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Suction and irrigation run in tandem as they remove the final fragments from Gunz’s abdomen. Before long, most of the blood bag is empty, and they’re stitching him up. I watch every minute of it and ignore theonce wasin preference for thewhat is. I pretend I’m not bald, that my skin doesn’t crawl with every breath, that I’m not tainted. I’m grateful. I… am. I’m strong. I…
Straightening my spine, I focus on the bandage they place on Gunz’s ripped stomach, over the perfect line of stitches.
Tossing bloodied gloves into a receptacle, Bonez turns to me. “Welcome to the family, Kit. I look forward to meeting my nephew real soon.” An exhausted smile is the best Bonez offers before he stuffs a fresh box of gloves under his armpit and slings a bag of supplies over his shoulder. “He’ll be up soon. Take care of yourself.”
“Thanks. You, too,” I call to his retreating form as the crowd parts and he jumps out of the ambulance, into the night. An angel to heal the less fortunate. A savior in leather. Right now, I couldn’t be prouder my son shares DNA with that man. One of the good ones. An obvious rebel with a heart of gold. It gives me hope for Adam. For his future.
Just as Doc removes the mask from Gunz’s face, those pretty blues flutter open and land straight on me. “I’ve got you, love,” he slurs before passing out again.
Cleaning up, Doc’s head shakes in amusement. “He’s gonna do that for a bit.”
Less than a minute later, the same thing happens. “Hey, babe.”
“Hey back.” I offer a tiny finger wave.
“I’ve got you…” Out he goes again, his head lulling to the side, mouth slack.
Wanting to be closer, I get up. “I’ve got you, too,” I whisper as I lean over to peck his upturned forehead, letting my lips linger there.
He hums a deep, content kinda sound. “My… lady.”
“Your lady,” I repeat, to hear it in my own words, to let it sink in.
His lady.
Gunz’s.
I don’t know how I feel about that. Hell, I don’t know what to think about much of anything. Staying alive, staying sane, has been the focus for… however long we were kidnapped. Yuck. I don’t like that word.
A terrible prickle rises at the base of my neck, forcing a shiver down to the tips of my toes.
Eyes still closed, Gunz’s lazy hand flops around, seeking mine. An itty-bitty smile peaks at the corner of my mouth as I rejoin us as one. His cool, damp palm in my small, warmer one.
The handsome man hums once again, squeezing our connection with far more strength than I expect. “Mine.”
Yes.
Yours.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
KIT
Elbow perched on the window ledge, palm cradling my face, I sag against the door and watch a colorful world pass by. Trees and grass. Grass and trees. The most beautiful sky I’ve ever seen. Gunz squeezes my knee, a simple gesture that means everything. Soothing heat penetrates through the cotton of my sweats where his hand lingers. Grateful for the connection, I pat the top of his hand to communicate what words cannot. I don’t know how or why, but he gets me. He knows what I need before I do. He reads between lines I didn’t know existed.
I sigh loudly, one tick past the point of exhaustion, not the normal kind, the kind that makes your skin weigh a thousand pounds as it hangs off your bones. The half-gone Dum Dum in my mouth clinks against my teeth as I roll it to the other cheek. Peach. Another comfort from Gunz despite healing himself. Despite having been on the road for months, resting his head in places not home, eating fast food day after day. Not that you’d know it. He acts as if he wasn’t shot, as if this is the norm. Stubborn, strong, stalwart man. Beautiful man.
Less than forty-eight hours ago, they freed us from hell. You’d think that’d mean the worst was over, right? Wrong. Wrong. Triple wrong. Nobody tells you what happens in the wake of trauma. You read books and watch movies where the girl gets banged up, then she’s saved. The survivor. The resilient one. What they don’t talk about is the edginess. The need to always glance over your shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When you close your eyes, you’re there again… like an old, scratchy record player that gets stuck on repeat. You worry about your friends. Not the normal kind of worry. The obsessive, anxious kind. You wonder how they’re doing. If they’re experiencing the same. If they’re sleeping. How they’re healing. But you can’t talk about it. Not with them. Not with anyone. Why? Because it’s not their burden to bear. On the slight chance, they’ve moved on… if they’re that woman in the movies, the resilient one who can pick up life where it left off, like nothing happened, you don’t want to trudge up horrors. It’s selfish. So, I live in the now for as long as I can before the eerie coldness reclaims me.
At the thought, I shiver, despite the warmth in the truck.
Once more, Gunz reads me like an open book. The hand resting on my knee squeezes longer than before, imbuing me with whatever magic he possesses. I calm as I always do, his enchantment weaving through me as I focus less on feeling and more on now. Loretta’s in the passenger seat, holding her man’s hand across the console. Rock music bumps low-key through the speakers—enough to make out the lyrics but not enough to really jam like I used to in my jacked-up truck. Man, that feels like a decade ago now. A different life.
The rumble of tailpipes suffuses the air, a steady reminder we’re not alone. Men in leather joined our motorcade an hour ago. Sacred Sinners in the front, Sacred Sinners in the back—an escort home. The promise of a safe return.
Brilliant streaks of the mid-afternoon sun gleam through a cloudless sky as we roll past a freshly painted compound gate and matching guard station. Black. Matte black. Those on bikes guide us across a parking lot crammed with people. Blimp parks our SUV next to another and cuts the engine. I don’t get a chance to ask Gunz what’s next when my door’s nearly torn off its hinges by a big-breasted blonde in an oversized Harley shirt and skintight leggings. I’d recognize the woman anywhere. Bink. One look at me, andbam,I’m hugged right out my seat. Having no clue how to react, I look over my shoulder for help, only to find Gunz climbing out behind me, wearing the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen, his eyes glistening in delight. A giant of a man with long, dark hair braided down his back shuts our door as I’m squeezed nearly half to death by a woman far mightier than she looks.
“Welcome home.” Bink’s voice trembles, her breasts mashing against mine. Stuffing my nose into the side of her hair, I squeeze her back. Not because I have to. Not for any other reason than… I think I need it. Wetness begins to leak from my eye sockets into her strawberry-scented trusses. Not at all disgusted by this, Bink holds me tighter, making it more difficult to breathe. We sway together in the parking lot, feet slotted between feet. I note her sniffles alongside my own. The giant man grumbles his discomfort at our display, but neither of us seem to care as she clutches the back of my sweatshirt and I let her.
