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“What?” he jokes, smirking. “You just figured that out?”
I shove him playfully, my eyes landing on the tattoo over his lower hip. My fingertip glides over it softly. “What does this mean?”
He sucks in a breath. “When I was getting my SOK tattoo, I told the artist to do this one, too. I wanted them done at the same time.” He pauses, grabbing my hand and pressing against the rose that doesn’t have much detail, bland and dying. “That’s Dove’s spot.” Then he moves his finger to the other one. The detailed rose with bright red petals and the smallest details sketched in. “That’s yours.”
I lean up and press my lips to his. “I love it. I’m sorry you went through losing me.”
He doesn’t smile or move. He remains passive. “I’d do it again if I got to have P here and not Dove. Trust me, having you alive is like I’ve been given a second chance or something.”
“Well, don’t fuck it up!” I holler jokingly, as I exit the shower.
King wraps a towel around my body from behind me, our eyes connecting in the mirror. It’s the first time I’ve seen the bruises on my face, but they’re still not as bad as I had expected. “Thank you, King.”
He remains focused on me. “Always, P. Just don’t make a habit of defying me.”
I smile gently and watch as he disappears into his room, leaving the door open. “The girls brought over some clothes for you. They’re on the bed.”
“The girls?” I ask, leaning against the vanity.
He nods. “Your girls. Saskia and Callan, and Rose. Kenan tried to get in, but I locked him out.”
“King!” I scold him. “Don’t be mean to my crew.”
King shrugs, ripping off his clothes. Instantly, my libido pings to life. Shameless. I am shameless. King is the cure for my broken and battered soul. One cannot exist without the other. Quickly spinning around, I grab the only toothbrush that’s in here and squirt toothpaste onto it, brushing my teeth. I sigh before rinsing it off and putting it back.
“Sorry,” I murmur, swiping my mouth and entering the room now that he’s changed. “That was a bit unhygienic, but I really needed to brush my teeth.”
“Considering my mouth has been on your pussy and my cock in your ass, pretty sure I don’t care.” He throws on new boots and gestures to the clothes. “Get changed and then we need to go have a meeting with Delila, if you’re up for it?”
I nod, reaching for the skinny jeans and T-shirt. I drop my towel and change quickly, ignoring the fact that King is probably staring at everything. Once I have my Chucks on my feet, we make our way downstairs. The talking and mumbling silence as I take the final step.
“Wow, you know, you guys are really discreet,” I joke, looking around at all of The Brothers.
Keaton is pacing back and forth, and when he sees me, he stops and takes three big steps until I’m wrapped in his burly arms. “This fucker wouldn’t let anyone near you for the past twenty-four fucking hours.”
King flips him off and heads toward the door. “P.”
“I’ll be back.” My eyes find Killian, who hasn’t looked at me. His hands are buried in his hair, his elbows on the table. I find myself beside him, reaching up to touch his hands. “Kill?”
His eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, come to mine. “Worst twenty-four hours of my life.”
“Ah, you’re not so scary after all, huh?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Little Bird, we are not good people. Not even decent. We’ve all killed, almost been killed, and some of us,” his eyes flick to Kyrin, “have been through unmistakably disgusting ordeals, but lemme tell you.” His eyes narrow on mine. “Nothing has scared me like walking into that barn did.” My heart softens and I pat his head.
“I love you too.”
“AYYYY!” Killian jokes, rearing back. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. No one said shit about love!” I roll my eyes and make my way toward King, who is still standing with the door open. “Tell her that Kill doesn’t love!” I can still hear him protesting when the door closes and we make our way across the field to the tent. Instead of going inside, though, we snake around the back and toward the mansion. I know how Delila lives—hell, I’ve seen her mansion in New York.
“King.” I reach out for his arm, pausing his movements.
“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Don’t put words in your mouth that I can’t follow up with, P.” His eyes search mine.
“Why?” I ask the question I’ve been wanting to ask for way too long.
He pauses, and just when I think he’s not going to answer, he does. “Because you’re too good for me. Because I break everything that falls on my hands!”
