Take the Honey and Run: Sweet & Dirty BBW MC Romance, Book #6 (Sweet&Dirty BBW MC Romance)

by Cathryn Cade

  She didn't know what was in the IV the Flyers' medic had given her, but it was every bit as strong as the drugs they'd given her at the hospital. The pain in her healing arm was only a distant throb, and she felt floaty.

  "How you doin'?" the Flyers' VP asked her. His handsome face was somber.

  Manda smiled vaguely. "Fine...how're you?"

  His brows drew together, and he sat on the side of her bed. No wait, it was really his bed.

  "You want your bed back?" she asked. "I can move. Got a room at a hotel, y'know."

  He shook his head, giving her a dark look. "Jesus, you're high as a kite. Knife needs to cut back your meds, stat. But that ain't why I'm here, babe. Came to apologize."

  "For what? I'ma one who brought trouble to you guys and T-Bear." Her chin wobbled as she remembered. "Got my big bear shot. Only he's not my bear... not anymore."

  Rocker's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, you wanna explain that?" he asked. "Why you pushed him away when he's into you?"

  She sighed deeply. "'Cause... it was so-oo hard but... it'll only be worse later on. Hadda turn him loose before it all went bad. It always does, y'know. Never lasts... not for me."

  "Fuck. Me." Rocker's eyes closed for a moment. Then he sighed and gave her a look that her foggy brain could not interpret. "Like lookin' in a fuckin' mirror."

  Manda peered around the quiet room. "No mirrors here."

  He snorted. "Yeah, there is, and I'm lookin' in it. You're pulling the same shit I did, trying to convince yourself it's better to be alone, be safe, and convince T you ain't into him. Only I got news for you, babe. You blew your cover wide open when you jumped in front of that bullet for him."

  He smiled slowly at her. "Now you're in for it."

  She frowned at him. "Thass not much of a 'pology."

  Rocker's smile widened, white teeth flashing as he chuckled. "Oh, that can wait till you're sobered up enough to remember it. Later, babe."

  With that, he rose and sauntered away. Which was a fine sight, although she'd rather watch her big biker-man, anytime.

  The next time Manda woke up, she wasn't nearly as woozy, but her arm hurt, and it felt hot and stiff.

  The unsmiling Knife gave her a painkiller—a pill this time, and told her she would probably need them for at least another week, along with antibiotics.

  Manda did not ask where the pills came from. She assumed they were acquired with questionable legality, but since they were being used for good, she wasn't about to question the source.

  "You're gonna want to keep your arm still as you can, till I tell you to start moving it," the Flyer medic told her. "And then you're gonna exercise it so it don't stiffen up or lose muscle mass."

  "H-how bad is the wound?" she asked, fear icing her insides. "Is it really big? Will my arm be...deformed?"

  He scowled. "Oh, hell no. If it was that bad, woulda got you in to the hospital that night. You'll be fine. Might not wanna wear them little skimpy tops this summer, but the cut's only about four inches long. And hell, you can get plastic surgery done if you want. Or get some ink to hide the scar. Lotta brothers go that route."

  Manda blinked. Her, get a tattoo? She liked them, but she'd never considered one for herself. For one thing, the good ones cost a whack, and she always seemed to be short on money.

  "Now, you can get up if you feel like it," Knife said. "Just take it easy, get some help when you wanna shower, 'cause you'll need to wrap the bandage in plastic wrap to keep it dry. And for chrissake, stay outta the way of any more bullets, yeah?"

  She huffed. "I'll do my best."

  He gave her a solemn wink, gathered up his supplies, and left.

  Sara appeared in the doorway just as Manda was carefully scooting to the edge of the bed.

  "Hold on," the tall blonde said. "I'll help you get up. You don't want to get dizzy and fall. Where are you headed? Bathroom?"

  "Yes, please," Manda said, resigned to accepting help for this too. One thing about being injured—a person got used to having veritable strangers witness body parts and functions. "And then, may I please see T-Bear?"

  "Sure, hon. One thing at a time."

  She helped Manda into the bathroom, where Manda did her business, washed her face with a facecloth, finger-combed her hair and sighed in despair. "I look awful."

  "You look alive and on the road to recovery," Sara told her serenely. "Anything else, time will fix. Now let's get you some pants on, and we'll shuffle on down the hall."

