It’s like nothing I’ve experienced before.
I don’t think I have ever been kissed like this. Nor do I think that I have ever kissed anyone like this.
It’s something different than my usual, than that awful black grit that seems to coat everything from my heart to my soul, taints my bones and my blood. This is a kiss that isn’t born of shared heartbreak. It isn’t lust and heat. It’s … feeling. There’s feeling in this, real, genuine feeling.
I put my hands against the sides of Sin’s face, drawing back just enough to get a breath. My eyes look down into his as he rests his hands on my waist, looking back up at me. I’m straddled over his lap, and with only the thin cotton of his gown and the sheet beneath me, it’s easy to tell that he’s already hard.
The nurse—or whoever she is, really—is talking to me, but I’m not listening.
My thumbs trace Sin’s lower lip as I take in the charcoal gray of his eyes, the almost lavender rings near the edges of his irises, the subtle blue cast beneath it all.
“I’m going to punch you in the balls later,” I whisper, and he almost smiles at me, and then cringes with the movement, tilting his head to one side like his neck hurts. My own face smarts and throbs from our kiss, but there are certain types of pain that feel exquisite, and this is one of them.
It’s the pain of knowing you’re both still alive, and everything hurts, but that’s okay. Because you’re still breathing; your heart still beats. If you’ve got that, you can tackle anything else. Anything.
Well, except for … I glance slightly to one side, as if I could see Grainger through all the walls that separate us. I look back at Sin.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I continue quietly, as he very carefully pushes me back with his hands on my waist. “You shouldn’t have pushed me and run, shouldn’t have fired at them—”
“Are you okay?” he asks me instead, his voice rough but threaded through with steel. “What happened to your face?”
“Gaz,” I say, and a flicker of horrible rage passes across Sin’s face. I cup it between my hands, even as the nurse sighs dramatically from behind me.
“Please don’t make me call security,” she says, and I lean forward quickly, putting my lips against Sin’s ear.
“He’s already dead. Try to relax.” I draw back and hop back down to the floor, giving the nurse a dirty look that she doesn’t deserve. I know that. But sometimes it’s impossible to remember that life doesn’t center fully around you and the people you love. “I’d explain, but I’m not sure it’d make any sense to you.”
“Regardless, your other friend is out of surgery and doing relatively well.”
“Relatively?” I ask as Sin coughs and then groans, reaching up his right hand to press gently at the side of his neck. I worry about him. About Grainger. I worry that the mafia will get their fingers into this hospital. It’d be so easy, to slip a drug into one or both of the boys’ IVs and … No. Fuck. My father has people all over this place, goddamn it. Since when I did start doubting the club’s might?
If there’s one thing I should be certain of, it’s the power that Death by Daybreak—and in turn, my father—holds. The Grey Wolfe Mafia is strong, too, no doubt, but we’re talking clashing titans here.
No one group holds the advantage over the other.
“We remain cautiously optimistic,” the nurse assures me with another sigh. I can tell that she wants to say more, but I’d be surprised if someone hasn’t already filled her in as to my identity. Nobody who lives in Ashbury is unaware of either the mafia or the club. Every now and again, they’ll protest one or both of us. Every now and again, a politician will make empty promises.
It never matters.
At this point, the US government would have to send in the military to deal with this mess.
Even then, I betcha we’d give ‘em a run for their money, guerrilla warfare style.
“Can we have a minute?” I ask, and the woman pauses, like maybe she wants to protest. In the end, she nods and steps outside of the room, closing the door behind her. “What happened to you?” I ask, reaching up to put my hand over Sin’s where it still rests against the side of his neck.
“I got grazed by a bullet,” he says, his eyes narrowing slightly with the memory. “Well, I got shot.” He moves the sheet aside, and then points to a spot on his arm, his shoulder, his waist. “Nothing vital. Except for this. A shot grazed my neck.” Sin wets his lips. “I was bleeding fucking everywhere.” He shivers and exhales, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “I was sure that was it for me, Gidge.”
