by Joanna Wylde
“What’s up?” Boonie cocked a brow, then nodded toward her. “She okay?”
“She’s fine.”
“You hurt her?”
“No,” I said, daring him to challenge me. He frowned, then nodded. “I’ve got some information for you, about the guy she came with.”
I stilled.
“What’s that?”
“He’s a dealer,” Gunnar said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure if he was dating her for real or just using her for cover, but he was here to pick up a shipment. We’ve been working with him for about six months now. Does special orders, that kind of thing. He’s bad news.”
I nodded slowly, looking back toward Melanie. She was standing next to my bike, hugging herself protectively. For an instant I felt guilty, then shook it off. She was mine. No way I should feel guilty about claiming my own damned property.
“We have a problem?”
Boonie shook his head.
“He’s nothing. I mean, he was a decent earner, but he’d never be more than that. He’ll keep his mouth shut—he’s seen enough to know better than to talk. I had a little chat with him, too. Guess he works at the hospital with her. I suggested that he find another job—fast. He seemed to think this was a solid idea. You won’t be seeing him again.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Sorry about the mess.”
“Shit happens,” Gunnar said, eyeing Mel again. “You sure she’s okay?”
“She’ll be fine,” I said. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“That’s good, because it looks like you raped her,” Boonie said. I shook my head.
“More like we hate-fucked each other. Trust me, she was into it. Sick and twisted, but it wasn’t rape.”
“Darcy will be relieved,” Boonie said. “Think you pissed off my old lady something fierce—she took off right after you did. Got a feeling I won’t be gettin’ any tonight.”
I bit back a grin, because Darcy pissed off was something to see.
“Sorry about that.”
He shrugged, then gave me a sly smile.
“Gotta love makeup sex. Good luck with your girl.”
“Thanks. Have a feeling I’ll need it.”
He thumped my back and we said our good-byes, then I started back toward Melanie. She glared at me the whole time, which I found almost comforting. I could handle nearly anything but that strange blankness she’d had right after I fucked her.
That was a little scary.
“You ready to go home?” I asked.
“I’ve been ready to go home all night. I still hate you.”
“You need to find new insults. That’s getting old.”
“Fuck off.”
Grinning, I climbed onto my bike. She climbed up behind me, tucking in tight and wrapping her arms around my waist, tits pressed against my back. For the first time in forever things in my world felt right, twisted as that sounds.
She was mine. She’d always been mine. I’d be damned if I’d share her with another man.
• • •
We pulled up to her house a little before midnight. Pic had mentioned earlier that Izzy was sleeping over at his place, but I’d assumed it was because Mel had to work. Much as seeing her with the fuckwad pissed me off, the end result was working in my favor. Turning off the bike, I waited for her to climb off, then followed her toward the house.
“You don’t need to come in,” she said.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do,” I replied. “We need to get cleaned up, and then we need to talk.”
“What’s to talk about?” she sniped, digging in her pocket for the key. She fumbled and nearly dropped it, so I reached out and took it from her, opening the door. I glanced around the cozy house as we stepped inside. Izzy had taken all the pillows off the couch, lining them up along the wall. On top were all her dolls and stuffed animals, including a little skeleton from last Halloween that she’d fallen in love with. They were covered in blankies, washcloths, and even a few tissues.
“She put her babies to bed before she left for London’s,” I said, feeling the same sense of peace I always got when I thought about Izzy. God, but I loved that kid. Mel smiled, glancing toward me with a look of shared pride in our girl.
“She always does. Tucks in each one and then she tells them a story. Does she do it at your place, too?”
“Yeah.”
“We made a good kid.”
“I want us to live together,” I said abruptly, running a hand through my hair. “We’re a family, Mel.”
She stared at me, covered in dirt, hair looking like she’d survived a tornado.
“We’re fucked up,” she said. “Look at us. There’s something wrong here, Painter.”
“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” I told her. “Look me in the eye and tell me it wasn’t the same for you.”
Mel glared at me, but she didn’t say a damned thing. I bit back a laugh—busted.
“The sex is good. We’ve got a kid. You already admitted you want me around—don’t think I’ve forgotten that. So far as I can tell, the only reason we aren’t together is that you’re so damned stubborn you can’t let yourself just accept it and be happy.”
“What about Aaron?” she asked. “That’s messed up, Painter. You would’ve killed him. I saw it in your face.”
She was right. Almost.
“But I didn’t kill him,” I reminded her.
“That’s because Puck stopped you.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But he was with me for a reason. That’s the thing about having brothers, Mel—they got you covered when you can’t cover yourself.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” she said, her voice growing harder. “Particularly the way they all pretended you weren’t dragging me out against my will. I was screaming for help and they just watched. That’s sick.”
“He’s a dealer,” I said, derailing her. She blinked.
“Who?”
“Aaron. He was using you for cover—he was at the Silver Bastards’ clubhouse to pick up a shipment. Drugs—or maybe guns. I didn’t get the specifics and I don’t care. What I do care about is the fact that if he’d gotten busted, you would’ve gone down as an accomplice. So far as I’m concerned, I didn’t hurt him enough.”
