Battle Hearts

by Nina Levine

  “And pray tell, why?”

  I laugh at the expression on her face. I knew calling Cleo was what I needed tonight. Winter and I arrived home after the egg retrieval at around 4:00 p.m., at which point he had to leave and go to the clubhouse. He didn’t have plans to leave, but Ransom called with something urgent. I was fascinated to watch my husband go from his patient self to pissed the hell off in a matter of minutes. Not with me—with club business. It’s not normal to see his mood shift that fast and to that extreme. I kissed him goodbye and told him I was perfectly good here on my own, which was the truth.

  It’s now 8:00 p.m. and I’m not feeling as great. I haven’t experienced any bleeding or cramping that the clinic mentioned may happen; I’m just really tired and feel like I’ve run a marathon. Calling Cleo was my attempt at making myself feel better and my plan is already working.

  “They help prepare my body to support the embryo so it will successfully implant and grow.”

  “Oh, okay, well that sounds good. Useful. Worth having to shove something up there.”

  “Apparently they cause all kinds of mess, though. I’m not looking forward to that.”

  “What? How?”

  “They melt and leak out.”

  “Good Lord, the things your kid will need to be made aware of when she’s older. I’ll be sure to tell her everything so she can be super grateful for the sacrifices her parents made to bring her into this world.”

  Cleo’s decided we’re having a girl. Secretly, I’d love a girl, but I’m not fussy in any way. Winter likes to go back and forth with her whenever she mentions our daughter. He’s not fussy either, but I think he secretly wants a son, so he always brings up our son when Cleo brings up our daughter.

  “So everything went well today?” she asks.

  “Really well. I mean, I was pretty anxious to start with, but Winter helped me with that. And in the end, I just went with the flow.”

  “How many eggs did they get? Do you know yet?”

  “Eleven.”

  “That’s good.”

  “They won’t all make it, though. I’m trying to keep my expectations low.”

  “Right. Good idea. It takes about five days from here, doesn’t it? Is that what you told me?”

  “Yeah. I know it’s only five days, but it feels forever.” The doctor advised some transfers take place sooner, but I’m working on five days.

  “You’re still taking some time off work, right? And, B, the correct answer here is yes, just FYI.”

  “Do you seriously think Winter will allow me to go straight back to work? I’m taking tomorrow off and having a massage. I’ll also take the day of the embryo transfer off.”

  “Good.”

  “Okay, it’s your turn now. Tell me what’s going on in Cleoland.”

  We chat for another half hour. She catches me up on Mark and Rocky, and how the two of them are having a standoff over Rocky’s love of peeing on their bedroom carpet. She also shares that they’re in discussions over when to start their family. I can tell she’s holding back from me a little, and for now, I let her, but once I’m done with this cycle and my headspace is back to normal, I’m going to be all over her about this. I never want her to feel like she has to tiptoe around her desire to have a baby with me.

  After we finish talking, I take a shower and then insert the pessary. The nurse advised me to lie down for thirty minutes when I do it as that can help minimise the leakage, so I get into bed and watch TV. I’m almost through one episode of Queen of the South when Winter comes home.

  I hear him in the kitchen, banging around in there for a bit before he appears in the doorway of our bedroom. Peeling his shirt off, he throws it in the laundry hamper and eyes me. “How are you feeling?”

  I pause the TV. “Better than you by the looks of it.” Thankfully he hasn’t come back with more bruises or other injuries, but exhaustion clothes him.

  Walking towards the en suite, his hands go to his belt. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

  “Do you need anything, baby?”

  His eyes meet mine, and I take in his mood. Detached. Dark. On edge. “No.” The bathroom door closes behind him and I’m left wondering what happened tonight for my man to come home like this.

  My natural instinct is to go to him. To comfort him. But I’ve learned that trying to comfort him when he’s like this isn’t what he needs. Time alone is, and good God, that’s the hardest thing for me to give him. My nurturing side wants to give so much more than time alone.

