The fact Shiloh had a broken arm and Teach’s back was black and blue from the accident in which she could very easily have lost hers and Deck’s unborn child had Deck beyond protective mode. There wasn’t a good enough word to describe his level of pissed off. His very existence was nearly ripped from him. It was hard to watch when Stella’s call came through that day.
Stella.
She’d had to drive the truck while someone crashed into them from behind. She’d watched Dundee get killed, and she had sustained injuries from the airbag that deployed from the impact of the crash. It was just more guilt to add to my stockpile.
Chancing another look at the monitor, I looked at Stella’s face. The whole side of her face and under her eye had copped the impact, but the bruises were starting to yellow. I hated that she was hurt, that she had been so scared behind the wheel. The phone call from her that day nearly brought me to my knees. Poor Deck did hit the ground when we heard Shiloh taking off her seatbelt followed closely by the sound of Charlotte removing hers, too.
I would never forget the anguish in Stella’s voice when she begged me to help her. Then she came so close to telling me something I really wanted to hear—but not in front of my brothers and not because of an extreme situation. If she’d said those words to me and I found out she was scared, it would have killed me. I really needed to shut those feelings down. And quick.
I looked closer and noticed a bruise that was darker than the others. Was that there before? It seemed fresher from my vantage point behind the monitor. Maybe it just took longer to show? It was on the side where all her other ones were.
Shrugging my shoulders, I hit the sleep button on the computer. I couldn’t be Booth the president of the Wounded Souls and have a clear mind while I stared at the woman of my dreams. Nothing good could come from it. And that was that.
***
“I’m telling you, brother, it’s a boy,” Deck, my sergeant-at-arms and best friend, said to Creed as they walked into the war room. Steel, Mannix, and Darth followed behind with smirks on their faces.
“Seriously, brother, you can’t even tell she’s pregnant yet, so how the fuck can you know it’s a boy from the way she’s carrying?” Steel asked while Darth chuckled.
I noticed the way Creed had suddenly taken himself out of the conversation. I knew this was hard on him, watching Deck so happy about his baby coming.
Creed had barely made it through Zoe’s pregnancy. Shiloh’s birth was bittersweet for my brother, but he loved the little shit just as fiercely as the rest of us.
“All right, all right. Enough talk. Where is fucking Ford?”
Before anyone could answer, the man himself tumbled into the room, his arms full of computer equipment, papers, notepads, a pen stuck in his mouth, and his fucking shoes untied—it was a wonder he didn’t go arse over tit ten times a day. He was such a contradiction. Tattoos covered every piece of flesh, from his neck to the tips of his fingers. I knew his entire chest and back were also covered, even his legs and feet had intricate tats all over them. He was tall, lanky, and muscled like a martial arts fighter, which was his speciality. A trained master in Krav Maga. He really was a ‘don’t judge a book by its cover’ example.
“Yo, Pres, I’m here. Just had to get some other shit sorted out,” he said by way of an explanation. He never told me what shit, and I never asked. If I needed to know, he would tell me. He had been with the club and me long enough to know how I worked. I didn’t like unnecessary shit.
“Okay, now sit down, and tell me that you got this prick’s voice figured out, and we know who we are looking for.” Wishful thinking on my part, but I needed this sorted and quick. Too much of this mess was spilling out onto the innocent members of this club.
“Brother, there is nothing I want more than to tell you that, but it would be blowing smoke right up your arse,” Ford said matter-of-factly.
“Then what have you found, Ford,” Mannix said with a growl as he let it rip. “I got another complaint about false readings on Ingrid and Tori’s drug tests the other day. I’m getting fucking annoyed with this shit, Booth. Every other day there is something against the strip club or the Bar and Grill. Deck is having issues every day on the job sites. When is this crap going to end?”
It wasn’t often the club’s enforcer voiced too many opinions. He liked to stay quiet and observant. Plus, he was the joker of all of us. One thing that impressed me the most about the man was his control. He was a strong man and could fight better than most. Deck was the fighter of the team, but Mannix had gone toe to toe with him on many occasions and kicked Deck’s arse. But his violent side wasn’t one he let loose very often, and I admired his ability to keep his control, which was why he held the patch that he did.
