“There’s Z. Let me watch you walk out.”
I want to give him a good luck kiss, or something, but he pushes me out into the crowd.
Z and the others are easy enough to spot and I squeeze my way through the wall of people. Every inch of me is trembling in fear by the time I reach Z, who pulls me against him and walks me the rest of the way to our group.
Hope breaks out of Rock’s iron grip and wraps her arms around me. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” she gushes.
I can only imagine what’s going through her head, and my lips twitch in amusement.
“How’s our boy?” Z asks.
My shoulder still burns from where he shoved me into the crowd. “Cold as ice.”
Rock tugs me to his side and puts his arm around my shoulders. Secure against him, I’m able to let my guard down a smidge.
“He’ll be fine. He’s always like that before a fight. That’s why we’re out here,” Rock explains. I know he’s trying to cheer me up and I appreciate the effort.
Glued to Rock’s other side, Hope peers over at me and raises an eyebrow.
Teller interrupts by butting into the group, waving our betting slips at us. He hands them out and we tuck them away.
It suddenly seems to dawn on Hope what’s going on. “Why would anyone bet against Wrath? He’s the scariest guy I’ve ever met.”
Everyone laughs. If I wasn’t so worried about Wrath backstage, I’d probably laugh too. I make a mental note to tell Wrath Hope finds him terrifying. He’ll think it’s the funniest thing ever.
The guys keep us protected as we walk to the bleachers and stake out our seats.
Z moves so I can sit next to Hope, but my mind is elsewhere. Wrath didn’t think I was paying attention while he watched videos of Irish’s old fights. But I saw what the guy is capable of and it starts to sink in how scared I am that Wrath will get hurt. I want to jump up, run to the back and drag him the hell out of here.
“You okay?” Hope asks, breaking into my freak-out.
“Yeah, just nervous.” She squeezes my hand and I end up clinging to her, which is so fucking weird, I don’t know what to think.
At some point, Z leans over me to talk to Hope. “Unlike most of these guys, Wrath has no interest in getting an MMA deal or something. He just enjoys unleashing his fury on people,” he explains. Hope’s jaw drops a fraction and my stomach rolls.
The lights blink and the noise drops to a hushed roar. I barely hear the announcer or register when the first fight starts or ends. I keep glancing through the open doorway to the back room hoping to catch a glimpse of Wrath.
The second fight is also a blur.
The quick blast of an air horn silences the crowd.
“Five minutes ‘til the blood bath you’ve all been waiting for. Get those bets placed now. Windows close when the opponents reach the ring.”
Oh dear God, I’m going to be sick. I can’t stand this. Why the fuck did I ever want to come to one of Wrath’s fights? This is torture.
Hope’s hand tightens around mine.
Blood thunders through my ears when the horn goes off again. I don’t even hear the introduction given to Irish. I do look up in time to watch him bouncing up and down in the ring, scanning the crowd like he’s curious who all stopped by to see him get his ass whooped.
He’s plenty big, but I’m a little less scared seeing him in the flesh. Wrath’s got this.
“Our next fighter scares the shit out of even me. Undefeated in the underground, he doesn’t come out of hibernation often, but when he does, it’s scary as fuck! Hope you were careful placing your bets because they say the last thing to grow old in a man is Wrath!”
It’s a cheesy introduction, and I gotta imagine Wrath’s pissed about it. The crowd loves it though. The room detonates into cheers and shouts.
One of his favorite songs is used as his intro music and it makes me chuckle.
Another laugh spills out of me when Wrath strolls into the room as if it’s no big deal. At some point he stripped down to the shiny athletic shorts he favors for working out.
As he turns in our direction, my mouth twitches into a smile and I’m about to raise my hand to wave, when Z leans up against me.
“How fast you think he’s gonna take that fucker out?” he whispers in my ear just loud enough for me to hear him over the crowd.
I catch the dark look that crosses Wrath’s face as he watches us, and I want to clock Z for being such a dick.
Rock notices it too and leans over to scold him. “Knock it off, Zero.”