  Since Manda wore only a man's tee with the sleeves cut off, and a pair of panties, this seemed a good idea. She let Sara help her pull on a pair of yoga pants. Rather than try to change her shirt, Sara draped a soft, fuzzy cream pashmina around her shoulders. "There," she said. "You look fine."

  The walk to T-Bear's room may as well have been across the state of Washington. It took every ounce of energy she had—even hanging onto Sara's arm. Once she'd made it to his room, and lowered herself into the chair beside his bed, she nearly wept with relief.

  She gazed hungrily at the big man lying on the near side of the big bed. Except for the IV stand, a cord hooked to his arm, and the white bandage visible above the blanket pulled up to his chest, he appeared normal—pale and disheveled, but normal.

  He didn't smell like himself, though. The room smelled of disinfectants, not his normal manly scent tinged with soap. Somehow, that was as scary as his complete stillness.

  Then she saw his chest rise slowly, and fall. Again, and again.

  "See, he's sleeping," Sara told her. "Knife says he's doing really well. He's a strong man, and he'll come through this just fine."

  She gave Manda's good shoulder a gentle squeeze, and moved away, leaving Manda alone with her hero.

  Manda watched T sleep, the ache of tears behind her eyes mirroring the ache in her heart. She’d saved him from dying, repaid him, at least in part, for saving her.

  She just hoped it was enough for him to want to... she wasn't sure what. For them to be friendly, at least. Be more, if they could figure out how to do that in a way that didn't involve instant co-habitation.

  Because even on painkillers, she knew that wasn't a good idea.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  * * *

  T-Bear woke up on Wednesday.

  By then, Manda had—thank Jesus—been able to shower with Billie's help, and have her hair blown dry.

  She still couldn't wear a regular shirt, but Sara showed up with a darling mauve, wrap-style top and helped Manda don it, sans bra, because the strap rubbed on her bandage, and hurt. The top came with a mauve-and-cream flowered maxi skirt that Sara said was too short on her, and she'd lost the receipt so would Manda please accept it, thus taking it off Sara's hands.

  Manda knew a kind gesture when she saw one, but she merely thanked the Flyers' first old lady, and received a smile in return that warmed her clear through. Sara Cannon was not only tough enough to take on Stick Vanko as a partner, she was pure class.

  Thus fashionably clad, even with the addition of a big, silky, beige-striped scarf as a sling for her injured arm, Manda walked to T's room. Her tummy was jumping with nerves.

  But when she entered his room, she found his bed surrounded by several of his stalwart brothers, all talking and laughing, so she could see only bits of him between their bodies. Okay, no. She was not even asking these men to let her through, not when she wasn't at all sure of her welcome.

  She backed toward the door, but stopped abruptly when she bumped painfully into a tall, rock-hard body. A big hand landed carefully on her uninjured shoulder, and Ivan Vanko's deep, cool voice cut through the chatter.

  "T, got someone here to see you. Bounce, Pete, you wanna make way there?"

  The Flyers turned, and Manda found herself the object of all their gazes. But to her utter shock, they were all smiling—at her! Had the Earth tilted on its axis? Had they all been smoking weed at breakfast?

  Then she looked into the one unsmiling face in the room.

  T-Bear sat propped up on
what looked to be a firm wedge under his pillow. He wore no shirt, and his broad chest bore a bandage on his left pectoral, stark white against his lightly freckled, hair-spangled chest.

  Perhaps most shocking of all, he'd had his wild beard trimmed, neatly following the angle of his broad jaw and chin. His 'stache had been trimmed as well, framing his wide mouth in a sexy, attractive fashion. His wild hair was pulled back, a few stray curls at his temples.

  He looked wonderful, and sexy and... not happy to see her. He was frowning, his brows drawn together and his hazel eyes fiery.

  She looked away, fighting the hot tears pricking her eyes, and pushed back against the man behind her. "I have to go," she mumbled.

  T's deep, rough voice engulfed hers. "Manda, what the fuck happened to you? Why're you wearin' a sling?"

  Manda stared at him. Then she opened her mouth, and closed it again, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. "Well, I..."

  She couldn't even think where to start. And none of the big men in the room offered to help her out, either.

