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I’m pulled onto his chest, my breasts pressed against his pecs. His heat sears me, the leather of his vest soft against the patches of skin that touch it. “Would you rather I said made love to you?”
Oh. I swallow, trying not to react to the fluttering in my chest. “Is that what we did?”
His eyes crawl over my face, drinking me in, and I like how it makes me feel. “Yeah, darlin’, that’s exactly what we did.” He kisses me, soft and tender in a way I didn’t know he could be. I feel like a puddle in his arms. When he pulls back, there’s a cheeky smirk on his lips. “Be my old lady?”
I still don’t entirely know what it means, but I’m eager to please him, so I nod. “You have me however you want me, Beau. I’m yours completely.”
CHAPTER16
TERROR
Istare at the man who has been a constant in our club since I became a member. Trick’s head is bowed, his chin touching his chest, which moves up and down as he swallows frantic breaths. He’s not bound to the chair he’s sitting in, though given his behaviour, I would have been inclined to secure him. Howler doesn’t seem worried about our homicidal little friend trying to escape or attack us, even though he’s racked up a bigger body count in the short time he’s been running around alone than he did in his whole time with the club.
There’s a part of me that’s impressed by the level of vengeance my brother has delivered on the fuckers who killed his wife. His creativity was interesting, if a little clumsy, but I can’t fault his actions. If it had been Hope’s brains splattered in my car, I would’ve done worse.
I curl my fingers into fists, my thoughts taking a dark turn despite the fact I know my wife is safe and well. She and I will have a conversation about her putting herself in harm’s way though. Trick is lucky I allowed him to remain breathing after I saw my beautiful Hope trying to pull him off the Richardson girl. Her pregnancy has made me more possessive, more protective than ever.
Howler and Blackjack exchange a glance, one that I read instantly. They’re about to play dirty, and I’m curious to see what our president does here. By rights, he could strip Trick of his colours, kick him out the club… maybe even end his life. But Trick ain’t some shitty prospect or hangaround. He’s blood, and Howler ain’t the kind of man to give up on family.
He also ain’t the kind of man to subject a broken brother to public humiliation, which is why only the three of us are in the room with Trick.
“What the fuck, Trick?” Howler asks, coming to stand in front of him. “You wanna explain what the hell just happened in there? You could’ve hurt any of the girls, including Pia. You did hurt Skye. We don’t touch women or fuckin’ kids. I’m getting tired of trying to defend you.”
Trick’s fingers clutch the edge of the seat beneath him so hard, his skin stretches over his knuckles, but he doesn’t raise his head. “Is the girl okay?” His voice is hoarse, and the way he says ‘girl’ is not kind.
“You wrapped your fucking hand around her neck,” Blackjack snaps at him. “What the fuck do you think?”
Trick’s jaw tightens even as his shoulders slump. “I… I heard she was here. Richardson’s daughter. I wanted… I needed…” He breaks off, his face contorting in what I assume is pain.
“To what? Take your anger out on a pregnant teenager?”
His head snaps up so fast, it must leave him dizzy. The bloodshot whites of his eyes dart between Howler and Blackjack. “She’s fuckin’ pregnant?”
A myriad of emotions crosses his face—confusion, dismay, anger, and a deep-rooted sadness. I don’t know what the fuck to make of any of it.
“It’s Rage’s kid. That’s why he beat the fuck out of you.” Blackjack sounds more pissed than I’ve ever heard him.
There’s a twitch in his cheek as he takes that information in. “He fucked the daughter of the man who killed Mara?”
Howler scrubs a hand over his chin, his jaw tight. Ain’t sure this is going the way he wants, but I know my president. I’ve been with this chapter long enough to recognise his ticks and emotions. He’s trying to hold his temper at bay, but unleashing it would be better. Trick needs a fuckin’ wakeup call.
“You don’t get to take the moral high ground here.”
Trick comes to his feet in a sweeping motion, fury radiating off him. I push off the wall where I’m standing, ready to defend Howler.
I don’t need to do shit, though. Howler slams his fist into Trick’s face, knocking him back into the chair, which topples back and tips him onto the concrete. The space is unpleasant, and it’s designed to be that way. “Sit the fuck down,” Howler growls. “I’m done with this bullshit. The lines you’ve crossed… fuck, I don’t know how you come back from them, Trick. You’ve done shit that can’t be fixed. This war with the Pioneers—”
“I didn’t start that,” he defends.
“No, you didn’t, but you sure as hell fanned the flames of it.” Howler takes a steadying breath, his body vibrating with anger.
“They killed my wife.” The broken way he says this hits me in the gut like a fucking punch. I’m not immune to his pain. I know what it feels like to have loved and lost someone.
I handed Hope over to another, certain she would have a better life with him than with me. I was wrong, and my girl suffered for a long time before I was able to pull her out of that shit storm. But I got Hope back.
There’s no chance of that for Trick. Mara’s gone, and she’s never coming back. I don’t know how I would stay sane in that situation, and the fact we all understand his breakdown is the only reason he’s still part of this club.
“I know,” Howler tells him, going down on his haunches in front of the chair as Trick starts to unravel in front of our eyes.
