by Nina Levine
Winter meets my gaze and places his hand on my thigh. His touch affects me instantly, not in a heated way, but rather, love for him fills my soul. I might be a moody bitch, and I might be easily frustrated by him while on these drugs, but I love this man with all my heart.
“I love you,” I mouth as I reach my hand up to thread my fingers through the back of his hair.
He squeezes my thigh and leaves his hand resting there while directing his attention back to the traffic.
We chat with Max for another five minutes, and when the call ends, I say to Winter, “I want Max to be happy again.”
“He is happy.”
“Yeah, but you know what I mean.” Max’s divorce took its toll on him in every way possible, but especially emotionally. He tried so hard to make his marriage work because he believes so deeply in the institution. I want him to find another woman to love and to love him.
Winter nods but doesn’t say anything further on the topic. He focuses back on the traffic while I stare out the window for a while. I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s coming up next for us in this cycle and want to talk to Winter about it.
I turn back to him. “I don’t want you using porn in the collection room.” Or the wank room as Lily calls it.
He pulls up at a red light and looks at me, his brows pulled together questioningly. “Okay.”
I can see the questions running through his mind. Winter’s always trying to get a handle on my thoughts and where they’re coming from. “I don’t know,” I say, “it just feels weird to think of you jerking off to porn or some other woman in a magazine in order to make our baby. I’ll come in with you and provide the inspiration.”
He cups my face, his thumb caressing my skin. If I could bottle the look in his eyes, I would, because the way he’s looking at me makes me feel all gooey inside. “I agree. I don’t want to make our baby with porn.”
A horn blares from behind us, and Winter looks back at the road. The clinic is only a five-minute drive from here. After we arrive and he parks the car, I reach for him. “Thank you.”
His eyes search mine. “What for?”
“For being so damn patient with me and putting up with all my insanity. There isn’t anyone else I’d want to do this with.”
He kisses me. “That’s good because I’m the only one you’ll ever do it with.”
12
Winter
* * *
“Yes!” Birdie says excitedly to her mother after we arrive home late on the day we received the good news from the IVF clinic. “We have to do the trigger shot tonight and then go in for the egg retrieval in thirty-six hours.” She couldn’t get hold of her mother all day, and I know she’s been desperate to share the news with her, so I leave them to catch up.
Heading into the bedroom, I sit on the bed and take my boots off. It was another long day after I dropped Birdie at work. Ransom, Hunt, and I did some recon yesterday on the location Axe thinks Zenith is working from, and we spent today doing more surveillance and research into the information Axe provided. None of the men coming and going from the warehouse were known to us, so we’ve put feelers out around town to see if anyone we know can give us names. I’m hopeful tomorrow will bring us names and further information. If this is Zenith, I want to act swiftly; the sooner we come to a territory agreement with them, the better. This bullshit of them continuously undercutting us and stealing business needs to fucking stop.
Pulling my T-shirt over my head, I stand to go into the bathroom for a shower. I’ve just finished stripping when Birdie appears in the mirror behind me.
“Mum said to say hi.” Her eyes are all over me, which isn’t doing me any favours. Our doctor advised me not to ejaculate for two to three days prior to egg retrieval; Birdie’s eyes on me always gets me hard.
“Angel, you need to leave.”
She frowns. “Why?”
I turn to face her. “Because I can’t do anything with the hard-on you’re causing right now.”
“Oh.” She bites her lip. Fuck me. “Okay, but quick question: Do you want chicken and salad for dinner or steak and salad?”
I rake my fingers through my hair, wishing like fuck she’d just do as I say sometimes. “Either.”
“No, I need you to choose. I—”
“Fucking hell, Birdie, stop talking, turn that ass of yours around, and leave or else I’m going to have to get in the shower and jerk off.”
That gets her attention. “Okay, okay, I’m going, but don’t you complain when I serve you chicken instead of steak.” With that, she finally exits the bathroom, leaving me turned on and frustrated.
I stand under the shower for longer than normal, trying to get my thoughts in order. Between IVF, the stuff with Zenith, and the first shipment of coke due to arrive from Torres, I’ve got a lot going on. On top of that, King’s busting my balls over the fact Torres hasn’t given me a confirmed delivery date yet, causing tension between us that we’ve never experienced. I’ve had a headache for days, my body is tight as fuck, and I need my woman in ways I can’t fucking have her.
Placing both palms to the shower tiles, I drop my head, close my eyes, and exhale a long breath. I spend another few minutes here before flicking the shower off. When I join Birdie in the kitchen five minutes later, I find her deeply engrossed in reading something on her phone.
Snaking my arm around her waist from behind, I drop a kiss to her shoulder. “What are you reading?”
Reaching a hand up, she grips my neck and holds me in place while she turns her head to kiss me. Then facing me, she holds her phone up so I can see. “I just found this new study on IVF success rates.”
Fuck.
Birdie spends far too long googling shit as far as I’m concerned. She’s researched the hell out of how to maximise IVF, and we’re doing all the things she’s found as suggestions. We’re also following all our doctor’s recommendations. Beyond that, I don’t see the point in continuing to research this stuff. It only causes her unnecessary anxiety, and she already has enough of that.