“What? Just making sure—”
“You’re wrong,” I spit out. Wrath will win all on his own. He doesn’t need Z to stir up any jealousy.
Z’s not finished. “Yeah, that why you been up in his bed every night for the last two weeks? I don’t remember you ever spending an entire night with me.”
What the fuck? I grind my teeth so I don’t end up punching him. “Shut. Up.” The thought of Hope overhearing that warms my cheeks with shame.
“Don’t break his concentration, Z,” Hope snaps at him. The fact that she’s worried about Wrath—even though he’s been so mean to her—makes me like her even more. Wrath’s wrong about her. She’ll be an asset to the club—eventually.
Z chuckles and sits back. I jam my elbow in his ribs and he laughs even harder.
The bell goes off and my stomach drops. I can’t stand to watch, but I can’t look away. My body flinches with every punch Irish throws at Wrath, even though each one misses.
Wrath fucks around with the kid for a while. Tiring him out. Irish moves to throw a right hook, but drops his other hand. That small opening is what Wrath seizes on to go after Irish for real. His fists fly in a brutal flash that my eyes can’t keep track of.
Around us is total chaos as the crowd rushes the ring. Our view is blocked and I can’t get up on the bleachers fast enough. Air rushes out of my lungs when I finally see Wrath again. He’s beating Irish to a pulp and this time I flinch for different reasons.
I understand what a sergeant-at-arms does. Enforces rules. Protects the club—with force when necessary. I also know Wrath’s capacity for violence. It’s still terrifying to see him in brutal action.
He goes in for the kill, smashing his knee into Irish’s face. There’s blood everywhere and I’m thankful I didn’t eat dinner before we left or I’d be barfing it up by now.
Next to me, Hope starts screaming. Rock pulls her off the bleachers and calms her down quick.
Wrath’s declared the winner. Duh, poor Irish is barely able to roll around on the floor. His crew throws Wrath a dark look as he takes his victory lap around the ring and they drag Irish to the back.
The audience rushes to the betting windows. Teller takes our slips and runs off with Murphy to get our winnings.
Z and Rock have managed to wedge Hope and me between them, keeping us protected from the jostling crowd.
“Prez, we gotta get out of here,” Z warns.
No, no, no. We can’t leave without Wrath. He promised me he’d find us immediately after the fight. I plant my feet ready to fight if Z tries to make me move. Hope peeks around Rock and bounces up on her toes, making me look in the direction she’s looking.
There’s Wrath. Half-dressed and moving fast. Wriggling out of Z’s hold, I fly into Wrath’s arms.
“Whoa, I’m fine.” He wraps me up in his arms and I sob against his chest. I can’t get a single word out. He kisses the top of my head, right there in front of everyone and I claw at his shirt so he doesn’t let me go.
“Wrath, we gotta go,” Z urges.
Wrath squeezes me tighter, before releasing me for a second to slip a fitted knit hat on. Then he wraps me in his arms again and we all march to the side exit.
We regroup outside and I can finally breathe. We’re going to make it out of this.
Teller and Murphy smile when they see us and give Wrath a quick nod and fist bump. Wrath’s big, warm hand envelops mine.
“I’m in a spot around the back,” he informs Rock.
Rock turns his head in that direction and then the opposite way. “Fuck. We’re in the lot over.”
Wrath shrugs. “We’ll meet up at the gas station at the bottom of the hill.”
The guys agree on that plan and we go our separate ways.
Get me the fuck out of here.
Trinity’s so quiet. Once the guys take off, we head toward where I parked the bike. When we clear the building and my bike is in sight, I stop and tug her over to the shadows against the brick wall.
I place a hand on either side of her face. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes dart around, wild and unsure. “What are you doing? We have to meet up with them.”
“It’s going to take them a minute to get through the parking lot. I want to make sure you’re all right.”
She glances up at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I told you he wouldn’t get a shot in.”
She takes a deep breath, then chuckles low and soft. “You’re nuts.”