She stilled.
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. That’s what Boonie was telling me.”
“Shit,” she said, collapsing onto the couch. She let her head fall back, staring at the ceiling. “He met Izzy. He gave her a little stuffed unicorn . . . I thought it was sweet.”
“Fucking asshole. Where is it?”
She looked around. “I don’t see it—she probably took it out to London’s. Don’t worry, I’ll bribe her or something, get it away from her. No way I want that in this house, knowing how he used me.”
I sat next to her, propping my feet up on the coffee table. We both needed a shower in a bad way, but we needed to get this shit settled even more. She was on the edge, though. I could see it. Christ, but women were complicated.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“Would you ever do that?”
“Do what?”
“Carry something illegal around me or Izzy?”
I sighed, wondering how to answer. Fuck it, might as well give her the truth.
“I have a gun on my bike. That’s illegal—I’m a felon, not allowed to own a firearm.”
“Where is it?” she asked.
“Got a hidden compartment for it,” I told her. “Ruger rigged it up. You want to see?”
I don’t know why I offered, but for some reason it seemed like the right thing to do—maybe if she saw it for herself, she’d believe me when I promised that I wasn’t smuggling anything worse.
“Yes,” she said, looking a little surprised that I was so comfortable with it—good. Maybe she’d believe I was serious, because I was. I’d never put her in that kind of danger. “I think I would.”
/> “Okay, then.”
We went back outside. There wasn’t much light, but I carried a little flashlight in one of my saddlebags, along with a first aid kit, a sewing kit, some tools, and a few other essentials—never know what might happen on the road.
“You’re like a Boy Scout,” she said, and I heard a smile in her voice.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I replied, laughing. “Here it is.”
I popped open the compartment using the hidden latch, showing her the small semiautomatic pistol inside. It was loaded and ready to go, and there was a spare ammo cartridge, too.
“Note the complete and utter lack of drugs,” I pointed out dryly. “For the record—it’s not illegal for you to be holding this gun, just me. There’s no danger to you if we happened to get caught with this.”
“Will you show me how to open it?”
“The gun?” I asked, surprised. She gave a little laugh.
“No, your supersecret compartment.”
I closed it back up, looking at her.
“What is this, some kind of test?”
“I don’t know. Do you need testing?” she challenged. I sighed, because she probably did want to test me.
“Give me your hand.”
Guiding her, I let her feel the little latch for herself, then watched as she opened and closed the compartment several times. Then we walked back to the house, but at the door Mel stopped me, putting a hand on my chest.
“You should leave now,” she said. “I can’t handle any more tonight. I need to take a shower and then get some sleep, and I’ll do that a hell of a lot better if you aren’t around. Safer for you, too. Now that I know where to get a gun, I might be tempted to kill you in your sleep.”
“All right,” I said, and while I wanted to argue, I could see she was telling the truth—Mel was done. Spent. “I have shit to do tomorrow. Important shit. Club business. But when I finish, we’re going to talk. I’ll come for you tomorrow night.”
She shook her head.
“I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk,” she protested.
“No fucking way. I’ll give you tonight, but tomorrow we’re settling this. For real.”
“Fuck you.”
I leaned forward, kissing her on the lips. She softened for an instant, then she was pushing at my chest.
“I already did,” I reminded her. Mel frowned.
“Huh?”
“I already fucked you. It was amazing. But then, us fucking always is, right?”
Her face hardened, and she slammed the door in my face.
I couldn’t help myself—I laughed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
FRIDAY MORNING
MELANIE
“He just quit,” I heard Brit telling another nurse. “No notice, nothing.”
“Who?” I asked, leaning against the counter. It was nearly eight in the morning, almost time for shift change and report. Damned good thing, too, because I was exhausted. I’d gotten shit sleep last night, and then I’d spent the day with Izzy. Because London was an angel, she’d agreed to take her for a second night in a row, but when I’d tried to nap that afternoon after dropping her off out at the Armory, there’d been no joy.
I kept thinking about Painter’s promise to come back last night.
I should’ve called him. Should’ve let him know I was working and that we’d have to talk a different time. But there’d been some defiant, angry part of me that wanted him to sit around waiting, wondering where the hell I was, because fuck him and his orders.
Twelve hours later I was exhausted and grumpy and wishing like hell that I hadn’t set myself up like that—he’d find me sooner or later, and when he did, I’d be too tired to fight him.
“That cute security guard,” she said. “Aaron Waits. Damned shame, because he made nights like tonight a whole hell of a lot more fun.”
Good, I thought fiercely. I never wanted to see that fucker again.
“You’re married,” I pointed out. “Not like you could do anything with him.”
“Married doesn’t equal dead,” she replied, giving me a wink. “I can appreciate the scenery without touching it. Only ten more minutes until shift change—I can’t wait. I hate nights like tonight. So boring.”
