Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC)

by Bink Cummings

  “I would like it to be better,” I reply.

  Bonez extracts a card from his slacks and extends it to me. I accept it. “I’m a chiropractor who specializes in rehabilitation and massage therapy,” he explains. “And since I already gave Smoke hell for not bringin’ you to me in the first place, I’d like to take you on as a patient. Get that leg, and your arms, back to the way they were, or close to it.”

  I cock my head to the side, assessing him. “Do you know much about numb spots?”

  “Some. You having trouble with that scar on your back?”

  How did he know?

  “Yes,” I mumble, nodding. “It feels strange. I think it’s nerve damage.”

  “Might be, but we won’t know unless you let me work with ya two days a week. Cas might even let ya come in during work hours, so you don’t have to drive into town more than ya have to.”

  That actually sounds pretty darn perfect. New doctor. No more bane of my existence. And since insurance from the gas station is covering all my medical expenses, aside from the Meredith one, I don’t have to be able to afford it. It’s already covered.

  Both of us swing our heads to Casanova for his input. “Fuck, yeah, you can go there. Just as long as your sexy ass is back here afterward.”

  With a firm shake, I accept Bonez’s gracious offer and set up a verbal appointment with him for tomorrow, then I get back to working on Viola.

  Soon, it’s four o'clock and before I know it, Lachlan is here on the nose.

  With a wave, I say my goodbyes to Sniper and Cas before following Lachlan down to his Harley. Slipping the helmet on that he silently hands me, I slide onto the bike like I had earlier, and soon we’re off, headed home.

  What an incredible day.

  “So, how was school today? Did Marcy interrupt you in Spanish again?” I ask Bridget before taking another bite of my grilled cheese and dipping it into my tomato soup.

  Bridget wipes her mouth with her napkin, and Lachlan grumbles. “Some lassie’s causin’ problems?” he probes, lifting his glass of lemonade.

  This is the very first time we’ve eaten upstairs together. And since the night Lachlan made me spaghetti, he and I haven’t eaten any meal together, let alone the three of us. So when Lachlan said he was staying home for supper, I offered to prepare it. I used an entire loaf of bread to make grilled cheese, and Lachlan’s already eaten six of them. Although, he won’t dip his sandwich in the tomato soup; he prefers to sip it with a spoon.

  Holding up her finger, Bridget makes an ‘Mmmm’ sound while polishing off her lemonade. Lachlan refills her glass with the pitcher before setting it back down next to a large bouquet of white daisies. I didn’t buy them. Lachlan did. He didn’t say they were for me, but they were on the table when we got home, so I’m assuming they are. It’s a sweet gesture that makes me a little squishy on the inside, as I’ve missed my daisies a lot.

  Bridget sighs heavily. “Dad,” she stresses. “Marcy and I haven’t liked each other since the beginning of high school. This year, I have Spanish with her. It’s no big deal. She’s just a preppy girl who likes to push her weight around. I can handle it.”

  Lachlan’s not convinced when he grumbles again. “If she gives ye any more trouble, ye tell me. I’ll handle it. Aye?”

  Shaking her head, Bridget snorts sarcastically. “How are you gonna do that? Threaten a seventeen-year-old girl? Beat her up? Run her over with your motorcycle?” Her tone turns sweet. “Thanks for caring, Dad, but Mags and I have already got this one covered.” She winks at me with a genuine smile, and I want to shrivel up and disappear by the look of sheer annoyance Lachlan veers in my direction.

  What? All that I suggested was that she have Whisky or Sniper drop into her Spanish class to drive the Corrupt Chaos point home. I didn’t want to involve Lachlan. He’s too scary. Sniper or Whisky can instill just enough fear that’ll make the bully notice. If that doesn’t work, I’ve considered kicking the girl’s butt myself. Those Marcy stories are hard enough for me to let go of. If she doesn’t stop, I’m not sure what I’ll do. It won’t be pretty, I can tell you that much.

  A staring match commences between the two of us, and suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore. I push my plate to the side and lean back in the chair, refusing to cower to Lachlan.

  “Well, I’m done,” Bridget dismisses herself and puts her plate in the dishwasher. “Thanks, Mags.” She opens the basement door, and I wave goodnight to her. Lachlan exchanges his unique form of I love you, before we’re propelled into a sea of silence.