I sit on the edge of the hospital bed and lean my arm against his, the fingers of my left and his right hand tangling together. Warmth travels through me, but not sexual warmth.
Okay, that’s a lie. Some of it is sexual, whether I want to admit it or not. My body is reacting to Sin’s in the same way his is reacting to me, even if neither of us is up for sex at this moment.
But mostly, it’s emotional warmth.
It’s possibly … no, no undoubtedly—much as my fucked-up brain hates to admit it—love.
That’s what it is.
Like a rose blooming in a field of weeds.
I wasn’t sure that I’d ever see Sin again after taking off to find a gun, running into Gaz, watching my father lift a weapon and point it at my face. Where is Cat now? What is he thinking? What is he doing?
Because he can’t be doing well emotionally speaking, not after shooting his only son.
From four children down to … one.
Down to me.
His least favorite.
Shit.
I was right all this time to fear Cat, wasn’t I? I mean, I knew that I was, that he really would kill his own child if necessary. But then, how am I still standing here? What was different about my betrayal as compared to my brother’s?
“Grainger almost died, but Beast and Crown are okay,” I tell him, and even though Sin doesn’t reply, I can feel him looking at me, waiting for an explanation. Speaking of, Crown should be here, shouldn’t he? He’s been missing for hours, more than enough time to load Gaz into a hole. Another disappearing act. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Grainger exactly, but it was … it was bad. Catastrophic, actually.”
Sin lifts my hand to his mouth, the tubes in his arm bumping together, and presses a gentle yet domineering kiss to my knuckles, like he owns every bone in my hand. And damn it if I don’t like it. Also, it annoys me.
“That declaration I made to you the other night,” he tells me, and I pause to look over at him. Our eyes meet, and we both know exactly what he’s talking about. “Never in my life have I been more grateful for anything.”
“The declaration where you said, “If you really want this though, just be aware: I will be all over your ass.”” I give a wry twist of my lips to try to make it snarky or funny, but the attempt falls flat and that’s okay. So long as we understand each other.
“If I’d died, or if you’d died, at least we would’ve both known the truth.” Sin exhales and leans his head back against the thin, shitty hospital pillow behind him. He closes his eyes, but then cracks one back open to look at me. Can he tell how hard my heart is beating? How very un-Gidget-like I feel in that moment? “But also, yes, I do own your ass.”
He narrows that one open eye of his as I raise my brows in quiet defiance of his statement. He knows damn well that nobody owns my ass but me.
“What? Beast might have your hand, and Crown might have your house. Grainger … well, I don’t know what Grainger has, but that ass—it’s mine.”
“Even if Cade fucked it first?” I query, and Sin flips me off with his left hand. Our brief moment of playfulness fades into yet more anxiety as the mention of Cade’s name reminds me that as of a few hours ago, he was literally dying. What a wedding day, eh? “Gaz is dead?” Sin queries, steering us back to business for a brief, emotional reprieve.
“Cat shot him in the back of the head,” I say, and then swallo
w hard past a rush of emotion. “But he knows, Sin.”
Sin opens his other eye and, with great effort, lifts his head back up to stare at me.
“How much?” he whispers, squeezing my hand with his. I’m surprised that his grip is as strong as it is, considering the circumstances. If he was bleeding from his neck the way he’s describing, then he probably came damn close to dying, too. I’m almost glad I passed out, so I didn’t have to ride that wave of uncertainty the way I did with Grainger. But only because both men are still here. If one of them had died without me, I’m not sure what sort of psychological break I’d have suffered.
I always get up; I always forge on.
But things are never the same. Nothing is ever as bright. Laughter is never as loud. Smiles are never as wide.
“Enough that I thought he was going to shoot me instead of Gaz,” I murmur, looking up at a slight knock on the door. It opens and Crown steps in, looking glorious as always, even with the fluorescent lights casting their awful glow on his beautiful face.