  I finish the episode I’m watching and switch the television off. Winter takes longer than usual in the shower, and when he finally comes out, a towel wrapped around his waist, he exits the bedroom without a word.

  Let him go, Birdie.

  He needs time alone.

  What if he doesn’t?

  What if he needs me?

  He doesn’t.

  Stop thinking of what you need.

  Think of Winter.

  Ugh, shut up.

  I hate you.

  Winter reappears and goes into the walk-in robe. When he comes back out, he’s wearing boxer briefs. After taking his towel into the bathroom, he walks around the bed and sits on his side, his back to me.

  I track his every move and keep my eyes firmly on his back, waiting for what he’ll do or say next. I’m worried that something bad has happened, and unable to leave him alone a second longer, I say, “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Winter—”

  “Leave it, Birdie.” His voice is so dark and low I know that everything is not okay.

  I push the covers off and pad out to the kitchen. Locating his bottle of whisky, I pour him a glass and take it and the bottle into him. He meets my gaze when I stand in front of him holding the glass out.

  No words are exchanged as he takes the glass and downs the liquid. Still no words leave his mouth as he refills the glass and drinks it, too. Once it’s empty, he places it and the bottle on his bedside table before taking hold of my hips and pulling me to him.

  Resting his head against my tummy and his hands on my ass, he says, “Thank you.”

  I run my fingers through his hair while we stay like this for a long while. Not once, in the entire time I’ve known him, have I seen Winter like this. Not even during the times he came home from Afghanistan.

  Finally, he lifts his head and looks at me. “Something’s come up for tomorrow, and as much as I wish I could move it, I can’t. I’m sorry, angel.”

  Winter had planned to take tomorrow off to spend with me. I’m disappointed he can’t now, but I’ll never make him feel bad for having to take care of other stuff. He’s been amazing throughout this cycle; I couldn’t have asked for a better husband.

  I cup his cheek, rubbing my thumb over his beard. “It’s good. You don’t need to apologise.” I smile. “This just means I can spend all your money on pampering myself without you knowing.”

  I expect a smile from him or a smartass comment, but he doesn’t give me that. Instead, he searches my eyes and nods. “Spend it all.”

  “Hey,” I say, crawling onto his lap and wrapping my arms around him, wanting to take his worries away. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. Honestly, I’m not upset. Life happens and plans are thrown out. It’s not the end of the world.”

  He smooths his hand over my hair and brings his mouth to mine in a kiss that starts out slow and deepens with every passing second. He takes his time with it, his erection letting me know how much he wants me.

  “Fuck,” he rasps, dragging his mouth from mine as his hands slip under my T-shirt. Lifting my shirt over my head, his gaze moves down my body to take in every inch of me. Flicking my bra undone, he removes it. He then brings his lips to my breast and takes my nipple into his mouth.

  His touch lights me up even though sex is the last thing on my mind. I may not fuck him tonight, but I’ll show him how much I want him in other ways.

  Dragging his mouth from my breast, I b
ring it back to mine and kiss him. He tastes like whisky with some anger on the side. “Baby,” I murmur in between kisses, “let it go. Be with me and let that shit go.”

  His eyes question me, and I know what he’s asking. Am I up for this?

  I push his boxers down, reach for his cock, and slowly slide off him to kneel. With my eyes firmly on his, I take him into my mouth, gliding my tongue over him in all the ways he loves. His deep growl of approval is all I need to know he’s getting out of his head, and I continue to suck him and work him with my hand to get him right out of it.

  “Fuck,” he growls when I take his balls into my mouth. Scooping my hair into his hand, he pulls it back and grips it while I bring him closer to orgasm.

  He comes down my throat, coming faster than ever. I swallow every drop even though it’s not my favourite thing to do. Tonight, I’d do anything he asked. Anything to make him feel good.

  When he’s finished, I let him go and sit back. He leans forward and kisses me again. He still tastes like anger. Without saying anything, he leaves me to go into the en suite.

