~oOo~
Becker rapped on the frame of the open door. Standing at her man’s bedside, Kari turned and smiled when she saw him.
“Hi, Beck.”
“Hey, honey. How’s our boy?”
She smiled down at Fitz. “Doing better today. Aren’t you, baby?”
Fitz’s hand lifted from the bed. He curled his fingers and put his thumb up, but Becker didn’t hear him speak.
He went all the way into the room, to stand at the other side of the bed. Fitz lay flat, still bolted into that metal cage, his head bald and bandaged, his baby face showing a scant dusting of sandy-red fuzz over the blackening bruises. But his eyes were open, and they tracked to Becker.
“Beck,” he mumbled. “You look like shit.”
Caught off guard by the observation and the wit with which it was said, Becker barked a laugh. Fitz’s words were badly slurred, and he was the one who looked like shit, but Becker knew right then the kid would heal up and be okay.
He also felt his affection for him more keenly and clearly than ever. This was a good kid lying here. A good man. Becker had seen the good kid become the good man.
“It’s your fault, brother. You’re keepin’ me up nights, worryin’.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’m just layin’ here.” His eyes closed and didn’t open.
“Good. You stay put and out of trouble. I’m gonna talk to your lady for a few. That okay by you?”
Again Fitz put his thumb up, but he didn’t open his eyes.
Becker looked at Kari and nodded toward the door. She bent over the bed, kissed her fingers, and set them on his mouth. “I’ll be right back, baby.”
In the corridor, Becker offered his arms, and Fitz’s woman sagged toward him and let him hold her. She was almost as tall as he was.
“He looks better.”
She nodded against his shoulder. “He does. The doctor says he’s doing better than they expected.”
“That’s good.” Becker lifted her head so he could see her face. “What else did the doc say?”
Kari stepped out of his embrace. “Wait and see, mostly. They do tests a couple times a day, and each time it’s better. There’s stuff he can’t do—he can’t read or even recognize letters, for one—but there’s still a lot of swelling, and the doctor says we have to wait until it goes down to know if he really lost anything. But all day, he’s been coming back to himself. He remembers me and Quentin, and his mom. He knew Caleb, too. And he knew you right off, without having to think about it.”
“That’s fantastic. He’s tough, and he’s a fighter. He’ll be back to normal in no time.”
Her smile was brave, but it sagged badly, and Becker saw how exhausted she was. “Have you slept at all?”
“In that chair in there, a little. It’s enough. I’m not leaving until he’s out of the ICU.”
“When will that be?”
“When there’s no more swelling in his brain. A few days, maybe.”
“What do you need from us, Kari?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. My mom’s got Quentin, so he’s okay. I had time owed to me at work, so for now that’s okay.” She looked up and set a tired brown gaze on him. “I like having the Bulls here. They bring me food so I don’t have to leave him, and it just ... it feels good, knowing he’s got people here for him. Can they stay?”
“No question, hon. We don’t leave brothers alone in the hospital. There’ll be somebody here round the clock until he’s free, and they are here to do your bidding. I’m gonna hang out myself for a while. You want some supper?”
“That’d be good.”
“How ‘bout your man? Can I sneak him in a strawberry shake or somethin’?”
“He can’t eat anything until he can sit up. But I wouldn’t mind a chocolate shake.”
“Comin’ right up. We’ll get some sandwiches and chips, too, and you can take your pick.”
He kissed her cheek, and she opened Fitz’s door. As Becker turned toward the corridor to the elevators, she called his name, and he looked back.
“Thank you. Fitz told me the club was his family. I don’t think I totally understood until this.”
Offering her a smile, Becker told her a truth he’d learned the hard way. “It’s always the hard shit that makes it clear, one way or the other.”
~oOo~
Since their explosion at the record store, and her call not long after to get his alarm code, Becker hadn’t seen or heard from Sage. He knew she’d spent last night at his place, because he’d run home before heading to the hospital, to grab a quick shower and some fresh clothes, and on the way to the laundry room to get a shirt out of the dryer, he’d seen dishes drying in the drainer that he hadn’t used.
