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I looked at Zig, but he shook his head. “No. It might be exactly what she’s after. Proof that Salem is gifted. We don’t know if Astrid is. We only have her word for it, and I, for one, won’t believe shit until I have proof.”
Hawk gritted his teeth and looked away.
“It’s just some bumps and bruises. She’ll be sore tomorrow, but she’ll be fine,” I told him. I get it. I don’t like her hurting any more than he does. I helped to patch her up, so I know her injuries aren’t as bad as I first feared.
“Maybe this way she’ll think twice about running next time,” Oz said.
“For fuck’s sake, Oz. What’s gotten into you? You’re being an asshole,” Greg growled.
“I don’t like having someone here who could be a potential threat to Salem. She’s been through enough.”
“I get it. I do, but Astrid hasn’t done anything to earn your ire. So, why don’t you get a handle on it before you do or say something you’ll regret? Where is Salem anyway?”
“She’s lying down. She has a headache.” Oz rolled his eyes.
“I didn’t think she got headaches much. Not unless she overdoes it on healing, anyway.” Wilder looked confused for a second, but when he saw Oz glaring at him, he snickered.
“Oh, I see. You’re getting the cold shoulder, huh? I guess Salem isn’t a fan of how we’re all playing this?”
Zig lifted his beer and took a swig of it. “It brings up a lot of unfortunate feelings for her,” he admitted.
“That’s hardly surprising. She was held captive herself, and now we’re doing the same damn thing to Astrid,” Greg huffed.
Oz stood and slammed his palm on the table. “It’s not the same.”
Greg stood too and sneered, having reached his limit. “No, you’re right. It’s not. Salem was held captive because of her gift, whereas Astrid is being held because she can’t prove hers. You’d all love for this with Astrid to be nothing more than an elaborate hoax. If she is who she says she is and really saw Salem get killed, then you’ll have to face the fact that you’re holding prisoner the one person that holds the key to saving your woman’s life.” And with that parting shot, Greg shoved his chair aside and stalked off.
“Fuck,” Oz cursed, wiping a hand down his face. “It’s not that I want it to be like this, but I can’t—I won’t—put Salem in danger.”
“I know. I feel the same way. But I can’t say I believe her to be guilty or innocent right now. I don’t know her. None of us do. We made a decision, though, and now we need to let it play out until we can determine the truth about why she is here. She won’t run again. She’ll be lucky if Slade lets her take a piss alone after tonight’s escape attempt.”
“Jesus, if she makes it through the night without stabbing him, I say we should declare her a saint,” Hawk blurted, making me chuckle.
“He’s not that bad.”
Creed raised his eyebrows at that.
“Alright, I’ll admit he can be intense. But he’s protective, that’s all. He likes Salem, and he knows what’s at stake here. Out of all of us, he’s the least likely to be fooled by a pretty face.”
I roll over and sigh, realizing I underestimated Astrid’s impact. Most of the guys here are into ménage relationships. Some have been in serious ménage relationships, like Creed and Hawk. Some are just open to the idea. But Zig, Oz, and, to an extent, Luna, and her MC guys kind of normalized it all. Now we don’t even blink at the concept of relationships with multiple people in them. I can’t say I leaned one way or the other until Slade was released from prison.
We’ve never spoken about it, but a pact was born in silence, stemming from the trauma Slade experienced and my fear of losing him again. I might not want to fuck Slade—that’s not who we are—but there is a connection that exists solely between the two of us.
Since he got his freedom back, he only lets his guard down enough to fuck if I’m there to watch his back. For me, the only time I can get out of my head enough to let everything go and just relax is when he’s in the room with me. The guilt I still feel about how everything went down keeps me up at night. If I had been with him when this all happened, I could have—
I roll over and growl into the pillow. Could have, should have, would haves are for pussies. He’s here now, and that’s all that matters. Watching him lying there at peace does something to me. I can’t tell if I’m grateful or jealous. Perhaps a mix of both. She can give him what I can’t, and that’s precious in itself. But precious things get broken, and I don’t think Slade can survive another hit without shattering.
What is it about this fucking girl?
She’s beautiful. I’ll give her that. It’s not the kind of beauty we’re usually exposed to, either. Slade and I tend to go for easy girls. That makes us sound like dicks, I know. But we were not looking for anything serious, and barflies tend to want nothing more than a little fun with a couple of men from the wrong side of the tracks before settling down with Mr. Right. We’re always willing to oblige.
Astrid is about as far from a barfly as you can get. Aside from the fact that she stinks of money, she has an air of class about her, a poise that some women are just born with. Her looks, though, are what set her apart. Her beauty lies in her uniqueness. Her long white hair, porcelain skin, and violet eyes that shone in the lamplight earlier, make her look like a fairy tale character.I had the strange urge before to slip her hair behind her ears to see if they were pointed. No joking, she would not look out of place in a Tolkien movie.
Her face might scream fairy tale, but her body is the devil’s work, created to make a man think of nothing but sin. I wonder how many have fallen to their knees for her. She’s tiny and curvy, and she makes my dick hard every time I’m in the same room as her.
The irony isn’t lost on me that while Slade has found peace in her arms, I’m over here with nothing but chaos on my mind. The woman has me twisted in so many knots I worry that when it’s time for her to go, I won’t know how to unravel the bonds between us.
Taking advantage of the quiet, I slide my hand into my boxers and grip my hard dick, stroking it up and down as I picture Astrid on her knees looking up at me with those haunting eyes. I tug hard and squeeze tighter, liking the bite of pain. I imagine Astrid biting her lip as Slade eases up behind her and cups her breasts, kissing a path down the slope of her shoulder.