She was right. Some shifts were hellish—terrible car accidents, people dying. Those were the kind of nights that stuck with you, haunting your dreams. But tonight had been the complete opposite. Only four patients, and two of them had colds. I’d never seen the place so empty.
“Day shift is screwed,” I said. “Because you just know the law of averages has to catch up to them sometime. Some kid is out there right now, playing with matches.”
She nodded at me, agreeing. Sooner or later, the patients would come.
But not for us. Not tonight.
“Let’s do the report,” the charge nurse said, coming toward us. “Not much to talk about.”
We filled the day shift in on our patients and then ten minutes later we were all clocked out. There hadn’t been much to share with them. Time to go home and catch some sleep before I had to deal with Izzy again. If I got lucky, Reese and London would keep her a few extra hours, let her watch some TV. I might even get a nap.
• • •
Painter’s big blue Harley was parked outside my house.
I thought about the gun hidden inside. About the way he’d beaten up Aaron. What might’ve happened if Aaron and I had gotten pulled over, searched.
What a mess.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door, not bothering to question how Painter had gotten inside. He was a Reaper—so far as I could tell, things like locks and walls didn’t apply to them. I mean, he’d walked all over every other boundary I’d ever had, so why should this be any different?
He wasn’t in the living room, but I heard music playing from one of the bedrooms. Dropping my keys and purse on the table, I kicked off my shoes and contemplated making myself a cup of coffee before facing him. Of course, that meant I’d have trouble napping should a miracle occur and I actually got the opportunity.
I’d sort of expected to find him in my bedroom, maybe pawing through my underwear drawer. The sound came from Izzy’s room, though. Frowning, I walked to her door, pushing it open slowly. He was inside, painting one of her walls. The floor was covered in tarps, and the bed had been pushed into the center of the room. Along the wall he’d done a blue sky over green grass, leaving a large empty hole in the center. Now he was sketching on it with a thick charcoal pencil, although I couldn’t quite tell what he was drawing from here.
“Hey,” I said hesitantly, not quite sure what to expect. He turned to glance at me, eyes flickering over my scrubs.
“Hey.”
I sidled into the room, off-balance. I’d expected to be fighting with him by now—this was weird. “Whatcha doing?”
“Designing a mural for Izzy,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind—we’d talked about it a while ago. I was waiting for you last night and figured I might as well get started.”
Hesitantly, I came closer, trying to read his mood. His face was blank, though, so I studied the outline on the wall instead. It looked like . . .
“Is that a princess riding a motorcycle with a unicorn horn on her helmet?” I asked, bemused. Painter nodded.
“Yup, it’s what Izzy wanted,” he said. “Hate to break it to you, but she wants the princess and the motorcycle to be pink. I’m doing it in regular latex house paint, by the way. I’ve got a feeling she’ll want it changed at some point.”
“Hopefully some point soon,” I said. “I’m really tired of pink and I’m pretty sure I could vomit unicorns on demand.”
He laughed. “Yeah, me, too.”
Stepping up to the wall, I traced my finger along the sketch, thinking about what it would look like when he was done. “She’s going to love it.”
“That’s the goal,” he said. “She told me that she wants to look at it and remember she has a daddy when I’m not around.
”
Ouch.
“She loves you.”
“I know.”
Turning to look at him, I cocked my head.
“I’m really tired,” I said. “So I don’t have the energy to play games right now. Are we going to fight?”
He shook his head. “No. I was pissed at you last night. For a while I figured you were probably off fucking some other guy, then I realized how stupid that was. London wouldn’t tell me where you were—Reese must’ve mentioned what happened up in Callup, because she treated me like a serial killer. Just in case you ever wonder whose side she’s on . . .”
I smiled.
“I got lucky with her,” I acknowledged. “When my own mom bailed, she took me in, just like she took in Jessica. She’s been a grandma to Izzy, a mother to me . . . but I’ll never understand why Mom left. I look at Isabella and can’t wrap my head around it, because I’d die before disappearing on her.”
Like you did in prison.
“Are you ever going to forgive me?” he asked softly, catching my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Sometimes it feels like you hate me out of habit. It’s still between us—that chemistry. Sex isn’t the problem. And I’m a good dad to Isabella. I help you out as much as you’ll let me. I fuckin’ hate your job at the ER, but I’m not telling you to stop doing it because I know it’s important to you. So why does it always have to be a fight, Mel?”
Shaking my head, I leaned forward into his chest. His arms came around me, rubbing my back. It felt good. Safe.
“It scares me,” I confessed.
“What?”
“That I can care about you this much. You’re a mystery to me—you play with our daughter, you paint her pink motorcycles. You even let her dress you up like a fairy that one time and had a tea party with her.”
He groaned.
“How did you find out about that?”
“She told me,” I said, biting back a smile. “And she drew a picture. I took it to work and showed everyone. But I think you should be thanking me, because I seriously considered giving it to Reese.”
He groaned again, his hand running up my spine to the back of my neck. The muscles there were tight from a long night of work, and as he dug his knuckles in deep, I sighed with pleasure.
