I cock my head to the side. “A load off Cas?”
Not sure why, but Whisky looks to Bridget and back to me. Then she glances over her shoulder to the men at the end of the drive, who are submerged in some sort of heated conversation that has forced Lachlan to stop pacing and engage with them. His hands are now crossed over his chest. It doesn’t look good from here.
“Cas,” Whisky tosses her head in their direction, “only has Sniper, and occasionally a couple of the brothers to help out here. He needs to take a load off. He works too much and needs to have time for himself to relax. Between the club, his daughter, and this place, it’s too much. His leg needs the break.”
“His. . .leg?” I ask.
Whisky taps her foot on the cement. “Yeah, his leg. Didn’t ya notice?”
Not sure what she means, so I shake my head.
Bridget, who is standing beside me, makes a clucking noise and blows out a sigh. “Whisky thinks it’s obvious,” she groans. “It’s not. I keep telling her it’s not.”
“What’s not?” I look between the two of them.
Whisky ganders at the men one final time before she starts. “Cas lost his leg in the Marines. Was in when 9/11 went down and was sent on two deployments. On his second, his truck exploded and he was the only one to survive. Lost part of his leg and got PTSD. Doin’ better now after he joined the club. And he opened the shop a few years back. But he works too hard and needs to enjoy life a helluva lot more.”
I wondered why Casanova walked differently. Although, I wouldn’t have guessed that.
My mouth opens to reply when the heavy stomping of boots tears everyone’s attention away. It’s Lachlan. With a huff, he rejoins the group by maneuvering around his sister to stand behind my chair. Without a word, he flicks my brakes loose and grabs hold of my handles, propelling me forward. I try to stop him by replacing the brakes, but think better of it, because the last time that happened, I ended up flying out of a chair and getting beat up. Not that I think Lachlan would beat me up or anything. However, I think my body has experienced enough damage to last me a lifetime.
“What. . .are. . .you. . .doin’?” I ask, which is ignored. And down the slope of the garage we roll, like he’s on a mission, stopping only to check for cars. He continues until we are behind the SUV, where he stops.
Parking me at the back, he rounds the side and opens the passenger door. “Lachlan, what. . .are. . .you. . .doing?” I question as he strides back to me, hooks his arms under my legs, and lifts me from my chair with no effort. My arm curls around his neck on instinct, and my face moves close to his. He steps onto the curb, and tucks me closer to his chest. A warmth seeps into me, calming my pounding heart.
He steps closer to the door. “I’m takin’ ye home.”
Slipping me into the seat without my help, he then shuts me inside. Moments later, he has placed my wheelchair in the back and is climbing behind the driver seat. The back passenger side door opens and Bridget silently slips inside.
A knuckle knocks on the outside of Lachlan’s driver window, followed by his sister’s face.
He rolls it down. “Can I help ye?”
“Don’t you gotta work?” she teases.
Lachlan shrugs and runs a steady hand through his short hair; the noise that he emits under his breath is enough for me to know he’s getting impatient. “I already called someone in.”
Curling her hands over the lip of the open window, Whisky scowls, throwing out her attitude in spades. “When’d you do that?”
“When I bloody found out my daughter had Mags in town without me knowin’ aboot it,” Lachlan growls back, his accent getting heavier with each word.
“Who told you?”
Lachlan blows out an agitated breath. “Ain’t none of yer bloody fuckin’ business, Whisky. I’m taken the lass home, and I’ll get my ride in the mornin’.”
“You’re leavin’—” Whisky starts, only to be silenced when Lachlan heatedly cuts her off. “It’s my fuckin’ business, Whisky,” he grunts. “Not askin’ for yer nosy input. Ye’ve already done enough by openin’ yer big bloody trap. Now back away from the fuckin’ door so I can take Mags home.”
Sniper approaches and peels his wife’s hands off the window frame with some effort. “But—” she argues, trying to regain control, and failing considerably.
“But nothin’,” Sniper states, curling her back to his chest, arms locked around her breasts to keep her from getting away. Lachlan turns the ignition over and revs the engine.
Whisky’s face falls, frowning sadly. “I wanted to give her some cupcakes,” she mutters.
With a curse under his breath, Lachlan turns off the engine and throws the keys on the dash. His eyes cut to his sister. “Go get the cupcakes,” he bites off, then adds softer. “And some cookies, too.”