But when he pulled onto his driveway around ten this night, there was no beat-up Dodge Aries parked there, or on the street, and his house was dark.
He sat astride his bike, the engine chugging between his legs, and stared at the dark house. Weariness clamped over his neck. He hadn’t slept more than an hour here and there in days, and every fucking wakeful moment his brain had buzzed with all the shit he had to do, and decide, and take care of, all the people waiting on him to make things better.
All he wanted was to rest, and there was his house, right there. The house he’d worked so hard on, made his, exactly as he wanted it. Nothing special, except to him. His comfortable bed, his soft sheets, his hot shower.
Fuck, he’d known the girl for, what, four days? And already his house felt lonely when she wasn’t in it. Where the hell had that come from?
He didn’t know, and he was too tired to think about it. All he did know was he wanted her in his house, in his bed. So he backed his bike off the driveway and rode around the block to her house.
The Dodge was parked on the street, in front of her mother’s tired old bungalow that looked about ready to give up the effort. Parking in front of her car, Becker dismounted and strode up the broken sidewalk, past a half-barrel full of incongruously cheerful little flowers, and up onto the porch.
A yellow bug light flicked on above the door before he could knock, and the door swung open. Behind the screen door, his good friend Denny stood there, dressed in a ratty plaid shirt open over a dirty beater and worn chinos. He held the sawed-off Sage had brandished the other night.
He moved to aim it, but Becker could put a .44-caliber bullet through a two-inch eyebolt at fifty paces, and he could do it on a quick draw. He had his Sig out and pointed at Denny’s head before the asshole could lift the shotgun.
“Don’t you fuckin’ aim at me, you piece of shit.” He hated that he was standing out in the open with his gun out, exposed to possible trouble, and it made him want another piece of this bastard right now.
“You’re fuckin’ trespassin’!” Denny snapped, but the barrel of the modded Mossberg drooped downward.
Becker eased his aim, turning the muzzle up a couple inches. “I’m not here for you. I want Sage.”
“Huh?” The idiot’s mouth dropped open like the hinge pin had fallen out.
“Sage. Is she here?”
“What’d she do?”
Okay, this was bullshit. Returning his aim to the idiot head before him, Becker yanked open the screen door and forced his way into the house by simply walking forward. Denny scrambled back, and Becker snatched the shotgun from him.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY WON’T YOU MIND YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!” Sage’s mom ran into the living room, screaming at him as usual. Becker kept his eyes on them both and his gun on Denny.
“Sage!” he yelled over her mother’s squawking.
She came in right away; she must have been on her way already. She took in the sight of him holding the other people in her family at gunpoint, and then she grinned. All of this commotion going on, and she stood there grinning.
“Uh, hi. What’s up?”
Denny and her mom both turned their gawking mugs her way. Still aimed on Denny, Becker smiled at Sage. He couldn�
�t help it. She was so fucking cute. Wearing ripped-up jeans and little blue top with nothing but thin straps over her shoulders, he could see the barbells through her tits under the cotton. She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets. Her low waistband drew down and showed the ink laced over her belly.
He’d meant to pick her up and take her home, but now his fight instincts were activated, and he had energy to burn. “You wanna take a ride with me?”
The idiots swiveled back to him. They were going to start drooling soon if they didn’t close their pieholes.
Sage laughed, and the sound made his smile grow. “Is this how you normally ask girls out?”
He shrugged. “Whatever works. What d’ya say?”
“I say let me get a jacket.”
“Good girl. Better make it quick. Denny here pissed himself, and it’s startin’ to stink.”
Still laughing, she turned and went away, back down the hall. Becker turned to her mom and the inestimable Denny, who had in fact pissed himself.