  Rocker merely watched her struggle, his dark eyes twinkling, and Pete Vanko smirked. Moke watched in his silent way. And Bouncer sneered as if he expected her to screw up somehow.

  "Well, somebody talk, for chrissakes," T roared. "Did Faro rough her up after I passed out, or what?" He winced, and lifted one big hand to his chest, his ruddy face paling. "Ow, fu-uck... that hurt."

  Manda rushed to his side. "T-Bear Turner! Stop yelling, you're going to hurt yourself." She reached to put a soothing hand on his chest, but stopped, pulling her hand back and wincing herself as her own abrupt motion pulled at her healing injury.

  "Jesus, you two," Rocker muttered. "Manda, sit. T, settle." He gave Manda a gentle push to sit on the edge of T's bed.

  "All right, everyone clear out," Stick Vanko ordered. "They don't need an audience."

  "Aw, c'mon," Pete Vanko complained. "I don't wanna miss the good part."

  "Get the fuck out," T said hoarsely, his gaze on Manda. But when she drew back, hurt as if he'd slapped her, he grabbed her hand. "No, not you, honey girl."

  His big, warm hand enveloped hers, and he hung on, even though perspiration had dampened his face, and his jaw was set.

  "You're hurting," she protested. "You need painkillers."

  "I'll give Knife a heads-up," Pete said, on his way out of the room.

  "No, not yet. I need you to talk t'me," T muttered, his eyes closed, lashes like russet fans on his pale skin. "I'm just gonna lay real still for a minute, 'kay?"

  The door shut behind his friends, for the moment anyway.

  Manda tried to pry her hand carefully from his. "I'm going to go get Knife right now."

  "No. Tired of being doped up. An' I ain't lettin' you go till you talk to me," he told her. "So you want me to feel better, start talkin'."

  Manda huffed her annoyance at him. "Big stubborn ginger. You've inhaled too many exhaust fumes at JJ's, and killed brain cells you couldn't afford to lose."

  "Babe," he said, his eyes still shut. "Don't make me laugh, 'cause that hurts too."

  Tears welled up, and she drew a choked breath. "Oh, T. I'm so sorry. It's my fault you were shot... Tim and his stupid psycho friends."

  At this, T's eyes opened, and he glared at her. "Whoa. You get that notion outta your head right now, hear? Faro targeted me first, then you. None o' that's your fault."

  "He targeted you?"

  "Yep. He's the one sent Krystelle after one of us. She picked me—why I dunno. Stole my phone for my contact list of brothers. Then Faro tried to sic you on me too. The showdown between him and the Flyers... it was gonna happen one way or another."

  Manda nodded. "To get in on the shipments from the Black Wolves."

  "That's partly it." He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb and gave her a somber look. "An' because he had dreams of bein' a big fuckin' deal pimp and runnin' whores through the casino over in their territory in So-Dak."

  "Chaske," she whispered, remembering. "Chaske Firestick or something like that. He and Rezan were going into business together."

  "Yep." His grip on her hand tightened, and his gaze darkened, making him look dangerous. "Bad business. And now, you gotta forget you ever heard the name Chaske Firewalker, or anything about his deal with Faro. I'm dead serious, honey girl. He's for the Wolves to deal with now, not us. Shit's gonna hit the fan over there, an' we don't want the Wolves to know anyone but our officers knew about any of it. You get me?"

  Manda nodded quickly. "I get you. I won't ever mention it again, I promise."

  His expression and his grip eased. He smiled at her with his eyes. "That's my smart woman. Knew you'd see the light." Then his gaze swept down over the sling on her arm. "Now, you wanna explain to me how the fuck you got hurt, and whose ass I gotta pound into the dirt when I get outta this bed?"

  She froze. "Um...no one? It was, uh, an accident."

  T-Bear proved once again that he might be an amiable ginger giant, but he was by no means stupid. He raised a brow at her. "Wanna try again? I seen the way my brothers were lookin' at you—even if none of 'em had the decency to tell me you was hurt—and I seen the way Stick was treatin' you like some kinda little queen. What'd you do, honey girl?"

  Manda's face flushed with heat. "Well... something stupid. But I was just so scared—and I didn't want Rezan to shoot you. I couldn't let him do that. I couldn't."

  "Aww, fuck me. Now I remember.” His eyes widened in horror. "You jumped in front of me… tried to push me outta the way of Faro's bullet."