Whisky tears herself from her husband and hustles into the shop. Minutes later, she’s back and handing us a bag full of goodies through the driver side window. “I threw in two of the Sacred Sister cupcakes. They’re the favorite ‘round here. When ya get a chance, I’ll tell ya a story about them. They’re the pink and black ones,” Whisky explains to me, ignoring Lachlan, who is giving her a dirty look of both love and mild irritation. He takes it and reaches back to hand it to Bridget, who sets the teal, skull printed bag in her lap.
Lachlan doesn’t speak, but nods to them when he reaches for the keys and turns the Tahoe back on.
“It was. . .nice. . .to. . .meet. . .you.”
I wave as Lachlan rolls up his window, and Whisky waves back. Sniper does another nod thingy to us as we idle, and Lachlan keeps his eyes centered forward, not saying goodbye as his jaw ticks and hands tightly clutch the wheel. I want to ask what bug crawled up his butt and died, but then I think better of it, because I really don’t need him mad at me. This is the first official time I’ve actually been around him for any length of time since The Kiss. Not sure if he holds any resentment or not. However, I’m not going to test him to find out. The tension is already surging off him in waves.
Staring out of the passenger-side window, I watch the world fly by. With no music and only Lachlan’s loud breathing to take up space, which seems to be fogging the windows, I decide that the silence is too much to bear. “Whisky. . .seems nice,” I note to whoever is listening.
When no reply is returned, I continue. “She has. . .a. . .nice. . .shop.”
Still, nothing; not even from Bridget, who is mighty quiet in the back. She must be in trouble. Not sure why. Although, if I had to venture a guess, I’d say Lachlan wasn’t too keen on her taking me into town without his permission. Not that I think he has a right to be mad at her. I’m an adult and I can go wherever I darn well please. Granted, I can’t drive myself; not yet, anyhow.
Call me crazy, I guess, but I keep going. “You. . .didn’t. . .have to. . .take. . .off. . .work.” I mean it to be friendly, and not at all judgmental or pushy. Nevertheless, the growl and heated huff that Lachlan blows out in reply scares the pee right out of me, and suddenly, I need to get home to use the restroom. My hands start to tremble, and I tuck them between my thighs before I position myself as far away from Lachlan as possible.
“Bloody fuckin’ shit,” he curses under his breath. “Fuck.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch his hand hit the wheel, and I decide that I won’t talk for the rest of the ride home. It can’t come quick enough. I’ve got to pee, and what I need more is to get far, far away from him for so many reasons I don’t have the energy to name right now.
Why cannae I bloody sleep?
She’s talkin’ now—the wee voice in my head reminds.
Aye, for fuckin’ days she’s been talkin’, and not once has anyone told me. That makes my blood boil.
Mags sounds different than I thought she would. Sweeter, and softer with more fire. More bloody fuckin’ strength. More—everythin’.
Reachin’ between my legs, I palm my hard cock over my sweats. See, just thinkin’ aboot her gets me this way. What in
the hell’s wrong with me? And, tae think. . .I almost kissed her again today. Cannae forget that. What was I thinkin’?
“Nobody wants to kiss a tongue that big,” Meredith’s voice haunts.
Aye, I know they dinnae. I just cannae help myself. Sometimes, all of that milky white skin, freckles, and now sweet voice, flips a fuckin’ switch in my damn brain. I’ve never experienced anythin’ like it. It’s like I’m me, but I’m not. Somethin’ takes over. Somethin’ that I cannae contol.
I’ve spent plenty of time around lassies in the service. And plenty more since I’ve joined the club. Lots of ‘em who try tae throw their skimpily outfitted bodies at me. For what? I dinnae know. None of it makes sense, just like my own actions as of late, dinnae know either.
“You gotta get a grip, brother,” Cas scolded me today as I paced outside his shop.
I stopped and crossed my arms over my chest. “If Thor hadn’t seen them and texted me, I wouldn’t have known Pip had brought her tae town. What the fuck was she thinkin?”
Cas shook his head. Apparently, he thought I was bein’ an arsehole. I probably was. I am one most of the time. “That Magdalene needs a break,” he replied. “And seein’ as though your ass was workin’, she was being nice and takin’ care of the chick,” he paused, then added, “your chick.”