  I stare after him, not fully recognising the man I married. I mean, he’s there for sure, but it feels like I’ve just been with a Winter I don’t really know. And when he comes back to bed, kisses me goodnight, and spoons me, still without a word, I know something serious has happened tonight; this is a new side of Winter. A side I’m not sure what to do with.

  15

  Winter

  * * *

  I exit the truck and make my way to where Javier Torres waits for me. Ransom is behind me, Hunt, behind him. We’ve also got men watching and ready to take action if Torres pulls anything.

  “Winter, I see you brought many friends,” Torres says. “That was unnecessary.”

  It was necessary. When I’ve got enemies that I can’t see coming at me, it’s fucking necessary. We lost a man last night; I’ll be fucked if we’ll lose another.

  I pull my sunglasses off. “Let’s just get this the fuck over with so we can all leave.”

  His mouth forms a thin line. “Let’s just remember who’s supplying who here. I don’t appreciate your tone.”

  I work my jaw while silently waiting for him to get on with it. If I speak, I’ll say something I can’t take back, and at this point, I can’t afford to fuck this up.

  Torres motions for his men to open their truck. To me, he says, “We have everything King requested.”

  That’s the best piece of news I’ve heard all fucking day. The last time Torres and I spoke, he informed me he may not be able to meet our request. He gave me some bullshit story about not being sure what the cartel had shipped. I’d come here expecting to piss him off with a demand to get the rest of our coke to us fast. I didn’t believe for a second that he had no knowledge of what the cartel had shipped, and I was willing to call him on it. Now we might have half a chance of building a relationship.

  Ransom and I inspect the delivery. When we’re both happy with it, I nod for Hunt to pay Torres.

  “The next shipment will arrive in eight weeks,” Torres says as my men load the coke into the truck. “The price will go up to the original price at that time.”

  “Like fuck it will,” I say, squaring my shoulders and preparing for battle. I knew this motherfucker would screw with us today. “That was never the deal.”

  “The only deal we had was the one for today.”

  “That’s bullshit, Torres, and you know it.”

  He removes his glasses, his eyes cold as ice like usual. “I’d be very careful about what you say to me. I can’t imagine King being happy if you lose this deal for him.”

  I step closer, my entire body vibrating with the anger filling me. “And I’d be very careful that you don’t piss the wrong people off by fucking them over. Your cartel might have power in your country, but my club has power in this one.”

  The vein in his temple pulses. I’ve pissed him off, that much is for sure by his body language. “You do not want to go down this path, Winter.”

  “I’m very aware of the path I want to go down, Javier, and it is this one. I want confirmation the price stays the same by the end of today, and if I don’t get it, be prepared to feel the ramifications of fucking with Storm.”

  I slide my sunglasses back on and motion to my men that we’re leaving. One more minute in Torres’s company and I may just give in to my desire to inflict pain on him. Not a productive use of my time today.

  When we’re in the truck on the way to our storage facility, Ransom says, “Axe texted. He’ll be at the clubhouse in an hour to go over last night.”

  “You saw Memphis this morning?”

  “Yeah. He’s doing better today. Doc thinks he’s out of the woods now.”

  It’s been three days since he was shot. And although we don’t have confirmation yet, I know deep in my gut that whoever shot him and Thorn, killed Johnson, another club member, last night.

  We drive the rest of the way in silence, each lost in our thoughts. Once we arrive at the warehouse, we quickly unload the coke and leave Striker on watch duty before returning to the clubhouse.

  I’ve just reached my office when Birdie calls.

  “You good?” I ask as I drop down into my chair.

  “Yes.” She hesitates for a moment. “I heard from the embryologist.”

  I frown at what I hear in her voice. “What’s wrong?” She sounds off. Uncertain about something.

  “Nothing’s wrong. Nine of the eggs fertilised overnight.”

  “Fuck, that’s good.”