Something about her laugh unhinges me. To get her here, I told her I’d want to fuck her after the fight. I was lying at the time, but all of a sudden I can’t stop myself. We need to get the fuck out of here. A bad feeling about the way people were reacting inside followed me out the door.
But I want her so fucking bad, right now. Rationally, I know it’s left over adrenaline coursing through me. The fight hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.
Tipping her chin up, I slam my mouth over hers. I back her up against the wall, my hands fumble with her jeans.
“Baby, next time please wear a skirt.”
She lets out a moan/giggle sound that drives me insane. I keep her pinned to the wall and manage to get one sneaker and one pant leg off her, while she frees my aching cock and rolls a condom down my dick. We’re in perfect sync, which is good because this is going to be straight up, hard and fast fucking.
“Trin,” I grind out against her mouth. “Tell me you’re ready, I don’t want to hurt you.” Never again. I don’t want to ever hurt her again.
She wraps her legs around me tighter. “I’m ready.”
I grip her ass, yanking her toward me while at the same time thrusting into her nice and slow. “Watchin’ me fight turn you on, Angel Face?” I breathe into her ear, as I pick up the pace.
She shakes her head and a tear rolls down her cheek, halting my frantic thrusts.
“I was so scared,” she whispers, clinging to me tighter.
For the first time in my life, I regret a fight. I hate that I rattled her so bad. “I’m okay, baby.”
She nods and kisses me. “Fuck me, please,” she whispers against my lips.
Jesus Christ. “Hang on to me.” Using the wall for leverage, I slip one hand off her ass to play with her clit. I need her to come if it fucking kills me. In the dark, I can’t see her very well, but our mouths meet. We kiss slow and deep, reconnecting and reassuring each other. Time stands still as I keep grinding into her until she blows. Fucking hell, she clenches down on my dick so hard, it sends me over the edge right along with her.
“That’s it. Good girl. Come hard for me, angel.” I gasp as she keeps squeezing the fuck out of my cock.
She babbles uncontrollably—the way she does when she’s far gone. As soon as she opens her eyes, I kiss her lips, then set her down. I right myself and help her hop into her pants.
At the bike, I slip a hoodie over her head and get her helmet on. She’s quiet but there’s a soft smile curving her mouth now. Taking another second we don’t have, I run the back of my bruised and aching hand over her cheek. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her how much I fucking love her.
“Thank you,” I say instead.
Her lashes flutter when she kisses my hand. “Let’s go.”
Yeah, here isn’t the place to have our talk. It needs to be special and I know just where I want to take her.
Even with our outside quickie, we make it to the gas station before Rock and the others. Wrath passes two SUVs at the pumps, and tucks us into a spot near the exit. He doesn’t bother shutting off the bike.
He shouts to me over the rumbling exhaust, “Wanna head to the park?”
“Don’t you want to enjoy your victory party?”
“No. We need to talk.”
We do? About what?
I don’t get to ask, because the roar of our guys approaching drowns out everything. Wrath pulls out ahead of them and leads us out of Ironworks.
Sweet relief sweeps through me when we finally cross into Empire County. Wrath takes us through the winding, country roads and the left over tension from the fight ebbs away.
Teller and Murphy are suddenly on either side of us. Just seeing that they’ve broken formation is enough to make me tense right back up.
“The fuck?” Wrath shouts.
For a brief second my gaze collides with Teller’s and he shakes his head.
The revving of an engine behind us, makes me turn around. There’s an SUV bearing down on Z. Rock’s only slightly ahead.
Fuck.
Z swerves to the side and lets the SUV pass, but it keeps pressing Rock and Hope to the edge of the road.
“Hold on,” Wrath shouts.
The SUV bears down on us. My heart jumps, terrified something happened to Rock.
Something definitely taps our rear tire and we swerve, but Wrath keeps us upright. A scream tears out of me.
“Fuck!”
Glancing down is terrifying. Light glints off the giant SUV bumper bearing down on us. I almost want to reach out and push it away. But at the last second I pull back, knowing that’s a good way to lose a hand.