“Sin,” Crown says, moving over to stand on the opposite side of the bed. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.” He studies his friend with an assessing gaze, as if a single once-over is enough to determine the state he’s in. “You did well today.”
The look Sin offers his vice president is less than pleasant.
“And where were you when we could’ve used another body? Gidget could’ve been killed, Crown.”
DBD’s vice president doesn’t shy away from the question. He doesn’t flinch. He also doesn’t answer, which is telling for both me and Sin.
“Get some rest. They’re saying you can come home by the end of the week.” Crown turns to look at me, his expression an impossible puzzle that I don’t have the energy to figure out. “Let’s get you back to the compound; I brought a car this time. It’ll be safer that way.”
I just stare at him, but as much as I’d love to argue right about now, demand answers from him, I know that I’m fading quickly. I need to be checked out by the club’s doctor and then left alone to sleep for an eternity. Holding Grainger’s hand while he teetered between staying with me and dropping away into the unknown, that was a lot.
“Will you be okay here by yourself?” I ask, and Sin gives me a look.
“What do you take me for?” he asks, reaching up to touch the back of my head. He brings our mouths together for another kiss, one that rewrites parts of my DNA in ways that I can’t explain. Things will be different after all of this, that much I know for damn sure. “But your concern is sexy as fuck. As soon as I get out of this hospital bed …” he starts, sweeping his tongue in a hot arc against the length of mine. A moan escapes me, and I shift toward him, only to hear Crown clear his throat.
Sin scowls at him, but I look up with a challenge in my gaze, one that he won’t meet. Instead, Crown turns away and heads for the door like he expects me to follow him. It fucking kills me to leave Sin and Grainger here, but I have to organize my priorities the same way I did in the immediate aftermath.
Rest, deal with Grey, let the medical staff do their work here so the boys can come home.
I look back at Sin, and the words get caught in my throat. I’ve said them once, but in here, in this weird, sterile place, it feels more raw than it did in that dark bedroom with a roaring fireplace and a gathering of shadows for comfort.
“I love you, Colton,” I tell him, offering up another kiss and biting his lower lip enough that he groans.
“Fuck, you’re going to kill me yet,” he murmurs, drawing away from me and running his hand over his glossy mouth in a dramatic fashion. “I love you, too, Gidge. Get some sleep. Please. Don’t be a stubborn ass about this.”
I give him a pair of raised brows in response but refuse to commit to anything.
Because I’m still Gidget, and I’m still an asshole.
I close the door behind me only to find Crown waiting there with that dark, heavy frown of his.
“I can’t get a read on Cat’s motivations for the life of me,” he says, surprising me. I almost thought he was going to say something about me kissing Sin or about us saying that we loved each other. I must be delusional. Of course that doesn’t matter right this second.
“You’ve seen him since?” I ask, and Crown gives a slow, tired nod.
“I have. He’s addressing the situation as if it’s a mafia problem, and not something internal. There weren’t enough coherent people anywhere near the clubhouse to say otherwise; nobody knows that Sin was having a shoot-out with our own men.” Crown looks down at me, bruised and swollen and swathed in an oversized cream-colored pullover that I can’t for the life of me fathom Beast wearing, and then he offers up an arm.
It’s tentative, but the gesture is there.
I take it, but not just for physical stability.
“What do we do?” I ask, pausing after we enter the waiting area to look up at him. Beast is already rising from his chair and making his way over to us. His eyes never stop scanning the room. He’s extra alert tonight, more so than I’ve ever seen him. I imagine his perceived failure at the reception is going to haunt him for a good while.
But he is the one who once told me that the four of them might not always be at my side, but that I’d always be in danger. That statement proved to be truer than either of us even knew. If Beast hadn’t taken the time to teach me what he did, I might already be dead.
A shiver runs down my spine.
I was willing to face death head-on, but that didn’t mean I was ready for it. I’m just getting started here. I’m just now figuring out mysteries that have eluded me for years: the facts about Kian and Queenie’s relationship, the events that led to my sisters’ deaths, the feelings and motivations of these four men.
