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Standing there watching the cleanup getting under way, Bou molded her body to mine and asked, “Where’s Betty?”
I flinched. Not expecting that question to cut so deeply, my gaze dropped to the rocks at my feet. “I lost her in Mexico.” I’d had her for almost a decade now, rebuilt her from the ground up, and I loved that bike more than anything else—until Bou.
“Well,” my woman started. “We have a lot of shit to get settled, but Celt comes first. When I know he’s okay, I have to deal with Rex.”
“We have to deal with Rex” I corrected, squeezing her tighter.
She laughed, and it was like angels singing. “Yeah, we,” Bou said, the word a little awkward on her lips, but she smiled and batted her eyes as she said it, a pretty little look that was uncommon on my strong woman. Then she let out a sigh and asked, “What about the other situation?”
My arm tightened around her waist, and I just shook my head. Another day.
With her arms still wrapped around my neck, she gave a little accepting nod with pursed lips. “When all our shit’s wrapped up, we can hold a wake for Betty and find you a new girl to ride.”
43
Bou
Still standing outside my childhood home-turned-Celt’s house, my chest throbbed like banked embers, but it no longer had the sharp bite it had when Lynch had carved my skin like leather. The bloodied sweatshirt scratched against the wound when Wilde pulled me close, but I didn’t mind. I’d take this pain a million times over to feel Wilde’s arms around me. When he had kissed me, my lips and body responded to him the same way it had weeks earlier, like metal turning to liquid under his touch. The smell and warmth and rock-solid strength of him made me forget the aches from my bruises, at least for a while.
Pulling away when Angel prompted us to get a room was tough. My mind, body, and entire being wanted to be in only one place when Wilde held me that closely and possessively. Wrapped in his safe embrace.
Celt came first, though, and we needed to get on the road. I should be there when he woke up.
I looked around and asked Wilde, “How’d you get here?”
He nodded to a beat-up old Bronco, a baby-blue and rust colored stripe running down the side of the boxy whitish body.
I gave him a quizzical look. “Not your usual style.”
“It’s Cook’s.”
I flinched at his name. He’d been around since we came out of the house but the name falling from Wilde’s lips was a fucking wake-up call. The traitorous bastard helped Rex and Paola do this to us. He’d turned on his best friend. Rat bastard. I start pulling away from Wilde. “Why do you have Cook’s car?”
He told me how Cook had been playing Rex and Paola the whole time, and my body eased with every word. I couldn’t count on many people, but I believed everything that came out of this man’s mouth.
Wilde brushed a hair away that’d stuck to my lips. “Cook was always on our team.”
Our team. I liked the thought of it.
I let out a long breath and softened in his arms. “What a relief.”
My brows furrowed. Celt had to feel like his BFF had stabbed him in the back, but we had to worry about getting him physically hale before we could deal with the situation we still had on our hands. The only fucker who was dead was Lynch. Rex and Paola had both ghosted before Wilde rode in to save the day.
Jackyl, driving my brother’s black and white, pulled out of Celt’s garage and sped toward the highway in a cloud of dust as we stopped alongside the first bike.
Standing beside the Bronco, I asked, “Can we stop by my shop, pick up my little girl, and head for Phoenix?”
Wilde’s entire body tensed.
“Problem?”
He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “Remember why I left?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, well, I found him. My shit-for-brains father.” Wilde swallowed.
I waited.