“Brother, I’m doing the best I can with all the tools I have at my disposal,” Ford placated the enforcer.
I just sat back and listened. This was a club of equals. I was not into yelling and constantly cursing at my brothers. That wasn’t how the club worked. I was their president, yes, but these men were all highly trained, all former commandos and smart men, and I knew Ford was doing all he could. Ford and I along with the others had spent hours going over the photos of the accident scene that our friend and former drill sergeant, Lincoln, took for us before any law enforcement or medics arrived on scene. Seeing Dundee’s lifeless body on the ground had been devastating. So had the pictures of my smashed-up truck. The girls were lucky to get out of it with just the injuries they received.
“Okay, boys, let’s talk about what we do know. Break it down. Have we missed anything? Creed, what has Lincoln come up with?”
For the next hour, we did what we did best. Analysed and read between the lines, looking for anything that could point us in a different direction. We were all desperate to get the danger away from our women and our lives
“Anything else for discussion?” I asked. I was invited to a tea party with two German shepherds, a chinchilla that hated me, and the cutest little bad-mouthed beauty this side of the river. I was late to the last one and suffered Shiloh’s wrath for a full ten minutes. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“Going somewhere, Booth?” Steel’s smirk told me he knew exactly what I had up next. He had one with her only days ago.
“Got a date with a fiery raven-haired squirt. She tore me a new one the last time I was late.” I laughed.
“Yeah, well, watch your six, LT. She is after information on her party. Darth here is a pussy and is hiding from her. She knows he’ll cave if she turns those blues on him,” Deck joked. A proud smile lit his face every time he spoke about his little girl.
“Fuck you, prick. That kid knows how to play me. Her eyes fill with fucking tears, and I’m a goner,” Darth admitted, not even a little bit ashamed. She had that effect on all of us.
“Stella got the food under control?”
Deck nodded his head. “Yeah, brother. Darth and I took the girls shopping yesterday. The cake is all organised, or I should say cakes.” Deck turned to glare at Darth once again. “This big bastard wanted one of his own creations for Shiloh, too.”
“What? Stella said she was more than happy to do it for me.” We all laughed at Darth. His devotion to his goddaughter had no limits. We were all her godfathers. She would never be unprotected with all of us around.
Standing up, I got ready to leave. My date time was fast approaching, and I needed to be on time.
“Hey, Pres, speaking of Stella, I was looking at her employment contract yesterday, and I think we should give her a pay raise,” Ford called out as I started towards the door.
I didn’t even have to think about it.
“Do it.”
2
STELLA
I could feel eyes on me. He was always watching me in some way. I knew he thought I didn’t know, but I did. How, I couldn’t tell you. Maybe it was like a spidey sense.
The guys had just gone into the war room. All of them were on edge, especially since the
car accident that injured Charlotte, little Shiloh, and me… and killed Dundee. My heart ached every time I thought of the funny prospect. He was such a lovely guy. Always smiling and willing to do his duties so he could become a full patch. Laying him to rest tomorrow was going to be hard for everyone but especially for Booth. He felt so much guilt over what was happening to the club. He didn’t go into too much detail with me. I could go ask Charlotte for information as she knew more than any of the girls, but Booth wouldn’t like that.
And because he and I had been so much better since my brush with death, I didn’t want to rock the boat. This was the longest we had gone without him getting mad at me or throwing the thing he had with the club’s soul girl Ingrid in my face.
I hated that he turned to her. Surely, he knew how I felt about him. I certainly didn’t make it a secret. It killed me every time she walked down that hallway to his room. The sway of her hips in the denim booty shorts she liked to wear screamed confidence. They also screamed ‘I’m having sex with Booth, and you’re not, so na-na na-na na-na.’
