Beecher: Wicked Throttle MC #4

by Esther E. Schmidt

  “Normal is overrated. We function. We breathe through it and keep going.” I take a gulp of air and bump our shoulders together. “We’re still here and the fuckers who hurt us are dead.”

  “True,” she croaks and takes a sip of her coffee.

  “Mind sharing that or is it the double latte sweet shit you used to drink?”

  A laugh sweet as fucking bells flows from her and she holds out the cup for me to take. “No sugar, low on milk, and one pump of caramel.”

  “Only one pump, huh?” I give her a wink and take the Styrofoam cup.

  One pump and yet the sweet taste of caramel hits my tongue and I have to close my eyes. Now memories do assault me. Caramel. She used to put a minimum of three pumps in her coffee and I haven’t had a taste since the both of us were kidnapped. Though the memory is a good one seeing I was always the one who brought her coffee. Yet the bitter taste hits me of the fact that this time, I’m not the one who gave her the coffee.

  “Does this Pierre like being gay?” I hand the cup back and one of her eyebrows raises in question.

  I don’t fucking care, I am my own man and the world belongs to me; I’m free to ask what pops into my head.

  I punch in the number of my Pres and tell her, “Because a beautiful woman like you can make any cock hard.”

  She rolls her eyes and stands. “I put clamps on his balls and paddle his ass. That makes his dick hard so Donald can finish him off.”

  “That shit you just voiced hurts my ears, Val,” I mutter while her laughter fills the room as she stalks out.

  “Valentina, good morning. Any change? Did he at least squeeze your hand again?” Zerox, my Pres, questions and I can hear the concern for me vivid in his voice.

  “No touchy, feely shit, happening today, Pres,” I tell him.

  There’s a sharp intake of breath followed by some curses. There are some voices in the background asking what’s going on when Zerox asks, “That you, Beecher? Tell me that’s you.”

  “It’s me, and I want Morgan here right now. There’s this Pierre fucker bringing Val coffee way too damn early and I’m not liking it.”

  Zerox snorts. “You got it, brother. I’m gonna swing by too if you don’t mind. And I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to stop the old ladies from coming with.”

  “There won’t be any fucking hugging. You better tell them up front, Zerox. I’m back to my old self, and I might have been knocked out so y’all have been able to squeeze my hand and shit, but that ends now.”

  “Understood, brother. See you soon.”

  “Later, Pres,” I croak, emotions again going full havoc inside me.

  It sure does something to a person to take bullets and dance the fine line of life and death. Not only the physical aspects but for sure as shit the mental one along with it.

  Still no fussy touchy feels, though.

  Chapter Two

  Valentina

  The nurse strolls out of Shaw’s room and heads straight for me. I wipe my sweaty palms on my black slacks and pull on the sleeve of my red turtleneck. The sound of my red heels on the floor flows through the air as I meet her halfway. We’re in the living room and I come to a stop when I hit the soft white carpet near the couch.

  “Everything okay?” I question.

  This nurse has been coming to check on Shaw every day since I took him out of the hospital.

  “Yes. Seeing he’s awake and his vitals are strong and consistent, I’d say he doesn’t need daily checkups any longer. Unless things change but you have a list of who to contact and what to do, right?”

  I give her a nod as the both of us head to the door. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  She smiles as I open the door, revealing Zerox, Corban, Quill, Barlow, and their respective old ladies blocking her exit. They step aside to allow the nurse to head for her car as they all stroll into my house.

  The last one to enter is Morgan, Maci’s brother. Maci is the President’s old lady and over the past few weeks I’ve been getting to know each and every one who has been involved in Shaw’s life. Mainly Maci and Quill’s wife, Adley.

  Maci rushes to me and pulls me into a hug. She steps back and assesses me with narrowed eyes when she asks, “Are you hanging in there?”

  I give her a tight smile. “I am.”

  “Is he okay?” Quill asks, his old lady standing by his side.