It taps us again, pushing us to the side. The bike jerks to the right. The rear end slides out and I brace for contact with the pavement. Then we’re flying through the air and bouncing down the slight hill. I hold my breath as my stomach flips. My arms cling to Wrath as long as possible, but we’re thrown from the bike. There’s a horrible crunch and snap of metal.
I’m blinking up at the black sky. It’s pretty and I wonder if I’ve fallen asleep outside the clubhouse.
Shots echo in the air and I guess the guys are at the gun range? But that doesn’t make any sense because it’s dark.
I blink and sit up. The throbbing in my head explodes and I sit there dazed taking in my surroundings.
Ahead of me, I hear Wrath groan.
Okay. Not at the clubhouse.
Woods.
“Trin?”
“I’m here.”
I can’t stand yet. Nothing’s broken, but my knees have turned to jelly. I turn and crawl over the cold, wet ground.
A short, startled scream tears out of me when I find Wrath and scramble to his side.
“Wyatt?”
He groans.
More shots echo through the night.
“Don’t move.”
Reaching down, I yank the Glock from my ankle holster. Miraculously it stayed put.
“Wrath?” I hate leaving him unprotected, but he’s not conscious enough to take the gun.
I get my legs under me and stagger forward.
Ahead there’s rustling. I almost sob with relief when I hear Rock’s voice. Tears roll over my cheeks when I finally see him.
“Where is he, Trinny?”
My hand jerks behind me. “He’s not moving, Rock. It’s bad.”
More gunfire above us. “Stay low,” Rock whispers.
Wrath’s groaning when we get to his side and I’m so relieved, I burst into tears.
“Stay quiet, man,” Rock says, as he puts a hand on Wrath’s chest. He turns and eyes Hope. “Hope, what did you do with the gun?”
“It’s in my pocket.”
His jaw tightens. “Give it to Trinity.”
Before I can open my mouth and say I already have one, Hope’s shoving the weapon in my hands. On autopilot, I rack a bullet into the chamber.
“Stay with him,” Rock says to b
oth of us.
I glance down at Wrath once more. The best thing I can do right now is keep him safe.
What the ever-loving fuck? Loud groaning is coming from somewhere nearby. My head throbs. My leg’s on goddamn fire. I’m cold. I’m wet. Everything hurts.
The person groaning in pain is me.
Someone squeezes my hand, further bringing me awake.
“Shh, honey, it’s okay.”
Hope?
“My leg.”
Something brushes over my face. In the background I hear gunfire and panic tightens my chest.
“Trin!?”
“Right here, Wyatt,” she answers.
Thank God.
I need to get to her, but I can’t seem to make any of my body parts work. Something presses against my chest keeping me down. I almost laugh when I realize it’s Hope.
“Wrath, don’t. You could have something broken. Plus, there are still guys shooting at us,” she says in a rush.
Fuck. “Prez?”
“He’s okay.”
Christ, I’m doin’ a shit job protecting my president and my girl.
I blink and Hope’s anxious face fills my vision. Her hand’s wrapped around mine and I squeeze it tighter. “It’s gonna be okay, Hope.”
She bites her bottom lip and nods, then meets my eyes.
“This is why I been tryin’ to push you away, Cinderella. So you don’t get hurt.”
She tears up. “Wrath,” she sighs.
I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, but I hang onto her hand. Vaguely, I’m aware of her running her hands over me. Checking for injuries, I guess—seems like an inappropriate time for her to cop a feel.
She touches my leg and I suck down a scream.
“I think it’s broken,” she chokes out.
“No shit.”
Her hand touches whatever stings on my head.
“Ow, fuck. Watch it.”
“Sorry,” she whispers.
I grab her other hand to keep her from poking at any more injuries.
“I don’t know what to do,” she sobs and I feel fucking horrible for putting her in danger.
“Just keep holding my hand. My leg really fucking hurts.”
“Okay,” she answers, so soft I almost don’t hear her.
Tattered on My Sleeve Page 25
