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“Better?”
Jeremy didn’t answer, he was too busy spitting bloody water from his lungs.
Finally, he said, “The club lost a shitload of money this week. Their gun shipment was fucked and never got delivered. Blade is freaking the fuck out. They got all these guns and no one to move ’em. So I offered to store a bunch in Jazz’s shed.” He groaned through a mirthless laugh. “She’s lived there almost a year and a half. Been out to that damn shed one time.” He closed his eyes and shifted; face contorted in misery.
“Keep talking.”
Jeremy spit a bloody wad of phlegm on the ground. “When the guns disappeared, Crank kicked my ass out and set my fucking cut on fire.” Jeremy lifted his head and even through the mess of his face, his absolute hatred of anything Hell’s Handlers came blazing through.
“So you decided to hurt us.”
“Fuck, yes.” It was then Jeremy seemed to realize he’d never leave that room. His last moments would be spent with four men he despised. He grinned, cracked and swollen lips curling in a grotesque sneer. Hell, even his teeth were caked in red. “I really thought the place was empty. Didn’t mean to kill anyone. But when I heard Viper died?”
Jeremy’s grin spread and Screw reacted before he even realized what he was doing. He sped forward, jammed the gun against the left side of Jeremy’s chest and turned until he found Gumby’s gaze.
“I was so fucking ha—”
BOOM.
Screw never once looked away from Gumby. After he fired the weapon, Gumby stepped forward and held out a hand. He let the gun fall to the ground, confident his prez and VP would take care of the clean-up. He had one goal in mind as he took Gumby’s hand.
“Let’s get our girl and take her home,” Gumby said, right before kissing him.
He sank into the kiss, pouring all his grief, rage and now, relief into the man he loved.
“You did good,” Gumby eventually whispered against his lips.
Screw pressed his forehead to Gumby’s as he nodded.
Hand in hand, they walked up the stairs and out into the light of day, leaving the horror and gore behind.
After a quick change of clothes and a wash-up, they found Jazz upstairs in Screw’s room, dozing on his bed. Fuck, she looked so small and fragile there with bulky bandages reminding him of how close he’d come to losing her.
How close they’d come.
Gumby squeezed his hand as though reading his mind once again.
Jazz’s eyes fluttered open and a smile appeared but fell a second later. “Is it done?”
They hadn’t spoken with Jazz about what would be happening today, but she was nobody’s fool.
“It’s done.”
Her eyes fell shut and she breathed out. “Good.” With no more than a slight wince—though it was still too much for Screw—she hoisted herself to the edge of the bed then walked to them. “Take me home,” she said, tilting her face up.
They both obliged her, Gumby kissing her first, then Screw.
“Love you guys,” she whispered, wrapping her thin arms around them as best she could.
“Love you, Jazzy,” Gumby said.
“What he said.” Screw tilted his head in Gumby’s direction, making Jazz beam with happiness.
Their lives were far from perfect. In fact, they were pretty fucking messy right then. Gumby lived and worked across the country, Jazz’s place of business was in ruins, the club had a formidable enemy still on the hook, and one of their own had just been lost.
If ever there was a time to fall apart, this was it. But there, with the three of them wrapped up in each other, Screw was happy.
He felt excited. Ready to take on the future.
He felt home.
He felt loved.
EPILOGUE
THREE MONTHS LATER
Screw watched the tall man walking toward him with so much anticipation, he could barely keep from dashing forward and tackling him right there. Instead, he leaned a hip against his truck and gave Gumby his best come hither look.
Damn, his man looked good. Tall with jeans not too tight not too loose. They probably made his ass look spectacular. In fact…
“Hey, you!” Screw shouted. “Tall guy with the sexy glasses.”
Gumby smirked, then stopped walking. “Me?” he asked, holding a hand to his chest as he looked around. “You talking to me?”
Ohh, this is fun.
Gumby was still a good thirty feet from him. “Yeah, you. Could you maybe turn around, bend over a bit?”
A woman walking by gasped, muttered, “Pervert.”
Hell yeah, he was a pervert. For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t touched his boyfriend in forty-five days. He was about to spend the next forty-eight hours being a pervert. He was gonna pervert the fuck outta Gumby. Jazz too.
Speaking of, Gumby didn’t bend over, but he stalked forward, eyes hot and needy. Screw had spent more time with his hand and FaceTime than he’d thought possible over the past month and a half. Though there’d been plenty, and he meant plenty of times where he’d gotten to fuck Jazz stupid while video chattin’ with Gumby. Their lover sure loved to watch them while he got off. Those were some damn good memories, but nothing beat the three of them touching, tasting, all being together.
