“Guess it is.” He comes to a stop behind me, looking over my shoulder. “What you lookin’ for?”
“Not sure. Guess I wondered what his wallet would have in it. He must be loaded.”
“You wouldn’t track any of it through those, though.” He reaches around me to point to the bankcards filed in the left side. “Besides, ain’t his money now.”
“Whose is it?” I ask. “What happens now he’s gone? I mean, there’s no Easy or Taylor. Who takes over?”
“The clubs do.”
“Hey?” I spin around to face him, tossing the wallet on the bed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I said the Saints wouldn’t be involved if they didn’t think it was worth it. The business makes it worth it.”
“They can do that?”
“Who else you expectin’ to come collect?” he asks. “IRS? FBI? Nobody cares, as long as things go back to normal. Authorities prefer it if the operations keep runnin’ anyway. They get too many kickbacks to let the business die off. There’s more work for them shuttin’ it down and crossin’ all their Ts and that than keepin’ watch and making sure everybody stays in their place.”
“God. I thought that kind of ‘dirty cops’ crap only happened on TV.”
Bronx shakes his head, looking down at me with his lips set firm. He sighs, and taps the tip of my nose. “Missed you.”
I can’t hide my smile. “It hasn’t been a day since I left.”
“Doesn’t even need to be an hour,” he replies. “Just know that I don’t like not havin’ you around.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
“That you are.” His eyes fix to mine, the brown color warming to a milky chocolate as we stand for what feels like an eternity, just staring at one another. We’ve been at this point before, we’ve shared a kiss, but this moment is so different to the last—it may as well be totally new. We may as well be strangers.
His lips inch upward at the corners, finally pulling apart as he smiles. “You look confused.”
“I am,” I say, dropping my gaze to the floor.
“What about?”
I look back to find his smile gone, concern etched into the hard lines of his face. “About what to do next.”
Bronx slips a hand around my waist, pulling me into his body with a firm hold on my lower back. “We’ve kissed before, Ryan.”
“But not like this,” I whisper. “Not free from anything holding us back.”
He grumbles at my comment, his jaw twitching at the side. “Wanna see where it goes then?”
“God yes.”
Dead bodies on the floor or a nuclear war—neither would stop me from having this moment with him. Bronx leans down, placing his lips gently over mine, tasting me with the reverence of a man who honestly thought he’d never have the chance to do this ever again. I slip a hand into his hair, holding the back of his head as he pushes deeper, notching the kiss higher in intensity but not pace. It’s slow, sensual, and speaks volumes.
“Jesus, you two. I didn’t mean you had to take it that far.”
We break our kiss, smiling, our foreheads touching, before Bronx turns and looks to Callum where he stands in the door. “I’ll give you yours later, if you like.”
“Looking forward to it, princess.” Callum puckers up and blows Bronx a kiss. “Seriously though, you two are fucking twisted.” He points to the dead packer at his feet. “This dude’s lost his head—quite literally—and still you two find the moment inspiring enough to neck in his presence.” He shakes his head, laughing. “Takes all types.”
“Nah, man,” Bronx says, turning back to place his hand on my cheek as he holds my gaze with a smile. “It only takes one.”
HOMEWARD BOUND
Bronx
You know those moments that as soon as they happen you know it will be a defining moment in your life? Yeah, well walking in and seeing Ryan standing over Eddie, a knife in his shoulder and a gun tucked on her was one of those. Nothing could tell me more that she’d fit in just fine with what I do for a living than that image right there. Demented visions of what our domestic bliss could be like flash through my mind as we walk from the crack house out to my bike. I could fully see her washing the blood from my work clothes with a damn smile on her face, all while I drink a cold beer on our back porch. It’s like some sick and twisted 50s advert up in there, and it couldn’t look better.
“What you thinking about?” Ryan asks as we stop beside my Kawasaki.
“Huh? Nothing really.”
Ryan narrows her gaze on me, but the smile on her face tells me she’s happy to let it go. “How am I getting back to the clubhouse?” She looks around at Callum’s Harley, and back to the Kawasaki. “On that?”
“Yeah.” No brainer, darlin’.
“I don’t have a helmet.” Her eyes go wide with panic. The woman’s just shot up several shady underworld characters, and yet here she is, worried about road safety.
I give her a smile and pass mine over. “I wouldn’t dream of makin’ you go without before me.”
She takes the matte black helmet from my hands and stares down at it. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I was when I told the boys I’d be bringing you home tonight, or die tryin’.”
She doesn’t seem to like my answer very much, scrunching her nose up while she frowns at the helmet. “You know, that was the only thing that made me fight back.”
“What was?” I take the helmet out of her hands before she fidgets it to pieces, and place it over her head.
“The thought of you.”
My hands still, holding the skid-lid on her as I question her silently with my eyes.
“Eddie came close to choking me to death,” she states, a little too matter-of-fact for my liking. “But I thought of you, of us, and what could be, and I fought back.”
I drop my hands to the straps of the helmet, and look at the slight bruising on her throat hidden by the shading in her ink. I loop the straps tight on autopilot. The marks on her skin send a rush of heat through me, but it passes as soon as I remind myself the fucker’s already dead—there isn’t much I can do now.
“We ready to ride?” Callum asks, striking a match as he walks out the front door.
“Yeah, man.”
Shielding the flame as he turns, he flicks the flaming stick in the entrance, igniting a trail of flammable liquid that roars to life and runs into the belly of the house. Flames quickly grow, and I look across to find Ryan staring at the fire, mesmerized.
“Time to go, darlin’.” I swing my leg over the bike, and flick out the pillion pegs for her. “We need to roll out before those flames find anythin’ explosive.”
Ryan takes a last look at the house as smoke pours out the busted windows and door, and then climbs on behind, wrapping her arms under mine and around my chest. Her knees tuck up against my waist, her legs bent right up with the short distance between the seat and the pegs. I glance across to Callum’s bike with the level seat, contrasting to mine where the pillion sits higher than me, and make a mental note to check out the price of Harleys when we get home.
Callum turns his beast over, and before long the crack house is nothing but a plume of dark gray smoke on the burnt orange horizon. We ride into Sioux City, and too soon for my liking, we’re pulling up beside King, Vince, and Mighty outside an all-night diner. I could have ridden with Ryan wrapped around me until the tank ran dry, preferably somewhere remote and miles from a gas station so we’d have no choice but to camp out for the remainder of the night. Could still be arranged.
Ryan unwraps herself from me as I kick the stand down and rock the bike back onto it, her hands gripping my shoulders when she comes close to losing her balance with the movement. I wait for her to dismount first, offering her my hand to steady herself as Callum wanders over to talk to the others.