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Maven
Doomscrolling the news apps isn’t the healthiest way to spend my evening, but it’s what I find myself doing as the hours on lockdown wear on and on. And on.
After too many drinks with Willow and the other girls, I go to my room and find myself restless rather than sleepy. So, after a quick shower, I curl up in bed and doomscroll about all the other bad shit happening in the world.
News is as good a distraction as anything else because I need something to get my mind off what Wilder is out there doing right now. Will he make it back, and if he does come back, will he be injured?
The possibilities are endless, which is why I find myself reading a long story about the death of a journalist in Malta, wherever the fuck that is.
Laughter rings out from Gia, and I smile, knowing Willow and Gia and the club whores—what a disgusting name for women seeking a biker to love them—were still drinking to distract them from the things happening out in the world, things that none of us can control.
Part of me wants to rejoin them and drink a little more, but I can’t. The booze soothes the pain until my mind conjures up every worst-case scenario imaginable.
The low rumble of a dozen motorcycles sounds just outside my window, and my shoulders relax a little. The men are home, but the condition they’re returning in is still unknown, and I’m on edge.
My need to know, my nosiness gets the better of me, and I go to the window and watch each man dismount his bike. Some are limping, bruised, and bloody, but when I see Nova jump from the van and rush to Preacher’s side, I know tonight was bad for the Reckless Souls.
I rush out of my room to where the girls are still drinking and laughing. Trudy spots me first. “What’s up, new girl?”
My gaze immediately goes to Gia. “They’re back.”
She nods and knocks back a shot of brown liquor. “Good.”
“Preacher’s hurt,” I tell her. “He’s on his own two feet, so that’s good.” I’m second-guessing my decision to tell her when the clubhouse doors swing open.
Dix enters first with a black eye, and he’s clutching his finger and cursing up a storm. Next, Preacher limps in, hanging onto Nova’s neck with one arm, Gia instantly at their side. “Babe, what the fuck happened?”
“Got shot in the fucking gut. I’ll live, but Nova needs to stitch me up.”
Gia nods and takes his other arm with a worried expression on her face as she and Nova lead him down the hall to one of the rooms.
“My bag is in the truck,” Nova tells her, and in the next second, she takes off to the parking lot, pushing past Joaquin, Ace, and Wilder as they amble inside. All the men look a little worse for wear, but Wilder is covered in blood. Completely fucking covered.
“Wilder!” I rush to him and grip his face, giving no thought to anything but the injuries that could cause so much blood loss.
“You’re hurt! My God, where are you hurt?” My hands leave his face to search his shoulders, his arms for any sign of injury.
“Maven,” he growls, but I ignore him and lift his shirt, ignoring the stab of arousal that hits me at the sight of his tatted up muscles covered in blood.
“Where are you hurt?”
“Maven,” he growls again, a little louder.
My focus is on searching for the spot oozing all this blood. I can’t find anything.
“We should get you to the room and wash off this blood to make it easier for Nova to fix you up.”
“Maven!” he shouts this time, loud enough to startle me.
I look up with a wide-eyed expression.
“What?” I catch Willow’s grin first, then look around at the amused faces of his brothers and take a step back.
“Oh. Sorry.” Embarrassed for putting my feelings for this man so clearly on display, I turn and rush back to my room.
“Maven,” he calls after me, but I don’t stop. I’m too humiliated to do anything other than hide away in my room.
“Dammit,” Wilder calls on my heels. “Woman, will you wait up?”