  Lachlan tears a piece of another sandwich off with his teeth like a savage, his eyes never wavering. He swallows harshly, and the Adam’s apple in his throat bobs. Following by example, I, too, swallow hard. The tension thickening between us is so dense that I could reach out and touch it.

  The question is: should I stay here and take the tongue lashing he’s preparing to unleash, or do I leave? Should I have sought permission from him before offering my opinions and solutions to Bridget? Did I overstep? Gah! If only I knew. If only he’d tell me. If only he’d set some ground rules, and try being present and not distant. Perhaps he could tell me when my time here has been worn out? Or, maybe tell me how he feels for once?

  Is that why he’s giving me those crude eyes? Growling lowly in his throat, his body hunches over the edge of the table, elbows on the top, and body coils tightly. Should I offer to leave? Should I be the one to make that choice?

  Darn it. If only he’d say something—anything.

  The silence, mixed with his heavy breathing, becomes deafening. So deafening that I can’t take another second of it. “Do you want me to leave?” I blurt, trying hard not to flinch at the thought of leaving Bridget. Of leaving the place I consider home. It makes my heart ache just thinking about it, especially after the amazing day I had today. New York doesn’t sound so appealing anymore.

  I don’t want to go.

  Lachlan snarls in reply, his lip cruelly curling over his teeth. With force, he shucks his plate across the table, and I jump as it clatters to the floor. “Dinnae ye ever fuckin’ ask me that again,” he whispers harshly, as his chest rises and falls so severely that I can see it pumping in and out like the piston of a car.

  What did I do?

  My eyes drop to pick the imaginary lint off my jeans that I changed into after work. I don’t know what that means, or what I’m supposed to say? Don’t you ever fuckin’ ask me that again. . .Does that mean I should go? Or does that mean he doesn’t want me to? Uh, so many damn things I can’t understand, and too many mixed signals.

  A chair scrapes across the old tiled floor. I hear the plate being picked up and placed into the dishwasher before a set of firm hands land on both of my shoulders. I jerk, too, nearly screaming, but my heart lodges in my throat, muting me.

  “Calm down, Mags.” Lachlan starts to rub, massaging his giant fingers into my shoulders. Carefully, he kneads them, and I melt into a puddle of sated mush on the floor.

  Closing my eyes in bliss, his fingers caress the back of my neck as pleasure fueled goosebumps crash like a tidal wave down my body. “I’m sorry aboot the plate. I know I’m an arsehole,” he apologizes sincerely, softly, and so heavily accented that I’m pretty sure I just had a mini orgasm. If only every day could feel this way with him.

  “It’s okay,” I concede breathily.

  “Pip loves ye. And she trusts ye.” His fingers move to my scalp, and my body relaxes further, turning me into an overcooked noodle. “I just need ye tae keep me informed. I dinnae want her not tae speak tae me, but I know ye’re a female, and she needs another female tae have her back.”

  “I always have her back,” I confirm.

  “I know that.”

  He does?

  “You do?”

  “Aye, I do” He changes the subject. “How was yer first day at the shop?”

  Did he really just ask that? Did you hear it, too, or was that a figment of my imagination? That sounded awfully domesticated fo
r a man who’s been continually withdrawn since I met him.

  In response, I want to scream it was flippin’ awesome before I kiss him hard. Instead, I go the smooth, evasive route. “It was fine. They were fine.”

  Wait?! What?! Did I just say I wanted to kiss Lachlan? Holy crapola, I did.

  His fingers comb through my loose hair, and I sigh. I’d taken a shower when we got home and let my hair air dry. Now, I’m so glad that I did or I wouldn’t have his fingers sifting through it. If he keeps this up, he might put me to sleep.

  “Just fine? Did Cas treat ye all right? Ye didnae get mistreated, did ye?” He sounds genuinely thoughtful, and the squishiness triples.

  The tips of his fingers tickle down my neck. “He. . .” I shiver head to toe. “He was fine, Lachlan. I promise. They were all very nice, and helpful. I think I’m gonna like working there.”

  “Are ye plannin’ tae leave after ye get Viola fixed?” he puts me on the spot.

  “Do you want me to leave after I get Viola fixed?”

