Finally, they reached the door. Grell opened it, before Devin grabbed it and slipped through, ducking just in time as a bullet whizzed by. He walked into a beehive of activity. The public casino.
More rounds of bullets flew their way. A woman stepped into Grell’s path, colliding with her, sending them sprawling on the floor. Unfortunately, the men chasing them were too close to allow Grell to lose herself, so Devin paused long enough to get her to her feet, before starting off again.
The screams of gamblers competed with the normal casino sounds— the ringing slot machines, the spinning wheels, the garbled announcements that no one gave a fuck about, the music.
And gunfire. That, of course, wasn’t what one expected to hear. Vegas was excitement, bright lights, heavy drinking, and engaging in behavior that was left behind, and forgotten about, upon return to normalcy. Drunken frat boys expected to find easy lays, not holes in their heads.
Yet, as Devin gripped his wife’s hand, dipping and dodging the barrage of bullets coming their way, he saw more than one person ruined by a shot. It was chaos, plain and simple.
Alarms were sounding. Glass shattered, sending shards in all directions, along with the contents of bottles and drinks.
“Devin!” Grell cried. “I think I’ve been hit. Stop! Please. I can’t go anymore.”
She had to continue. If he stopped, not only would she be hit, she’d be dead, and it would be his fault. He should’ve waited until the operation was over. He’d known his cover was blown. But he’d realized, over the months, that he truly loved her. He hadn’t only married her out of a sense of loss. He wanted the life she’d made for them. A home he looked forward to coming home to— the home that he missed. She’d created a family for him, the kind he’d desperately craved and had only found at her house.
He’d been such a jerkhole to her, a raging ass-douche. He hadn’t deserved her or their daughters.
Blood pounded in Devin’s head. The whirl of thoughts rushing through his brain in a nanosecond, still slow enough for regret and sorrow to set in, almost smothering the adrenaline that kept him moving forward, dodging bullets and henchmen, rescuing his beloved wife.
A bullet whizzed by his head, so close he felt the heat of the metal and tasted the acridity of the gunpowder. Pain pounded through his body. His eyelash caught a speck of blood, weighing down his lid. Stumbling, he grabbed the side of his head, somehow still managing to keep Grell’s hand in his grasp.
She screamed.
Devin tightened his hold. Without warning, she went limp. She was falling to the floor and, because he refused to release her, was dragging him down with her. Somehow, he maneuvered himself so that he’d cushion her fall. Something cracked, some bone in some part of his body that he couldn’t give less of a fuck about.
Devin sat up and gathered Grell into his arms. She shuddered against him, blood leaking from her mouth. He needed to find the hole— holes— and administer first aid.
“What do you have to say now, Fitz?” Jo spat the name he’d been using in the undercover operation, appearing in his line of vision when she crouched in front of him. She swept Grell with a look of disgust. “You’re going to watch her die,” she promised.
At Jo’s nod, Gabiano jammed the barrel of a .45 into Grell’s temple.
The report of the gun deafened Devin. “No!” he screamed.
A bullet lodged into his neck and knocked him over, while pain exploded inside of him, He’d never cleared the air between him and Grell, told her how much he loved her, and now he’d never have the chance.
Epilogue
One year later . . .
Devin traced his finger along Grell’s slit, ramming his cock in her hot cunt and groaning. Her pussy heat threatened to consume him. She pushed against his dick, wetting his balls. His chest aligned with her back, as they lay on their side, since her advanced pregnancy made any other position difficult.
Her gasps and moans were music to his ears. When she cried out, Devin licked the shell of her ear, fingered her faster, pumped into her harder. Her pussy flooded his cock and made him come.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked a few minutes later, adjusting her nightgown to return some modesty to her.
“Yes,” she said drowsily. “Are you?”
He kissed the back of her head. “As long as you’re in my arms, yes.”
Whether or not she would survive had been touch and go for several weeks. The gunshot wound to her chest had been life-threatening. The arrival of hotel security, the surveillance team, and a host of other law enforcement officials had prevented Gabiano from pulling the trigger and shooting Grell in the head.