  “He’s been grumpy, demanding, and very annoying ever since he opened his eyes.” I notice Pierre strolling out of the kitchen and into the living room.

  It makes me offer the crowd in front of me some hospitality. “Would any of you like something to drink, eat?”

  “Yeah, let Pecker here fetch me some bottled water from the Netherlands. I’ve heard everything tastes better there. He should go check,” Shaw grumbles as he stumbles slightly and balances himself on a nearby chair.

  I roll my eyes. “See? Very annoying.” I direct my attention to Pierre. “That’ll be all for today, Pierre. I’m taking the day off and I will call you in the morning.”

  “Take the rest of your fucking life off along with it,” Shaw mutters a little too loud and it makes me shoot him a glare.

  “Uncalled for, asshole,” I snap. “Mind your manners. This is my home you’re standing in, and my people you’re insulting. And by doing so, you’re insulting me.”

  I stroll toward the door to let Pierre out, and take the opportunity to apologize for my guest’s rude behavior. Pierre has been my personal assistant for quite some time now and he’s always been nice and respectful and doesn’t deserve Shaw’s outbursts.

  When I walk back into the living room, I see all of them surrounding Shaw. Knowing how much he hates being the center of attention, I make sure to let him wallow in it and head for the kitchen. Serves him right and I do hope they force some involuntary hugs in there along with it.

  I check the cabinets and decide what to make for dinner. I love screwing up dinner. That’s what you get when you love to cook but aren’t very good at it. There are only three things I can’t screw up; macaroni, lasagna, and cannelloni. All three I learned how to make from my nonna, Arianna, my maternal grandmother. All Italian recipes and since she made me cook these things over and over, it has become more of a routine.

  But anything else? Burned, raw, or tasteless; I can’t ever get things right. Good thing I have enough money to either order in, go out, or have Pierre prepare dinner for me. Or live on only macaroni, lasagna, and cannelloni. But like I said, I love to cook, even if I suck at it.

  “I’d like some coffee if you’re making some,” Maci says as she strolls into the kitchen.

  “Same,” Tracy says, followed by Maud and Adley.

  “Did the men push all the old ladies into the kitchen?” I question, because seriously, we’re all huddled in one place and Wicked Throttle MC doesn’t have any other old ladies, other than the women standing in my kitchen.

  “Beecher did,” Tracy says over her shoulder as she opens the cabinet and takes out a few coffee cups. “I think his brain suffered some of the bullet impact since he seems mentally imbalanced.” Her voice lowers and she tries to mimic Shaw’s voice when she says, “Go check on her. No, wait, don’t. But maybe you should. I’m an asshole. I need to leave. I have to stay. Just go fucking check will you?”

  Maci snorts a laugh. “That was a pretty damn good impersonation.”

  Maud nods and tries to keep her laughter at bay while Adley is just grinning and shaking her head. The sound of my fancy coffee machine fills the air and within a few minutes steaming cups of coffee are placed in front of us.

  “So,” Maci starts. “Are you keeping him here or kicking him out the door?”

  The corner of my mouth twitches. “You make him sound like a stray dog.”

  Maci shrugs and leans back to sip her coffee.

  “To be completely honest, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  I let my gaze travel over all the women’s faces. There is no judgement or irritation; on
ly understanding and support. Before Shaw slammed back into my life, I only knew work. Work and if I became too stressed or too anxious, I turned to BDSM to take the edge off; to make me feel as if I’m back in control.

  But one day I received a threat from Hoffa and it flipped my life around, bringing Shaw back to me. The first time I met him I had just turned seventeen. Our eyes locked and we kissed on the spot. I’m not a sucker for love stories or the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing but I can guarantee you it exists since it’s exactly what happened between me and Shaw.

  Butterflies partying in your belly. Each breath you take you want to mingle with his. And when your lips touch it lights up your life.

  Downside to all these happy vibes? It hits hard when you’ve been ripped apart and forced to endure the visual of seeing the one you loved being tortured in front of your eyes. How another woman forced herself on your man, touching him everywhere. And he has to sit there, tied up, and endure all of it.