  I turn the tables on him, to gauge something about him—anything. I can never get a steady grip on anything he does or says. It’s all too vague and wishy-washy. One minute, he’s sweet and caring; the next, he’s growling, broody, and pee’d off. It’s whiplash at its finest. Whiplash I’m happy to endure if it leaves me with his hands in my hair, talking like a normal person with me. This is kind of nice.

  Do you want me to leave after I get Viola fixed?

  Smart lassie. Mags is changin’ my question, just like that. If she could see what touchin’ her is doin’ tae my cock, then she’d already know her bloody answer, now wouldn’t she?

  My fingers comb down tae the bottom of her long hair, untanglin’ the soft curls.

  “Lachlan?” she mutters.

  “Aye?” I reply, even though I know she’s waitin’ tae hear my response.

  “Do you want me to leave after I get Viola fixed?” she repeats with a wee tinge of attitude. The attitude I didnae know she had, or if I even liked it when she first threw it at me. Now, I dream aboot that attitude. I dig that shit.

  Time tae set the truth free. I dinnae wanna admit it, but I dinnae wanna hurt her feelings by bein’ an arsehole either. “I dinnae want ye tae leave. This is yer home. Ye belong here. Pirate, the bloody bastard, likes ye better than me now.” I chuckle under my breath. It’s true. The wee bastard loves the shit outta Mags. I’m the consolation prize when she’s not around. I bet he’s sleepin’ in her bed right this second. “And Pip would be sad tae see ye go,” I tack on for the hell of it.

  Sighin’ deeply, her head drops back and I cradle it in my palms. Openin’ her sleepy eyes, she looks up at me. “I love my new job. And, thank you for this house, and for all of your help. And, for the flowers.” She points tae the daisies that I bought for her today. I’d only planned on pickin’ flowers up for Pip, but couldn’t bear tae leave Mags out. She’s the first lassie I’ve bought flowers for, other than Pip, in a long time.

  She’s not done. “Bonez came by today and I have an appointment with him tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  After I’d left her piss-poor physical therapist’s office, I went straight tae Bonez. He cut a client loose so we could have a sit-down. Loungin’ on the couch in his office, I laid it all out for him and told him aboot the flirtatious lassie who Mags was seein’. Bonez already knew her, and didnae looked surprised. We got a plan mapped out and my rules laid down, just like I did with Cas. Bonez may not be as much of a horny bastard as Cas, but he still needed a talkin’ tae. Got our shit square. Now my leannan has a lad tae fix her leg. Just like she should have had in the first bloody place. If I had taken my head out of my arse long enough tae help her, instead of avoidin’ the lassie, she woulda recovered faster.

  “Lachlan, are you okay?” She gazes up at me, dreamily.

  Damn it. I was starin’ at her with my head tipped down and my mouth open. I close it. “Aye. Sorry aboot that.”

  “Were you thinking?”

  Bloody hell, I hate when she sounds so sweet. It makes my heart beat faster and slower all at the same damn time. I tell ye, it’s the wildest feelin’ in the world.

  Keepin’ one hand under her head, I use my finger tae trace the smooth line of her jaw up past her ear, and back down again. I lick my bottom lip, as the pad of my finger shoots pleasure straight tae my cock. Pre-come soaks through my jeans, givin’ me a wet spot.

  “Lachlan,” she breathes huskily, and I know this is doin’ somethin’ for her, too. Her chest is risin’ and fallin’ quickly, her hands clutchin’ the front of her t-shirt just under her tits.

  Fuck, I should stop, but cannae.

  My finger passes over her jaw, and her eyes flutter closed as she exhales a shudderin’ breath. “God,” she groans, “that feels good. Soooo good.”

  My balls draw up, achin’.

  I cannae last much longer. I’ve gotta stop and run tae the barn tae relieve this pressure. My cock bucks against my zipper, agreein’ with me.

  I cannae tell ye a time in my entire life that I’ve had this uncontrollable urge tae cuddle, fuck, kiss, touch, and blow inside a particular blonde lassie, with big round tits, flawless skin, and soft curves in all the right places. This urge is so bloody strong that I’m startin’ tae feel like somethin’s wrong with me.

  How have I never felt this bloody way before?

  When I was a young lad, I focused on school and never dated. Even in Scotland, where I felt more like myself, I still dinnae date. I’m too shy for that, and I dinnae trust anybody. My uncle was a fair lad; we got along well enough, and he took me in when my father didnae want me. I was “too much trouble, and gettin’ in tae too many fights,” he’d said.