  “Yes.” I can still hear her hesitating with me.

  “Birdie, what’s wrong?” I left home early this morning, which didn’t give me much time with her. I made sure she was feeling okay, but I don’t know where her head is at today.

  “Nothing. I’m good with this news.”

  “Is something else bothering you?”

  “No. Umm…. No. I’m good. I’ll let you go.” Axe appears at my door, drawing my attention long enough for Birdie to say, “Just text me when you’re leaving tonight so I can get dinner finished.” She hangs up on me before I can stop her.

  “Fuck,” I mutter when I realise she’s gone. I scrub a hand over my face, wondering what’s going on in her mind today.

  “Everything okay here?” Axe asks, pulling up the chair across from me.

  I eye him, taking in the lines on his face. “Yeah. You look like shit, though.”

  He exhales a long breath. “I feel it, too.”

  “That baby still keeping you awake at night?” Axe’s son Asher is six months old and Axe has told me previously that he’s a bad sleeper.

  “Yeah, plus travelling here, there, and fucking everywhere. After this trip, I’m heading back to Sydney and refusing to leave for a good year.”

  “How long are you in town for this time?”

  “A week, hopefully less if I can swing it. Zane’s got me meeting some bigger clients who’ve just come on board.” He pauses. “How are things here with everything that’s going on?”

  “Not good. I’m hoping you’ll be able to shed some light on shit.”

  “I took the information Hunt gathered from that list of Albert’s and there’s only bad news. The messaging system this gang’s using to get in touch with their customers is untraceable. Nothing else they told you is of any value either. Also, we pulled surveillance footage to get a look at the plates on the car from last night, and they were blackened out. The only thing we could figure out was the make and model, and that information is useless unless you wanna sort through thousands of Mazdas in Victoria.”

  Johnson was shot leaving the clubhouse last night. Whoever shot him was sending us a clear message by coming here to do it. They want us to back off. The last thing I’ll be doing. Someone wants to point a fucking gun at me and make a threat, they’re gonna have to pull the trigger to get me to stop.

  “So we have nothing new to go on, then?”

  “No.”

  I sta
nd. “Thanks, brother.”

  Axe frowns as he stands. “That sounds like a dismissal.”

  I shake my head. “No, but I’ve gotta keep moving. I appreciate you looking into this for me.”

  I walk him out and say my goodbyes when I spot Ransom in the clubhouse bar.

  “Anything?” Ransom asks when I join him.

  “No, but it’s helped me figure out what we need to do.”

  “And that is?”

  “It’s time to do whatever we need to do to get their delivery guys to talk.” It could take us days or longer to make this happen. We’ll need to watch the customers Zenith took from us and wait for them to receive a delivery, but if we can’t gain information any other way, this is our best bet.

  “I’ll make it happen.”

  I arrive home just after 8:00 p.m. that night. Later than I preferred, but it couldn’t be helped. Preparing the coke we received today for sale, finalising the run to deliver it, and taking care of other club business kept me busy.

  “Hey,” Birdie greets me when I walk into the kitchen where she’s loading the dishwasher.

  I run my eyes over her as I rest my hip against the kitchen counter. Folding my arms, I ask, “How was your day?”

  She stops what she’s doing for a moment, studying me, before continuing with the dishwasher. “The massage I had was heaven. I just came home after that and watched TV all afternoon. It was a quiet day.”

  Birdie isn’t a woman who spends hours watching television. However, IVF has forced her to give up most of her exercise so I figure TV is a good option. Still, I struggle with this change. Hell, I’m fucking struggling with most of this shit.

  She closes the dishwasher and looks at me. “Your dinner is in the oven. Do you want it now or after your shower?”

  “I’ll get it. You go sit.” I don’t want her running after me; I want her resting.

  “You left before six this morning and have been gone all day and half the night. Let me do this for you.”

  Not wanting to stir her up, I nod. “I’ll have a quick shower while you heat it up.”