Throwing the tea towel in the sink, I hissed from the pain the movement caused. Dammit. My ribs were taking forever to heal. Deck was onto to me, I knew it. Charlotte said as much. But with my latest injuries, the guys wouldn’t be able to tell how I got them. But my time was running out. I knew it. Asking my friend to keep a secret from her man wasn’t something I was proud of doing. I just needed a little longer to give my ribs and stomach time to get better, and it wouldn’t look so bad.
“Stella, has you gots my food for my tea party with Vinnie?”
I turned around from my place at the sink and hid yet another hiss. Moving too fast was not a good idea, either. Covering my reaction with a laugh, I nodded. Shiloh was standing in the kitchen, dressed in a pink tutu, a pink camo leotard, and her ever-present black shitkickers. Her only other accessory being her arm cast, which, thanks to her bodyguard, Darth, was now sporting a wonderful drawing of the club’s insignia, the one the guys all had on the backs of their leather cuts.
“Yes, little Miss Shiloh. I have everything ready for you, and it is all set up in the dance room. Winnie is already in there with her cat house. The table is set up, and the food will be there in two minutes.” I rattled off my list to my favourite girl. It was so hard to find anything of her mother in her. She was all her father with dark hair and blue eyes. She had the sweetest little pixie voice you had ever heard and a plethora of military clothes and tutus. Her mother and I were very good friends. When she’d died, it was very difficult, but having Shiloh as a reminder of Zoe made it easier.
I refrained from commenting on the name she called Booth. He hated his first name. Personally, I loved it. Vincent—a strong name for a fiercely loyal man with a heart the size of Texas. Charlotte called him Vincent and seemed to be getting away with it so far, but with her sweet nature and her sincere personality, I didn’t think anyone would tell her off for anything. I could be jealous of the fact Charlotte could call him that and not reprimanded the way he does me, but she honestly meant no harm calling him that. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. She had become a fast friend over the last couple of months. Her relationship with Deck was fast but no less serious. Those two were meant to be together.
“Stella, are youse listening to me?” Shiloh questioned me, freeing me from my thoughts.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. What did you say?”
Shiloh let out a huff, shaking her head, her raven curls flying around her face. “Youse not wearing your listening ears, woman!”
I had to turn my head so Shiloh didn’t see me laugh. Deck was trying to get her out of the habit of what he called ‘parroting’—I had heard Darth use the phrase with Vegas, who was his one woman here at the club, but he hadn’t claimed her yet. Vegas was one of the most beautiful women I had ever laid eyes on, and Darth adored her, so why he was prolonging the inevitable was totally beyond all the other ladies of the Wounded Souls MC.
“Terribly sorry, Squirt. How about you go meet your date in the dance room, and I will bring out your refreshments,” I said in my best maid’s voice. Shiloh had at least five tea parties a week, and I had a standing invitation every Wednesday. The men of the club loved it when it was their turn. They didn’t bother to hide their enjoyment. Shiloh had a gift. She brought them in and made them laugh. She was the funniest three-nearly-four-year-old.
“Okey dokey, my honey,” Shiloh yelled as she ran out of the kitchen. But I didn’t laugh that time. My honey? Who was she parroting? Only one man said that around here. The man I was hopelessly and completely in love with. The man who didn’t want me. The man whose eyes were always on me, confusing me to the extreme. He saw me as an annoyance that cleaned his club and made it smell too girly. I tried to remember if he had called me that while Shiloh was within listening distance. Or had she heard it in the war room? She was the only female allowed in that room. Booth sometimes looked after her while he was working or if the guys had a meeting and Vegas or I couldn’t watch her. She had a playhouse in there plus zillions of toys. But now that Charlotte was here, her visits to the war room had lessened. So when did she hear Booth say it? The question plagued me as I finished the food for Shiloh and Booth’s date. Placing everything on the tray, I added a few flowers from the vase of gerberas I had on the bench. With everything I needed, I carefully took off for the other side of the main room.
“Vinnie, Stella is here.” Shiloh’s excited cry reached my ears before I had even entered the dance room. When Deck made this room for Charlotte and Rainn, he made sure he added an area for Shiloh to sit and play. His only restriction was that no one danced inappropriately on the poles while she was in the room.
