“Damn, King,” he cries out, wiping his face with a sleeve.
I swipe the screen to answer and mouth a sorry as I do.
“Delivery is made,” Sawyer reports, using the lingo we’ve picked for open lines, “but we’ve lost some of the load.” Code for casualties.
“Which ones?” I ask, my gaze meeting Ryan’s.
“Consignments beginning with A, G, and N.”
N—our prospect Nathan. I knew I shouldn’t have allowed him to go, but the kid was determined to be of use. “How did we lose Consignment N?” I ask. “That one was supposed to be kept undercover.”
“Moved in transit.” Bastard kid never did do as he was told.
“Damages?”
“Five, but nothing a bit of tape can’t fix.”
“Good.” The intensity of four sets of eyes watching me burns into my skull.
“One of them is the money-maker.”
Fuck. Harris is hurt. “I’ll meet you back at the depot to assess the cost.”
“Sure thing. We’re runnin’ empty.” Code meaning they’re out of ammo. Had to be one interesting night for them considering how many boxes they rode out with.
I hang up the call and place the phone down on the table. “They lost three: Alvez, Grinch, and Nathan. On their way back to the clubhouse. We’ll meet them there.” The guys nod, the light banter they’d been enjoying shot to hell.
“What about Dad?” Ryan asks.
I swallow away the nerves at hearing her call him that, and gesture for Mighty to get out of my fucking way. “We better hit the road if we want to make it home today.”
“King,” she pleads. “What about my dad?”
“On his way back with them.” I walk away, pretending not to hear her asking me more questions as I strike up a conversation with Mighty. I’m feeling every bit the asshole I’m acting, but what should I tell her? Your old man’s got cancer, and so I don’t know how well equipped his body is to recover from battle wounds? Yeah, doesn’t sound right. Even if I did break the news, one, I don’t want a scene in public that’ll draw additional attention to our being in Omaha City tonight, and two, who the fuck wants to learn their parent is dying while they’re sitting miles from home in a damn diner? Where even is her home, now?
The least I can give the girl is the dignity of having her world broken further apart in private. At least in the clubhouse I can find a room for her and Bronx to shack up in and spend the night together, leaving him to do what he’s gagging to do and comfort her when she needs it most. After today, I don’t think he’s going to get a better opportunity to show the woman what she means to him.
I just wish I had the same support for myself when the dark days set in. Every time I think the dust has settled, a damn hurricane rolls in, stirring it back up. There’s nothing worse after a day of bloodshed than slipping into a cold bed and having your regrets amplified by the black chasm of loneliness steadily splitting your heart in two.
ENOUGH
Bronx
“I need to wash my hair,” Ryan says as we enter the common room after our ride back. “It’s like cement on my head.” She fingers the stiff up-do, grimacing.
“A shower sounds good,” I say, closing my eyes at the thought. “But you need to see Gloria about that shoulder.”
She glances down at the makeshift bandages. “Why was King being so evasive?”
I turn my head to where he pulls up a seat at the bar, accepting a drink from Dog. “Don’t know. But he’s not the kind of guy to keep something from you if he thought you needed to know.”
She glances to the door, longing clear in her eyes. “Do you think they’ll take long to get back?”
I shrug, genuinely unsure. “Who’d know for sure.” She turns her gaze to meet mine when I reach out and take her hand. “But like I said, you need to get that shoulder sorted.”
“Give me a minute to psyche myself up, okay?”
I grumble as Gloria crosses the room to talk to King. “You’ve got however long it takes for me to get over there”—I say, pointing to Gloria—“and back.”
Ryan hisses under her breath and leans on the arm of a sofa. “Make it quick before I change my mind, then.”
“Can’t leave whatever is in there,” I say. “It’ll get septic.”
“I know.” She rubs her temples, head hung. “Just hurry up.”
Forty minutes later, and Ryan sits pale and wide-eyed beside me on the sofa. She came close to passing out from the pain when her ibuprofen took longer than expected to kick in, but Gloria’s quite a deft hand after so many years, and the worst of it was over quickly. Still, I felt every pop of the needle through her flesh while Ryan was stitched up as though it were my own. She was incredibly lucky—the bullet sliced through the side of her breast and exited just inside her armpit. The majority of the damage was to the tissue, and after the inflammation subsides, it should be quick to heal.
I ease her T-shirt aside and eye the new bandage. “How does it feel?”
“It went numb ages ago. Only hurts if I bump it hard.” She takes a bite of the cookie Sonya gave her to stop the shakes. “Do you think this is it? The end?”
“Darlin’, there is no end.” I put an arm behind her and pull her in carefully, kissing her temple.
“One day at a time then, huh?” She finishes her food and rests for a while, her color slowly returning as she does. “So . . . about that shower?” She twists in my hold and smiles up at me. Her hand slides up the inside of my leg to rub the denim either side of my increasing bulge. The vibrations through the fabric taunt and tease the sensitive flesh beneath.
“What about it?”
“I was kind of hoping you’d join me.” She gently cups my crotch. “We kind of need to finish what we started.”
I run a hand over my face and groan. “I should wait until the others roll in.”
“But?” she prompts, her hand snaking under my T-shirt to rub across my stomach.
“But they could be a while yet.” I lean across and awkwardly hoist her around to straddle my lap. Her hands brace against my chest to save her falling over, and I slam mine over the top to hold her there. “I like havin’ you touching me.”
“Yeah?” she whispers.
“Yeah. Drives me crazy knowin’ I’m enough for you.”
“You were always enough, Bronx.” Her fingers twitch under mine as she smiles. “To tell you the truth, it hurt a lot at the start knowing how ‘enough’ you were and not knowing how to have it for myself.”
“All you had to do was ask, darlin’.”
“Can I?” she says.
“Can you what?” I prompt.
“Can I keep you all for myself?”
“Of course you fuckin’ can.” I take her face in my hands and pull her down to meet my lips. Her hands fist in my T-shirt as I tangle my tongue with hers, loving every inch of how she tastes. “Come on,” I whisper against her mouth. “Let’s get upstairs before the boys get a show.”
“I think they already are.”
I follow her line of sight over my shoulder and catch a few of the guys at the bar watching us with shit-eating grins. Callum tips the neck of his bottle our way, smiling. “Ladies.”
Cheeky fucker. I plant my hands under Ryan’s ass and hoist her up with me, forcing her legs around my waist as she sits on my forearms. She giggles, burying her face in my neck, and it’s the most heart-warming act ever. I’m her security—her safe place. A bolt of pride pushes my chest out as I carry her toward the stairs, and I praise the fact I haven’t trained legs in the last few days as I climb up with her still holding on.
She pulls her head away when we reach the upstairs landing and smiles sadly, placing a chaste kiss to my lips. “Thank you.”