Closin’ my eyes, I slip my hand under the waistband of my sweats. I hate boxers, so I ain’t wearin’ any.
Your chick. That sounds damn right.
Wrappin’ my hand around my cock, I tuck my other behind me head. It flattens against the arm of the couch, cradlin’ my head.
Usin’ my thumb, I swirl my pre-come over my cockhead and use the rest to lube my shaft. Slowly, I jack up and down my length, usin’ my nail tae scrap the head. The wee bite of pain makes my balls ache, drawin’ up tighter. I thrust my hips, fuckin’ my tight fist. My breathin’ hastens, and my heart knocks at my ribs as I let my mind shift tae somethin’ I shouldn’t be thinkin’ aboot—Mags, and the day she passed out on my lap.
Mags smiled shyly at me, her head restin’ on my legs while my fingers combed through her long hair. Back flat on the couch with legs over the armrest, the cotton of her dress stretched snugly over her body, moldin’ over her taut nipples. My eyes tried tae pay attention tae anythin’ else, but I couldn’t seem tae stop starin’ at them. I tried not tae get hard.
Relaxed, her eyes fluttered shut. I inhaled deeply, smellin’ her fruity scent drift through my nose and into my brain, where it settled, carvin’ a tunnel to live in forever.
At the thought, my cock swells, throbbin’ in my hand. Groanin’, I lick my bottom lip and thrust harder into my fist.
Fuck, those nipples. That perfect mouth. Her soft, silky hair runnin’ through my fingers. I tried not tae tremble with pleasure. It was hard not tae.
Almost tae sleep, she half-sighed, half-groaned, floatin’ deeper, closer tae dreamland. The noise made my stomach coil and balls ache, needin’ a desperate release.
Bloody hell, she’s perfect.
I fuck myself even faster, my hand roughly jackin’ my foreskin. More pre-come rolls down my shaft. My arse tightens as I jerk my hips, plowin’ into my fake fuckhole. My nail scraps my crown sharply, and my back arches off the couch. I growl as the pain ignites an addictive sizzle in my balls.
Aye. She’s gonna make me come.
Zeroin’ in on those nipples tauntin’ me through her dress, my mouth waters, wantin’ tae suck them, nibble on them, and run my tongue around their wee peaks.
Twistin’ my hand on my cock, I squeeze and all the blood thumps powerfully against my palm.
Oh, fuck!
Diggin’ my heels into the couch, my hips thrust one last time before I erupt. Come jets in hot spurts as I groan in satisfaction, coatin’ the inside of my sweats.
With a rushed exhale, I sink back into the couch and yank my hand from my pants.
What the shit fuck is wrong with me?!
Openin’ my eyes, I take one look at my hand, and the guilt I hoped wouldn’t come wins over. My stomach revolts at the sight. Quickly, I stumble off the couch and run tae the bathroom, throwin’ myself in front of the toilet. I barely make it in time for my stomach tae purge into the porcelain. Heave after heave surges through me until I’m left empty and pathetic.
Finished and exasperated, I fall back on the tile, nab some toilet paper, and wipe my mouth before I toss it into the toilet. Tuggin’ my knees tae my chest, I scrub my palms unsteadily over my damp head. The guilt burrows deeper.
How did I expect anythin’ else tae happen? I cannae come thinkin’ aboot her like that. Why’d I do it? Fuck!
“No woman wants a man who has a dick like that. You wonder why I sleep around, Lachlan? You wonder why I want Barry and Thor? I want them, because you disgust me. Your cock is ugly. It’s deformed. No one wants to see that,” Meredith’s words ring through.
I know she’s right. I know it’s deformed and ugly. I know nobody would want it. But I cannae help what I look like. I cannae help I was born that way. I. . . Fuck it. With a tired groan, I push off the floor, stagger back tae the couch, and fall into it. The guilt shadows me every step of the way.
On my side, I cup my cock over my pants and squeeze ‘til I wince. “Ye stupid fuckin’ thing. If ye’d stop gettin’ hard then I wouldn’t have this bloody fuckin’ problem.” Smackin’ it once, I leave it be and try tae get comfortable. Sleep is gonna be difficult tonight.
Stupid bloody cock!