My smile faded as I entered the room to find Booth with his usual scowl on his face. It was my scowl. For others, he had smirks, grins, even flat-out huge face-splitting smiles on occasion. For me, it was a scowl.
“I can see that, Squirt. I can also see she is putting in some overtime. Aren’t you supposed to be off for the afternoon? You don’t need to be here until dinnertime,” he said with a growl. He was always growling at me. Could I ever do anything right for him? Would his words ever stop hitting me right in the heart and not in a good way?
I put the tray down on the small table Shiloh had set up for her tea party. Her dolls were sitting on the spare seats around the table, her dogs—Bullet and Trigger, which were really Steel’s dogs—were sitting underneath the table, getting ready to catch all the scraps they knew the little girl was going to drop. The huge white cat, Winnie, was off to the side on her massive scratching post slash cat castle, warily eyeing the German shepherds.
I tried not to let Booth see that his words cut me, that they destroyed me every single time.
“No need to worry, boss. I’m off the clock—have been for the last hour. I’m just hanging around to finish the last of the prep for Dundee’s wake tomorrow and to get this sorted out for the squirt,” I said as cheerily as I could. I called him boss at times when he said means things like he just had. God forbid he paid me for another hour.
“Stella, please, I didn’t mean—”
“Okay, Shiloh, here we go,” I said, cutting him off quickly from the apology he didn’t mean. “See you at the wake tomorrow. Bye, Squirt,” I said with a wiggle of my fingers at Shiloh, careful to avoid Booth’s grey pools. They were my weakness—one of them, anyway.
“Bye-byes, pretty girl,” she said in a singsong voice, melting my heart. God, that girl. Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, I turned to leave, only to be pulled back by Booth. His grip was far from hard, but my arm was a little tender. So the way he gripped me hurt just a little, and I couldn’t help the small hiss of pain.
“What? Are you sore there from the accident?” The hard edge to his voice changed to one of worry as he eyed my arm. The long-sleeved T-shirt covered any proof, but I couldn’t let him see. If he did, he would know for sure it didn’t happen because of the accident. So instead of lying to him, I j
ust nodded. If I didn’t say yes aloud to him, it wasn’t a lie, right?
He was still holding my arm, carefully now, and I just wanted to cry.
Why couldn’t he be soft and gentle with me all the time? Surely, he could see how I felt. Booth was fifteen years older, but our age difference meant nothing to me. Was that what was holding him back? Or was it just me? Maybe I smelled. Shaking my head, I suddenly needed to escape from the compound.
“Stella, maybe you should go back to the doctor. Charlotte is healing nicely, and the squirt’s bruises have faded away. If it not for her cast, you wouldn’t know what happened six days ago. Yours seem to be coming out more and more every day,” he said, looking pointedly at the new bruise on the side of my jaw. Dammit. Nothing got past this man. I noticed Deck looking at me a few days, too. He had been suspicious for a while now and even got Charlotte in on the act, which had her questioning my bruises during our dramatic road trip. I had begged off then, and she knew I had because she could see it was upsetting me. She warned me that she was going to Deck with her concerns sooner rather than later. I couldn’t blame her, but I had no idea what to do. I was stuck. Hopelessly stuck.
“I’m fine, Booth. Really, stop worrying. It’s okay.” I tried to pull my arm free from his hold. I really needed to get out of there.
His look of concern, though, was pulling me towards him. All of a sudden, I had an urge to soothe him. Reaching out with my free hand, I placed it on his stubbled jaw. It was strong, chiselled, and kissable. Everything about Vincent Booth was kissable. Even when he was being a dick, I wanted to kiss him. God, I was pathetic. Hello, doormat anyone? But damn his eyes were unbelievable. They were the most beautiful grey eyes I had ever seen. Okay, so I hadn’t seen many men with grey eyes, but I was sure if I did, Booth’s would be the best. His hair sat on his shoulders but not too long, certainly not like Darth’s long locks that he kept up in a sexy man bun. God, I was surrounded by sexy men.
His Honey Page 2