It isn’t time; I’m not fucking ready.
Death can kiss my ass.
“For now, you’re going to focus on getting better.” Crown reaches up, running his knuckles along the side of my swollen jaw. “If I think Cat—or the club itself—is a danger to you in any way, I’m moving you somewhere else.”
I can’t argue with that, so I just nod.
My eyes flick back to the doors that lead to the hallway where Sin’s room is.
“They’ll be safe in here?” I ask, and Crown follows my gaze. He seems to think about that question for a moment which I appreciate. I can’t stand the thought of hearing lies, especially not today. Tonight? Jesus, what fucking time is it? I don’t even know anymore. It’s dark outside, but that doesn’t mean it’s night. Could just as easily be early morning.
“As safe as I can make it. Go home. I’ll stay.” Crown releases my arm as Beast steps up beside us. The VP passes over a key fob to his enforcer. “Take her home in the Escalade; I’ll bring your bike home safe.”
Mm. Motorcycles are sacred in club culture. Beast letting Crown ride his bike is sort of like … Beast letting Crown ride his wife. It’s a meaningful extension of trust.
Beast accepts the key, leading me away from Crown and toward the exit. I glance back one last time, but his green gaze is still on me, watching and waiting.
What for, exactly, I’m not sure.
But I hope he doesn’t wait much longer.
Sin was right: if we’d died today (yesterday?) then at least we both would’ve known the truth.
I want that; I deserve that. And so does Crown.
I head outside, climb into the SUV, and allow Beast to take me back to the compound—and the farmhouse.
My fucking farmhouse.
If I could, I’d sleep for a week. As things stand, I have Grey to deal with.
“Good morning,” he says when I finally drag myself out of bed next. It’s dark outside—again. I deign to check the time on my phone, blinking my eyes at the bright screen. Nine-thirty. It’s night. The day after the wedding.
I look back up at Grey before slumping into the chair across from him. Beast is there, too, but he’s giving me enough space that I can at least pretend this convers
ation with my dear old friend is private. Not that I need privacy from Beast anyway. I turn back to my husband, but he’s pretending to care about the food situation—or lack thereof—by opening and staring into the refrigerator.
I get this strange, little thrill at the idea of seeing these four men in more everyday type situations.
Men, not monsters.
All of this time, I’ve been thinking of them like demons, like monsters who ride chrome stallions into battle, who serve the devil and his wicked deeds. Inhuman creatures prowling the streets and stealing my heart and soul and body like thieves in the night.
Only … they’re people. Actual human people. And I’m married to one of them.
They have basic needs—besides fucking—and habits, curiosities, and idiosyncrasies. My mind is quite literally blown at such a basic idea.
Like, do they wear socks when they sleep? Do they even wear pajamas? Are they morning or evening shower people? Both? Neither? Maybe they’re bath people? Maybe Sin cuts the crust off his toast? Maybe Grainger likes ice cubes in his orange juice?
Grainger …
I exhale and glance back at Beast. First thing I asked him when I woke up was if the two of them were still okay. They are. I can’t quite believe it, to be honest. It’d make more sense if they were both dead, based on the way my life usually goes.
I return my attention to Grey and find him studying me with unmasked interest.
“Good evening, you mean?” I ask, snarky little ass that I am. I lean my elbows on the surface of the table and press my fingertips against my throbbing temples. After we got back last night, I had a quick x-ray and a visit with the compound doc. Same guy who fixed up my chest and did the blood transfusion with Grainger’s donation.
Amazingly, no broken bones. For as hard as Gaz punched me, you’d think I’d have at least one. But no. Apparently, I’m made of tougher stuff.
“Or good night?” I continue when Grey just smiles at me. All of the blinds are closed, but it’s still pretty ballsy of him to be sitting out here like he’s a guest instead of … whatever it is that he is. “Why do you look so chipper? What’s your father going to say when you don’t come back or communicate with him in any way?”
I Will Revel in Glory Page 4