First, he addressed her mother. “Just so you know, my intentions for Sage are good. I like her, and she’s safe with me.” Then he turned to Denny. “You, asshole, are not safe with me. You do anything to hurt that girl, and I will make you beg for mercy. And I am not a merciful man.”
He holstered his Sig, broke open the Mossberg, removed the shells, and pocketed them. As he tossed the disabled gun onto a threadbare orange sofa, Sage bounced into the room, her hair in a ponytail and a fake-leather jacket over that tiny, cute top.
“This is all very romantic, but”—she held up her new cellphone—“you could have called, you know. Isn’t this why I have it, so you can get ahold of me?”
Right. He hadn’t even thought to just call. Damn, he was tired.
“Come on, shortcake.” He grabbed her hand and led her away.
CHAPTER TEN
Becker shoveled about half his burger into his mouth at once. After a couple of chews, while his mouth was still full of burger and bun, he added a few fries dipped in the ketchup lake on his plate.
Sage had barely had a chance to fix her burger up the way she liked it, and he was halfway done with his meal. She’d never seen anyone eat as fast as he did.
“Oh my god, you eat like a pig. You’re so gross.”
He grinned around his mouthful of half his entire dinner and kept on chewing. When there was enough room in his mouth for words to get around the masticated goop, he said, “Eight years in prison.” He finally finished chewing and sucked down half his soda. “I don’t fuck around when it’s time to eat.”
He’d gotten out of prison years ago—she’d been, like, a toddler when he had—but apparently the lessons that got learned there got learned for good.
They were sitting at a chain diner just outside the western limit of the Tulsa area. Becker had picked her up in that noteworthy fashion and then they’d just ridden. She hadn’t asked where he was going, and he hadn’t offered the information. At his bike, he’d laid a heavy kiss full of promise on her, and that had stood for anything he could say or she wanted to hear.
He wanted her. He’d come for her, claimed her, taken her away. It was all she could possibly want from him.
Once they’d cleared the populated clutter of the city and suburbs, he’d pulled off and stopped here, and they still hadn’t really talked. They’d chatted—Sage had asked how his hurt friend was doing, and Becker had told her about the state of the service station and clubhouse—but they hadn’t yet talked about what had happened at the Bin the night before, or at her house not even an hour before.
It was time, though. His remark about prison made her think about why he’d been there, and that made her think about Denny. He’d pulled a gun on Denny and stormed into their house. Frankly, she was plenty weird enough to think that was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her, but she was also sane enough to think it needed some discussion.
“Would you have shot him?” She purposefully asked the question in that way, curious how quickly he’d find the page she was on.
He’d unhinged his jaw to shove in the rest of his burger; instead, he closed his mouth and set the burger down. “I never aim a gun I’m not prepared to shoot. And you know I would’ve shot him. I already shot him once.”
On the page with her right away. “But tonight you were aimed at his head.”
“He had a sawed-off on me when he answered the door. At that range, he’d have blown my top half to bits if he’d had a chance to get a shot off. So yeah, I was aimed to kill.” His head tilted to one side, and he squinted at her. “You said I don’t scare you, but you need to understand who I am. I’d have killed him tonight and cleaned up the mess, and I wouldn’t think about that asshole again. I don’t kill without good cause, but when I do, I don’t get bent over it.”
“You have a lot of good cause?”
He stared at her and didn’t answer.
“I’m not scared, Beck. I’m curious.”
“Yeah, you are. Too curious, I think.”
Now she didn’t answer, except with a shrug. She’d never been shy about asking questions or expecting answers. She’d never been shy, period.
“I got more good cause than most, maybe.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” His squint tightened.
“Okay. I told you, I’m not scared. I just want to know you. I want to know your life. You say you have good cause when you do it, and I don’t think you’re a psycho serial killer, so I believe you. If people deserve it, they deserve it.”
He laughed. “You’re not a normal little chick.”