  She nodded hesitantly.

  He closed his eyes and groaned, his jaw tightening until the cords stood out on his thick neck, and his biceps bulged.

  "T, honey," Manda said, freeing her hand from his and reaching to cup his cheek. "Don't, don't. I said it was stupid, but I didn't mean it. I'd do it again, a hundred times. And it's just a little cut on my arm, honestly. Knife says I'll hardly even have a scar. He says I can get a—a tattoo to hide it."

  "Little cut, huh? How many stitches?"

  "Um... seventeen."

  "Aw, cheezus." He turned his face into her hand and exhaled, his breath hot and damp on her palm. "What'm I gonna do with you? Too damn brave for your own good."

  "Oh, no, it was just… I didn’t think."

  Reaching up, he covered her hand with his, and looked at her over their hands, his gaze unreadable. "So, would you've done the same for Bounce, or Cooler?"

  Manda's head went back. "No!" But when his eyes flashed with satisfaction, she back-pedaled rapidly, or tried. "I—I mean, I don't know. It just happened so fast. I didn't think, I just did it."

  And she was blushing again, darn it. But how could she help it when he was giving her that look, so full of heat it nearly scorched her skin.

  Then he assumed a put-upon look. "Guess that means I gotta do it," he said.

  She frowned at him. "Do what?"

  "I gotta do what you wanted," he said. "Gotta get to know you. Take you out on dates, an' shit. Take it slow."

  She pulled on her hand, her frown deepening, although really a part of her was jumping up and down like a teen and squealing in excitement.

  "Well, you certainly don't have to if you don't want to," she said. "And anyway, maybe I don't want to anymore. So—so you can ask. Then we'll just see."

  He grinned slowly, that dirty, wicked smile she loved, and carried her hand to his chest, where his heart beat steadily under layers of plush skin, muscle and bone.

  "Oh, you'll want to," he promised her. "And it'll be worth it, 'cause pretty soon we'll get to havin' sleepovers , and then a while after that, you'll have so much girly shit in my bathroom, and clothes in my bureau, that you'll realize you might just as well move in."

  Entranced by his vision of their near future, she still protested at this. "T! I'm not moving in here to this clubhouse ."

  "Hell, I know that," he said. "I'm gonna look around town and find a place to rent. A little house or somethin'. Anyway, as
I was sayin', eventually you'll move in with me. Then we can just be alone together when we want, and when we're in the mood to party we'll come here or the Hangar. You'll cook me great dinners, and I'll take out the garbage and put the toilet seat down and shit like that. And life will be sah-weet."

  Her heart melted in a puddle of warm goo inside her. And this time when he tugged on her hand she leaned into him—carefully—and smiled at him from a few inches away. He smelled more like himself again, that manly musky scent she loved. Intoxicating and comforting.

  "Sounds like you've been reading my romance novels.”.

  "Nope," he said. "Just had a lot of time to think when I haven't been sleepin' from all the damn drugs Knife's been pouring into me. And I figured out I was a hot-headed, jackass when I turned down your offer for us to spend time gettin' to know each other. You and me, we started backwards—although I gotta tell you, I don't regret one second of that first night we had. Like my hottest, sweetest fantasy comin' true when you climbed on that bed, showed me your sweet ass, and begged me to fuck you."

  "But now," he went on, grinning when she blushed again. "Now we're gonna take our time, and do it right. 'Cause, thanks to you, we got that time, and no need to rush. And I have one good idea how we can do that—you can come and work at JJ's a couple afternoons a week. Moke got JJ to hire the club cleaning ladies to swing through once a week. Moke and me are gonna take more care too, so the bathroom'll be nice and clean. And you know there's a lock on that door, right?"

  He was giving her a hot, dirty look that she loved, although she tried to hide this with a frown. "Are you telling me you want to do me in the restroom at an auto shop?"

  "Oh, fuck yeah. An' everywhere else I can talk you into droppin' your lacy little panties. The Hangar has a sofa in the office, y'know."

  She giggled. "Bikers—you have sex on the brain."

  "I sure do, when you're around. Now gimme a kiss, an' then you better curl up beside me, 'cause I'm plumb wore out by all this excitement."

  Well, she wasn't going to do that, because she was afraid of jostling him in his sleep and hurting his wound.