Though Devin had been shot in the neck, he’d been stabilized days before Grell had, so he’d heard the entire story of how Jo and Clemente had gotten away, while Gabiano and the other henchmen had been carted off to jail. Currently, trial dates had yet to be set.
Most importantly, he’d discovered his daughters were safe. Jo had brought them with her when they’d kidnapped Grell and then flew back to Vegas on a private plane. Renata, Clem’s fiancée and Jo’s bestie, had watched over his daughters until he’d made arrangements with Theo, Grell’s best friend.
Theo watched over them until Devin was released from the hospital, then sent biker women to cook food for him, help him with household duties, and watch over his very active little girls.
“I’m not a maid,” Theo had told him around plumes of cigarette smoke, when she’d visited him to see Hope and Bella. She’d been wearing a leather cut and turned to show off the words, Property of Red Rum MC. “Grell doesn’t know about my club life.”
Theo’s lifestyle hadn’t been important to Devin. Grell’s recovery had. When she’d finally been upgraded from critical to stable, Devin had never been so happy. It had been a long road, but she’d fully recovered.
Devin returned to work only two weeks ago as a tactical instructor in the agency. The ten months of his life that he’d given to Operation Red Stiletto had been for nothing. Nothing came of it. All charges had been the result of the shootings, not for cybercrimes or the illegal drug trade.
“I want succotash and shrimp, Dev,” Grell said now.
“Your cravings are insane,” Devin responded, unable to stop his smile.
“At least it isn’t the stereotypical ice cream and pickles,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, because pizza and pickles are so much better.”
She laughed. “Slightly?”
“Marginally,” Devin relented, disentangling from her to get to his feet. He grabbed his pajama bottoms from the foot of the bed. “Succotash and shrimp coming up.”
That was her go-to craving, so he’d perfected it. Open a can of corn and a can of lima beans, throw them together, add shrimp, let simmer. Done.
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Are you up for company?”
“I’m always up for your offerings.”
Smiling, she stood, allowing the hem of her long nightgown to fall into place and cover her ankles. She rested her hand on her belly, then walked to him. “I’m not eight months yet and I’m huge.”
“You’re gorgeous,” he corrected, leaning down to kiss her lips.
“I love you, Devin,” she murmured, when their kiss ended.
“I love you, too, Grell,” he responded, feeling like the luckiest man in the world.
Also By Kathryn C. Kelly
Phoenix Rising Rock Band Series
Inferno
Incendiary
Scorched
Inflame
Death Dwellers MC Series
Misled
Misappropriate
Misunderstood
Misdeeds
Misbehavior
Misjudged
Misguided
Misalliance
Misconduct
A Very Christopher Christmas
Misfit
Mistrust
Misgivings
Outlaw’s Di
ctionary
Death Dwellers: The Full Fifteen
An Outlaw Valentine
Misrule
Dirty Boys Studio Series
Dirty Boy
Other Titles
All My Tomorrows
Dangerous
Captivated
Pink: Hot ‘N Sexy for a cure: The
Books for Boobies 2015 Anthology
When Clubs Collide
Desire Me
The Enforcers’s Revenge
Call My Buff Anthology
Kathryn C. Kelly Social Media Links:
Website: https://www.katkelwriter.com
Dedicated Series Website: https://deathdwellersmc.com
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ABOUT KATHRYN C. KELLY
In her dreams, Kathryn C. Kelly is a flirtatious biker babe with the rumble of a hog between her legs and a shirtless bad boy wrapped in her arms. Kathryn and her bad ass biker boy spend their evenings tossing back great scotch (Chivas Regal) and fighting over who is better at Cards against Humanity (she is, obviously.)
In her reality, Kathryn is a native New Orleanian who has survived Hurricane Katrina and breast cancer. Now she’s hoping to survive three lively girls. While not playing Wonder Mom, Kathryn can be found putting all those dreams into the pages of her next novel.
Call My Bluff Page 67