Taking the phone from her, I say, “Angel, we already know everything we need to know. Don’t stress yourself out by reading more.”
“I’m not stressing myself out. I’m keeping up to date with current data.”
“No, you’re searching madly for hope when we don’t need that. We just need to follow the path we’re on. We’re already doing everything we can.”
“Don’t be an asshole tonight, Winter. I’m on a high and I don’t wanna ruin that.”
“I’m not being an asshole. I’m being practical. I don’t see the need to keep looking for more information all the time. It only stirs you up and makes you anxious over this shit.”
Annoyance flares in her eyes. “This shit?”
“Fuck,” I mutter, my patience fraying. “You know what I mean.”
“Well, I think you mean this baby-making journey we’re on. You know, to bring our child into this world. But I wouldn’t call it ‘this shit.’”
“Jesus Christ, do we need to argue over this? You’re blowing what I said out of proportion.”
“I don’t like what you said. So what if I’m looking for hope? I feel like I need it, and me spending time searching for information doesn’t hurt you.”
“Except it does”—my voice grows louder even though I’m trying like fuck to keep it even—“because I’m the one who cops your moods and deals with your anxiety.”
My phone rings, but I ignore it.
Birdie’s eyes widen, and she stares at me silently for a good few moments before finally stalking out of the kitchen.
My phone rings again; I ignore it again.
Fuck.
“Birdie!” I go after her.
She doesn’t stop, continuing to cut a path to our bedroom. “Don’t come after me, Winter. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”
“Too fucking bad, because we’re finishing this discussion.”
Coming to a halt, she spins and faces me, her face wild.
“This discussion? This wasn’t a discussion; it was you telling me what you think of my moody, anxious ways. A discussion would have involved input from both of us with the goal of understanding each other. Maybe you could try understanding my desire to learn more about IVF rather than thinking I’m just desperately searching for hope. Then we could have a fucking discussion.”
She stalks the rest of the way to our bedroom and slams the door before I can enter.
My phone rings again, and I grab it out of my pocket and answer it with a harsh, “What?”
“Fuck,” Ransom says. “Sorry if this is a bad time, brother, but we’ve got a situation here, and I hate to say it, but you’re gonna want to come in for it.”
Stabbing my fingers through my hair, I say, “What is it?” This is the last fucking thing I need right now.
“Memphis and Thorn have been shot. I’m heading to them now with Striker, and I’ve got Hunt trying to figure out what the fuck’s going on. He thinks it might be worth us calling on Albert to see what he knows, but I figured I’d leave that decision up to you.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Memphis and Thorn were watching the warehouse we think might be Zenith’s tonight. “Hunt’s right. I’ll go visit Albert while you get Memphis and Thorn to Doc. Call Vic, too. Give him a heads-up.”
“I don’t think it’s a wise move for you to go on your own.”
I ignore what he says. “I’ll meet you at the clubhouse after I talk to him.”
“Winter,” he starts, but I cut him off, not in the mood to hear it.
“Make sure Vic knows what he needs to do. I don’t want this shit coming back on us.”
Ending the call, I shove the phone in my pocket and open the bedroom door. Entering the room, I find Birdie’s locked herself in the bathroom while taking a shower.
“Birdie, open the door.”
“No, I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Too fucking bad; I need to talk to you. I’ve gotta go take care of some stuff.”
“Well, go.”
“I’m not leaving until we talk.”
“Well, stay then.”
My patience is at breaking point. “I have to go, but there’s no fucking way I’m leaving until you open this door and let me in to say what I have to say.” When she doesn’t respond, I bang on the door. “Birdie! Open the goddam door!”
At this point, I’m ready to break the damn thing down, but she yanks the door open and demands, “What?”
She’s standing in front of me, wrapped in a towel with those beautiful eyes of hers that are stormy as hell right now, throwing attitude, and while I’m worked up over the shit we’ve got going on as well as the club turmoil, all I can think about is how fucking much I love her and need to protect her.
Gripping her waist, I back her up against the vanity. “You can fight with me and throw all the attitude my way you want; you can lock me out of the fucking house for all I care, and you can scream at me that you think I don’t understand you, but you need to know I love you more than I even fucking know, and all I want is your happiness. Don’t ever fucking forget that.”
Her breaths come hard and fast as she takes that in. “Where are you going?”
The fact she’s not responded to what I’ve said tells me she needs time to calm down, so I let it go, figuring she’ll have plenty of time for that while I’m out. Hopefully by the time I come home, she’ll have sorted through her thoughts. “Some club stuff’s just come up that I need to handle. I’ll be a few hours at least.”
Her hands come to my shirt. “Is this something I need one of those heads-up about?”
I don’t want to say yes, but I made a promise to her about this, so I nod. “Maybe.”
She swallows hard, worry flashing in her eyes, but she keeps her shit together. “Okay.” Her hands clutch my shirt harder. “I love you, too.”
My mouth crashes down onto hers, and I pour all the love and frustration I’m feeling into this kiss. She does the same, and when we’re finished, I have to force myself to let her go and get out of here.