  Fights that all started back when I was a wee lad in primary school, and the boys used tae tease me aboot my fiery ginger hair. And if it wasn’t that, it was how big I was, or that my cock looked funny tae them. When I came back tae America for high school, my hair had grown darker and I was even bigger than before. Only, this time, none of the bastards fucked with me. I played American football, then joined the Navy. That’s when my Navy brothers started tae flock tae me, wantin’ tae be my best pal. The accent drew in the lassies, and they reaped the benefits of screwin’ those lasses, since I had na desire tae fuck my way through life. But I did get a ton of free beer outta bein’ the Scottish wingman. It was a win-win; they fucked and I drank.

  Then along came Pip, changin’ the game. Changin’ everything, makin’ life better and worth livin’. But, with her, came her mother.

  I was coastin’ along in a dead marriage that died pretty much as soon as it happened. A marriage I’ve hated bein’ in for years, but didnae have the balls tae end, until now.

  Obviously, Meredith would never leave me. Why would she? I was her meal ticket. Bought all of her clothes, and took care of her messes. I slept on the couch, even though I knew when she stumbled through that front door at three in the mornin’, she’d reek of spirits and been freshly fucked. Then I’d hold her head back in the mornin’ as she threw up from her hangover. Afterward, I’d workout tae release all this fuckin’ aggression I’ve got bottled inside.

  Never told anyone this before, and I’ll never tell Mags. It’s not somethin’ I’m proud of.

  Four years into my marriage, if ye can call it that, Meredith and I were fuckin’ once a month or less. I never initiated it. She did. The one time in the four years of our marriage that I forgot tae wear a condom, I ended up with The Clap. Na matter how many times I’ve taken antibiotics since, I’ll never forget the day the symptoms started. It was the same day my doctor assumed I had cheated on my wife, and gave me hell aboot it. In the military, they dinnae take the shit lightly. I had tae attend marriage counselin’ with her, and we both took a round of antibiotics tae cure it.

  I’ll never fail tae recall the fury on that doctor’s face when he thought I’d screwed around on her, as he lectured me on the responsibilities of a husband. Those words stuck wit
h me and were repeated over and over in my head whenever I was gonna leave her. Whenever she came home pregnant or had the crabs (twice), I lived by that mantra the military doctor had instilled. Then, five years ago, I stopped carin’ altogether, and also stopped takin’ her tae the doctors after I found out they had diagnosed her with genital warts. Couldn’t take the pain anymore. Enough had been enough.

  Guess it wasn’t enough though, ‘cause she stayed and I tolerated her bullshit. I endured her tantrums when she’d be bloody pissed that I didnae give her enough money tae buy booze, or whatever the bloody hell else she wanted. I tolerated the slaps across the face, when she was so angry she couldn’t contain her rage. Rage at me for knockin’ her up. Rage for not givin’ her enough money. Rage for her car breakin’ down. Rage for bein’ the lousy husband with the ugly cock. Rage. . .Rage. . . .Fuckin’ rage.

  “Lachlan.” Mags’s concerned voice tears me from my memories, and into the present. Shakin’ my deluded head tae clear it, I gaze down at her, my finger hoverin’ just above her lips, my cock now flaccid. “Tell me what you were just thinking about. You were staring off into space, but it wasn’t a good kind of space. Your face is all mean and scary looking. Did I do something wrong?”

  Bloody hell.

  She does every damn thing right. It’s not her that’s the problem. It’s me.

  Fuck!

  Something’s wrong. I can feel it. Lachlan’s demeanor isn’t the usual sullen. It’s a different kind of sullen; a broken one. His finger paused at my chin minutes ago. When those eyes clouded over, his finger skimmed the skin below my lips, lifted, and has been hanging there motionless for what feels like forever. I wanted to give him a chance to break through whatever fog he’d leapt into, but when he didn’t reemerge and those lines between his eyes sunk deeper, I knew I had to impose.

  Scooting me back in my chair, Lachlan grabs my hands and pulls me to stand. I stumble forward, my palms connecting with his rock-hard chest. He growls something under his breath, and his hands trap my hips. Gently digging his fingers in, he pushes me back and my palms fall away. Coldness seeps into me.