  For him to see another man putting his hands on me. Being forced to kill. Forced to box up feelings and don’t know where to start to open up and realize you’re still alive because you survived. We survived together. And yet we didn’t because our memories of being together are tainted by blood, pain, and horrific trauma…changing everything forever.

  “Valentina,” Maud’s soft voice pulls me out of my thoughts and into the present.

  My mind rewinds and jumping back into the discussion I blurt, “He can stay or leave. It’s not up to me, the decision is his to make.”

  “Good,” Shaw says from right behind me, making me jump and almost spill my coffee, which he takes out of my hands.

  “Stop stealing my coffee,” I grumble.

  He shoots me a grin that makes my belly flop. “Then start making me some so I don’t have to steal it.” He takes a sip and grimaces. “Where the fuck is the sugar or caramel?”

  He goes off to rummage through my cabinets. Shaw finds the caramel and puts in two pumps all under the watchful eyes of my friends. His friends. Friends who have become mine too and they all have weird looks on their faces when Shaw hands me back my coffee after he has taken a few sips.

  I don’t know what to do, other than take a few sips too and dammit, that does taste nice. My eyes close and I release a deep breath, relishing in the sweet taste hitting my tongue. When I open my eyes I’m staring into Shaw’s hungry ones and it makes me swallow hard.

  I step aside and place the cup on the counter. “Feel free to make yourself at home. I have work to do.” I spin on my heels and head for my office, shamelessly running away.

  When the door closes behind me, I feel like I can breathe again. Damn this man and the emotions he’s awakening inside me. Emotions I managed to bury deep over the past few years. I stalk to the window and glance outside. I bought this large mansion for this view. Especially the insane amount of land I’m staring at right now.

  I took my time with landscaping and turned it into a sanctuary; a place I can endlessly stroll around in, as well as just stand and stare at. Not just the normal landscaping either since I also added some crazy items to spice things up.

  I hear the door fall into the lock and it makes me spin around. “What are you doing here, Shaw? You need to rest, talk to your friends, whatever.”

  “I sent them home.” He comes to a stop next to me and stares out of the window. “Is that a zip line?”

  “Yes.” I smile thinking back at the reactions of the guys I hired to create all of it.

  “You always were the one with the weirdest ideas. Can I ask you something?”

  Without looking at him I nod.

  “Why no murals in this place? It’s what you loved to do. That day in your office building, when we met for the first time after years…I know the one I saw on the ceiling was made by your hand. While there is nothing but white walls surrounding you here.” He sighs and adds on a tortured whisper, “It’s very unlike you, and it bugs the shit out of me.”

  It’s scary how he still knows some major things about me, though I changed a lot.

  “There’s a big one in the gazebo. I changed it twice but I’m content with the one in there now.” There’s a smile in my voice as I picture the image in my head.

  “Let me guess, a sea of lily of the valley along with a palomino horse, full speed at sundown.”

  My head swings his way and my heart picks up speed. “How did you know? Did you? No, you can’t have seen it. How?”

  The invincible grin on his face is making my knees weak. He reaches out to let his knuckles slide against my cheek but he drops his hand before making contact.

  “You loved that horse. Loved sunrise, but riding at sundown used to be one of your favorite things. Drawing lily of the valley is something you always doodle to set your mind at ease. One. Or a sea filled with them. It’s your happy place and the fucking smile on your face wasn’t hard to read to see you picture all the things you love.”

  All the things I love. My eyes burn and I can feel a tear sliding down my cheek, leaving a hot trail in its path. I hate this. I hate feeling weak. I hate how good we were together until we were ripped apart and how the wounds never healed. I swallow hard and kick off my classy high heels.

  “I don’t know if I can do this, Shaw.” My voice comes out filled with emotion.

  I want to be strong. I want to forget and move on, but this man is forcing me into a confrontation. And he wants to remind me of things that were once so beautiful until it all shattered.