“I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.”
The look of fear in her eyes is the last thing I see as I turn to leave, and I have trouble removing it from my mind as I head towards Albert’s club. By the time I arrive, though, I’ve managed to push it far enough back to allow my focus to be completely on what I need to do here.
“Winter,” one of Albert’s security team says as I approach the front door. “Albert’s not expecting you tonight.”
“No, but he’ll see me regardless.”
He extends his arm and places his hand to my chest. “I’ll need you to stop while I call him to see if he’s free.”
I keep moving closer to him, pushing his hand out of the way. Tonight is not the fucking time to tell me no. “You’ll call him and tell him to make himself free.”
His lips flatten. “You wanna rephrase that?”
“No, I don’t wanna fucking rephrase that. Make the fucking call.”
He glares at me for another moment before calling Albert. After a quick conversation, he says to me, “He’ll see you, but he’s got someone else coming soon, so—”
“Just let me in,” I snap.
“When the fuck did you become such a prick?”
“When someone took it upon themselves to fucking shoot my men. Now open the fucking door!”
Albert’s sex club is four-levels high with the top one his personal playground. When I reach his level, I step off the lift into an open space filled with a loud driving beat, and people fucking all over the place. It’s so dark in some areas of the room that I don’t see them until I’m walking into them.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, shoving naked bodies out of my way and doing my best to ignore the music that’s drowning out my thoughts.
“Winter,” Albert’s drawl floats through the air as I draw closer to him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“We need to find a quiet spot where just the two of us can talk,” I say, making it clear in my tone that this request isn’t open for discussion.
His brows lift, but he doesn’t argue with me. He leads me into a private room that’s lit just enough for us to see each other, and that meets my need for quiet. As the door clicks closed behind us, he says, “What’s so urgent you needed to force your way up here?”
“Two of my men were shot tonight. Hunt suggested I pay a visit to you to see what you know about it.”
“Why would you think I know anything?”
I’d fucking love to wipe the smug expression off this asshole’s face. Hell, I’d love to wipe this asshole off the planet. But I can’t, because he has a lot of low friends in high places that would retaliate with their own murderous desires. Storm didn’t receive a friendly welcome when we set up in this city, especially not after King went on a rampage and let everyone know we’d moved in. King’s far-reaching power, though, ensured we had everyone’s attention, and my power was a given thanks to that. Still, this first year in Melbourne hasn’t been easy. We may have a level of control, but we sure as fuck don’t have the keys to the kingdom. Our enemies are everywhere, and they’re waiting for the right moment to get in bed with someone else and take us down. This is why I’m here tonight—to not only see what Albert knows, but to remind him of the hierarchy here.
“We both know you’re aware of everything that goes on in this city. Now’s the time to spill. Unless of course”—I pull out my ace straight away because I don’t have the patience tonight to lead him slowly to give me what I want—“you’d rather we take a visit to your wife and tell her about your other families.”
The smug expression is wiped off his face, and it didn’t require my fists to do it. “How the fuck do you know about that?”
“You’d be surprised what we know.” He would be. With Axe and Zane’s help, Hunt continues to unearth the kind of information that could bring some of the powerful men in this city to their knees. Axe and Zane might not be club membe
rs, but they protect us just the same by supplying this information.
Albert has three women he calls wife, and nine kids between them. None know of the other, and if they were to make the discovery, it would cause hell for him. Mostly because his legal wife has an influential family who would do anything for her, the least of which would be to blacken his name and find ways to fuck with his wealth.
“I’ve never fucking liked you or your club,” he says as he comes at me with his fists.
Being prepared for it, I block his punch and deliver my own to his gut. He stumbles backwards, his cheeks heating and turning red with anger. Albert’s a big guy and no match for my speed or skill. “You really wanna go there, Albert?” I ask as he tries to catch his breath after I’ve winded him. “I’m in the mood if you want to.” Fuck am I in the mood.
“Yeah,” he snarls, coming back my way, “let’s go there. I’m in the mood, too.”
This time, I let him get a punch in. I want the hit. It’ll take the mood I’m already in and fuel it more. And it does. So do the next two punches I allow. They bring my anger to life, and once I get my bearings after the third punch, I’m fully in.
I come back at him with a punch that knocks him to the floor and causes blood to flow like a fucking fountain. When he stays down, I bend over him and roar, “Get the fuck up! We’re not finished here yet.”
Spitting blood, he pushes himself up and attempts another punch. I block it and punch him hard enough that he staggers for a bit. He recovers faster this time, and we trade punches for a good five minutes after that.
I’m just getting warmed up when he runs out of steam. I deliver my hardest punch yet and he collapses, curling into a ball from the pain.
Crouching next to him, I demand, “You ready to tell me what I want to know or do we need to keep going here?”
His filthy glare hits me before his words do. “Go to hell. I’m not telling you anything.”
Grabbing his shirt, I pull him to his feet. “Yeah, you fucking are.” If it’s the last fucking thing I do tonight, I’ll get the information out of this motherfucker.
