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“You didn’t tell me your dad is a biker.” I raise a brow.
Twisting her head to look over at me, she twiddles her fingers before leaning back. “There’s nothing to tell. I hardly know him. He’s not part of my life.”
“Does he know the shit you put up with, with her?” I jerk my chin in the direction of the hallway. Brothers have kids scattered all over the place but leaving kids with unfit mothers who put their kids at risk isn’t something I come across often. They’d rather let the clubs raise them. We’re territorial by nature. If I’d bred with a bitch like her, she’d have gone to the ground long ago. I don’t know the first thing about being a father but I sure as shit would give my life to protect my own.
“My brother has been the father figure in my life. He’s the reason I go to school, ate growing up, pays for everything…” She frowns, the cogs in her head turning. “I used to stay with him a lot just to escape her shit. He knows she’s a drinker but doesn’t know what else goes on because I cover for her.”
“Why?” I don’t understand the attachment she clings to with that damn woman.
“Because he would kill her.” She holds my gaze for a few silent beats then gets up and goes into the kitchen. A few seconds later, she comes back with pain pills and a glass of water.
“Here, these will help take the edge off.” She tips a couple pills into my palm.
I chase the tablets with the water and hand the glass to her. Placing it on the coffee table, she shoves her hands into her back pockets. “You should try to get some more sleep.”
“Lie down with me,” I say, holding my hand out for her to take.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispers, her chest rising and falling.
“You won’t.” I maneuver onto my back, laying down across the couch. Patting the cushion, I coax her to join me.
The nerves dance in the pulse in her throat. Her teeth worry her lip before she decides to sidle up to me, taking care not to touch my lower stomach. “We could take the bed?” she murmurs, her body warm against my side.
“It smells like old people in there,” I groan, wrapping an arm around her. She rests her head on my chest, a sigh leaving her body as she relaxes against me. It feels so damn good having her in my arms, if I didn’t feel like I was fading from my own body, I’d make a move. My eyelids get heavy as the drugs begin to kick in.
“Better than the kitchen. It smells like someone died in there.” She shudders. I’m not touching that shit. I haven’t had time to think about those dead bodies or who the hell killed them.
“Tell me about your sister.” I manage to get the words out but they’re a little slurred.
“I wish I’d spent more time with her. She was always closed off, quiet, a recluse. She’s changed over the last year. Been more outspoken and demanding of spending more time around our brother.” She traces her fingers over the tattoo on my chest.
“What about your brother? What’s he like?” It shouldn’t, but I feel a possessive jealousy overcome me when I hear her speak so fondly about her brother. I didn’t have siblings and despised my parents. This love and loyalty she feels toward these people is foreign to me.
“Protective.” Her words hum against my chest. It’s soothing listening to her, feeling her, being with her.
“Would he kill for you?” Because I fucking would. She said he’d kill her mother if he knew what a cunt she is, but any fucker would if they’d met her.
“Yes,” she says confidently.
“What about the kid sister?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“She’s tiny. She couldn’t kill a fly.” A light giggle rumbles her throat.
“Funny.” I nip at her rib, and she jolts with a burst of laughter, jarring my body.
“Fuck,” I groan. My whole abdomen feels like it’s too tight. Too hot. Too painful.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” She sits up, panicking. My mind tells my arm to reach out for her, drag her body back against mine, but nothing moves.
“It’s fine,” I lie, I want to look at her, reassure her, but I can’t lift my eyelids. They’re too heavy. Her voice gets farther away. The couch swallows me up, and I fall through it, darkness closing in around me, the shadows stealing me from her light.
“Ezekiel…”
“Ezekiel…”
Chapter Thirteen
Ruby
Fear.
Heart-stopping, gut-dropping dread grips my throat as I attempt to call his name again. “Ezekiel,” I cry out, gently shaking his shoulders. Nothing. A sheen of sweat coats every inch of him. Placing my fingers to his throat, I search for a pulse, glimpsing the slow rise of his chest.
