeous.
“What?”
“I’m all blotchy,” she rubs her fist under her nose, sniffs, and makes an attempt to wipe away her tears with the hem of her t-shirt.
“You’re beautiful.” Molly rolls her eyes, but her smile makes it all the more worthwhile. “So is that a yes or what.”
“Yes, Tate. Of course, it’s a yes.”
“It’s about fucking time,” I harrumph like an old man and brush her fingertips with my lips. From now on I’ll give us both a chance at love that I never got, with a whole world of possibilities that were denied to me. “Plus, if anyone can keep my dick faithful, it’s you, you tight little hell raiser.”
Molly cocks her head. “Takes one…to know one.”
“Damn right. Trust me, Molly. One step at a time, but I’ll do right by you…and Junior.”
“We’re not calling him Junior.”
“How about Little Hell Raiser?” She just glares at me. “Okay, we’ll leave it up for discussion when I can actually argue worth a damn. I’m in no shape.”
She reaches up and kisses my jaw, I can’t keep my emotions in check as something weird swells up in my chest. Probably happiness. I’ll have to get used to that.
Chapter 29
Tate
Two Months Later
“Any leads on Vasquez’s attempted hit?” Silas sits at the head of the meeting table, working on his fifth cigarette as we hash shit out.
Cole fiddles with a mug of beer, keeping his eyes pinned to the growing water ring on the surface of the table in front of him. “Francisco called with an update. At first, they thought the sneaky fucker was in the wind, but it turns out that he left something behind after all. You guys ready for this?”
Everyone including Silas looks over at him. “Spit it out.”
“It was Jett.”
I rear back in my seat. “What? Didn’t you guys fuck him up like you were supposed to?”
“Of course, we did. He probably stuck around to get back at Tate, and when he found out about the sit-down, he must’ve figured he could bring serious retribution on the Saints by targeting Vasquez. The man is deranged. Correction. Was deranged.”
“Does that mean what I think it means?”
Cole nods. “The Los Diablos aren’t as forgiving as we are when people cross their membership. Jett’s history.”
I blow out a breath. “See, I told you we should’ve ended the bastard. If anything happens to Vasquez, it’s on us for not dealing with our Jett problem like men. He broke our code, and we coddled him like fucking pussies…anyway, how’s Vasquez doing?”
“He’s still struggling.”
“Still?” Silas asks. “It’s been two months.”
“Jett was a motherfucker. A motherfucker from Louisiana, where all that crazy shit goes down. Something was on the bullet that grazed by two vertebras in Vasquez’s neck. It’d take a while for him to be back in the game under normal circumstances, but his condition isn’t improving.”
“What about Mob Doc?”
“He’s been over there a lot, keeping Vasquez stable. But the old guy’s too shaky to do any surgery. Actually, Dean took Molly and her mother over to help earlier today. That’ll go a long way toward making peace with those sons of bitches.”
There are sounds of agreements around the table and I rub my chest, satisfied. That’s my Molly. After she gave me the all clear, I’ve kept myself tied up with work, taking all the jobs that I can with the club’s security business to build up my savings account. I looked it up and learned that it costs a shit ton of money to raise a kid. The little poop machines aren’t cheap.
Silas clears his throat. “No matter what, we’re taking more precautions. Tate, you’re with me later. We’ll head over to their compound tonight to see what hardware they’re working with on the grounds. Maybe upgrade their camera system, give their front door a couple tweaks.”