She laughed, too, and leaned back to gesture at her arms and shoulders. “I try to make that obvious.” When he dipped his head in acknowledgement, she asked the question that had actually been burning a hole through her brain. “Why did you only warn him off me?”
“Hm?”
The server came by just then with fresh sodas and asked if they needed anything else. Her attitude suggested that she wasn’t thrilled to be serving the Bull and his tattooed lady, but Becker gave her a polite smile and said, “No thanks, hon.”
She gave him a slightly warmer smile and left the check on the table.
When they were alone again, Sage repeated her question. “When I was coming back with my jacket, I heard you tell Denny not to touch me. But you didn’t warn him off my mom.”
“Your mom doesn’t want my help.”
“But you’ve helped her a bunch of times.”
“Yeah. I can’t turn my back when I see it happening, or hear it. But she doesn’t want the help. When it’s happening, I’ll stop him whether or not she wants it, but I won’t kill him for her.”
“You’d kill him for me, though?”
A hot light came on behind Becker’s eyes. “If he hurts you, yes, I will. I won’t think twice.”
That heady sensation of falling—falling for him, knowing he’d catch her—spun through her and made her woozy, and she stretched her arm across the table and hooked her hand over his. He looked down at it. His thumb came up and closed over her fingers.
She loved his hands. They were rough and tough and big, his knuckles were knobby and scarred, and they showed his age more than anywhere else on his body—more than his age. They had done hard things and had survived. When those coarse hands, always hot, were on her skin, she felt claimed and protected. They’d caused death, but they held life.
“You keep telling me to be afraid of you. But you’re the safest thing in my life.”
He looked up. “That’s not good, Sage. You need something safer than me.”
“No, I don’t.”
~oOo~
After the diner, Sage expected them to head back to Tulsa, to his house, but he headed west again on I-44. He seemed to have a destination in mind, but Sage still felt no compulsion to ask. Despite her natural curiosity, this answer didn’t seem important.
The only important thing was the ride. She sat behind him, on his beautiful beast
of a Harley, feeling the seismic power of the engine on her ass, the firm edges of his hips against her thighs, the tight contours of his torso on her arms and hands. His broad shoulders blocked the worst of the wind, and she set her head on his back, her cheek pillowed on the embroidered bull, and watched the night speed by. He’d given her his wraparound sunglasses to protect her eyes, and all the dark world seemed surreal and blue.
As far as Sage cared, they could ride just like this forever.
But after about another half hour or so, he pulled off. He swung around an exit ramp that crossed back over the interstate, and turned left at the stop sign, crossing the interstate again. They passed a brightly lit motel and restaurant, and then they were swallowed up by Oklahoma countryside, traveling down a dark, quiet state highway.
Sage lifted her head and looked around, but without the lights of the interstate, there wasn’t much she could see. Just Becker, in her arms, and the road speeding under the bike’s headlight. She could feel trees pressing against the road, and she could smell the farmland—tilled earth and grazing animals.
He rode until the little highway hit a crossroads and ended. There, he turned left, onto an unmarked, two-lane road. All his moves were made without hesitation, and Sage became certain that he was taking her somewhere specific—somewhere far off the beaten path, in the lonely dark and quiet, but known to him.
If she were afraid of him, now would be the time to worry. But she wasn’t worried.
Again, he pulled off, now onto pitted gravel. The engine took on a deeper growl as Becker downshifted and slowed. They rode through woods and pitch dark until he turned again and stopped before a wide metal gate.
He killed the engine, dropped the stand, and cast a glance over his shoulder. All she could see of him was his profile, drawn against the beam of the headlight before him. “Hold on. Stay put.”
Swinging his leg forward, he dismounted and opened the gate. He propped it open and came back, arranging himself on the saddle again.
Finally, in the darkness and quiet, before the engine roared back to life, Sage asked, “Where are we?”
“My mom’s place. I grew up here.” He fired up the engine again and pulled down a weedy, rutted lane.
Lead (The Brazen Bulls MC, #8) Page 13