“This is bullshit!” a woman screams, and is followed by a succession of frenzied pounding on the downstairs door. “Open this fucking door, you stupid, fat bitch!”
In bed, Pirate scoots closer, his nose nuzzling my cheek, and I reach up to pet him. “I know, I know. It’s all right.” I attempt to sound soothing and sweet, but what I really feel is a mixture of fear and anger. I can’t believe Meredith is here, and it’s three in the flippin’ morning. What kind of woman shows up to yell at me at three in the morning? Think about it. . .seriously. That is ridiculous.
My bedroom door opens, and I watch a sleepy-eyed Bridget in cartoon pajamas lazily stroll in. She doesn’t wait for me to say anything when she plops on the end of my bed and draws her knees to her chest, curling her arms around them.
“Why is she here?” she whispers miserably.
I’m tempted to shrug, but know she wouldn’t be able to see me, so I don’t. “I dunno, but let your. . .dad handle. . .it.”
Heavy footsteps from upstairs have both of us tipping our heads to glance at the ceiling.
“He doesn’t want to deal with her.”
“Does anybody?” I scoot up in bed, and Pirate follows. Tucking him into my lap, I rest my back against the headboard, my legs still covered in the blankets.
More pounding ensues. “You stupid bitch! You had me locked out of my house! Open this goddamn door!”
Bridget sniffles, and my heart gives out. Why does this woman keep wrecking her child? Can she really be stupid enough not to think about her being here? I mean, that’s common sense. Which, apparently, isn’t all that common. . .but still.
My phone vibrates on my nightstand. It’s Lachlan.
I’m gettin’ dressed. Don’t touch that fucking door. I will handle this. Please make sure Pip’s okay.
I reply, She’s in the bedroom with me.
Just as I hit send, a loud noise squeals in the back and boots start to descend the stairs. And then it happens—a crash. A heart-stopping, glass shattering, wheels screeching─crash. The house violently shakes, and both of us jump out of our skin.
Oh, crap!
“Ye’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” Lachlan roars.
Heart in my throat, I push Pirate to the side and slide into my wheelchair. Bridget unfolds from the bed and we both look at each other. Something major just happened.
Meredith’s screaming, and Lachlan’s yelling as we make our way out the door.
My eyes bug out of my head at the sight. Meredith’s car is
sitting in the living room, still running. The couch is in shambles; the glass door completely shattered. It’s a wreck.
Meredith begins to climb out of her car window.
“Shut yer fuckin’ car off,” Lachlan demands. Luckily, not putting up a fight, she slips back in and shuts down the engine before climbing back out. I expel a relieved breath. At least we won’t die from exhaust fumes.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” She wobbles once she’s standing, unsteadily pointing to Lachlan. With a phone to his ear, he approaches her and she tilts her head back to look up at him. Her face falls, frowning dejectedly.
“I took Mags home,” he snips, answering her question even though she doesn’t deserve a dang answer. “Ye’re not allowed here.”
“It’s my fucking house, too.”
“Not anymore,” he bites off, restraining his fury.
With his back to us, his bare shoulders bunch in coiled tension as Meredith weaves on high heels and cuts her eyes to me. “You!” She tries to dive my way.
Thankfully, Lachlan hooks an arm around her waist and propels her backward. She doesn’t seem to like his tactic when she starts punching his arm and shrieking for him to let her go. With a phone still to his ear, he ignores her completely, unfazed by her violence and breakdown.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I reach out a hand and grab Bridget’s. I give her a squeeze, but don’t let go. She seems content with that as we silently watch her father move around the car and kick out the remaining tempered glass from the broken door. Then, he maneuvers both of them outside, away from us.
Sirens blare in the distance.
“This place is going to be swarming with cops,” Bridget mutters. I’m not sure if she’s talking to herself or me. Then again, we’re both in a bit of shock at this point. This place is a disaster. Ruined. Such a shame. Idiot woman.
The sirens grow nearer before Lachlan reappears through the door, and his eyes instantly lock on us. “She’s tied up outside,” he explains, stomping through glass and debris to get to us.
Bridget drops my hand when her dad curls his arms around her in a giant hug. I melt, watching him embrace his daughter. She begins to sob into his chest, and he locks her closer. Her hand fishes out and snags mine again, causing me to smile through my own watery eyes, squeezing her tighter to give my support.
Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC) Page 18