  “That makes two of us, and yet we’re still standing here. Seeing you like this...knowing we both have fucked-up issues...I’m not leaving, Val. I’m in. I don’t care how or if we will pull through. But I’m not giving up this time. I can’t. Not when I’m here, still breathing and have you within my reach.” His voice cracks with those last words and it makes me stalk back to him.

  I know his issues with touch. I share those twisted limitations of repulsion laced with fear and captivity. And to think I was a hugger before we were taken. I craved human touch. His touch.

  I lean forward and let my forehead fall to his chest. Leaning in and knowing the small step, small touches, might be the thing we need to move forward. If something between us would ever be possible again.

  Because if there’s anything life has taught me, it’s the fact that life is fragile. Never assume something and never take anything for granted. Your next breath could very well be your last. And that’s how I’ve become accustomed to living; not caring, taking the here and now, and moving on.

  His breathing picks up and I know our closeness is getting to him, even more when his voice is shaky when he asks, “Are we going to order food or am I cooking?”

  I step away and glare at him. “I’m cooking.”

  “Shit.” His hand rubs the back of his neck and he winces as if I just mentioned we need to hunt for our own food. “Please tell me you’re making Italian.”

  “I’m not that bad,” I mutter without much power in my voice because I know I’m a bad cook.

  Shaw snorts. “You’re the kind who burns the house down when someone lets you loose in the kitchen.”

  “Hey,” I snap. “Be nice if you’re planning on spending the night.”

  He holds his hands palms up. “Hey, I’m good with anything as long as I don’t end up in the hospital again.”

  I roll my eyes and head for the living room.

  “Don’t you need to work?” Shaw asks as I reach the kitchen and start to grab everything I need to make lasagna.

  “I have a conference call in about two hours and will check my email later. Everything else can wait till tomorrow. Over the last few years I’ve managed to hire good people who handle things for me, so I only have to oversee crucial decisions and sit in on a few board meetings every few weeks.”

  “Still making art on the side? I haven’t seen anything listed for sale in about three years.” The way he easily gives me these words makes my heart beat faster.

  Becau
se how could he have known I was selling art and stopped three years ago?

  “You checked up on me? All this time?” I ask, stunned he would since I really thought we cut all ties the day my parents took me to Italy.

  “I never stopped—” He clears his throat and seems to take a moment before he finishes with the words, “I bought four pieces. They’re in my workshop.”

  I blink very slowly and process his words. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Shaw just shrugs and points at the fresh veggies. “Want me to help chop things up?”

  I shake my head and the annoying man snickers, making me snap, “What?”

  “Still OCD about making the chunks the same size and you’re afraid I’ll screw it up so you’d be annoyed when eating, huh?” He shoots me a grin and I swear it’s a panty melting one, but it doesn’t take away the frustration I feel about the fact that this man still knows all my quirks.

  I should hand him a knife and put him to work, but he’s right; I would be annoyed eating food that’s not been cut into the same size chunks. So, instead I just glare and get to work.

  Shaw sits down on one of the stools and places his forearms on the counter. “I feel like shit.”

  “You heard the nurse; you have to take it easy for the upcoming few days and I’ve scheduled some PT for you.”

  “Not just my body,” he grumbles in reply.

  I let my gaze hit his and point the knife in his direction. “Is that the whole reason why you want to stay with me? Getting all your ducks in a row about us and all of the shit that happened then, now, and everything in between?”

  He rubs his temples. “I want a moment. A fucking moment to catch my breath and not have to answer a million questions and have a load of people around me. I could lock myself up in my workshop, but my head isn’t in creative mode and there’s not much there except metal and tools. I don’t know what I want, except you. And stop pointing that knife in my face.”

  Chapter Three

  Beecher

  The metal sculpture in front of me is almost done. At first glance it might look like a weird plant in a pot but when I put it in the spotlight it will cast a shadow on the wall, revealing the true art behind the sculpture.