“We are not looking for or wasting our time on that mafia boy,” Crown hisses, putting his hands on my arms and leaning down to look into my face. He’s absolutely stunning. His eyes, that soft moss green, and that gently curled chocolate hair with the auburn highlights … I force myself to exhale. I’m so disoriented that my mind is wandering to inconsequential things. “I’ll do my best by you, and I won’t actively send out a team to hunt him. But I sure as hell am not wasting my time looking for him.”
I move to tear myself from Crown’s grip, but his fingers tighten infinitesimally on my arms, and it’s enough to hold my weakened form in place.
“Whether you help me or not, I’m looking for Grey, and I’m getting him off the compound. He risked his life to get in here to bring me the antidote.”
“You won’t be able to get Grey off the compound just now,” Beast muses from behind me, his large, warm hands settling on my waist. Between him and Crown, I feel myself being grounded, just like that stupid fern, planting my roots into the base of a very large, very sturdy tree. The entire world feels like a hectic whirlwind, a violent storm. I make myself find the eye of it, searching out that eerie calm inside of myself and letting it stop the swirling around me.
Gaz is dead; I am not.
I have to embrace that now and question Cat’s motives later.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Crown asks, his face disturbingly clean and free of soot. Free of blood. He doesn’t look like he was in an altercation of any kind. He’s the only one of us that looks like that. So where was he? What the fuck was he doing? “You’re going along with this shit?” He stands up, sliding his palms down my arms in a way that makes me shiver.
Crown acts like he isn’t sure about our relationship, but I don’t think that’s it at all.
He wants me. He knows that. I was meant to be his wife. He just doesn’t know how to work out the logistics of sharing me. I can feel that in the way he touches me right now, in the way he refuses to remove his hands from my upper arms.
“Have you met my wife?” Beast drawls, stepping closer to me, his huge form a comforting presence at my back. “She’s stubborn as hell; she won’t accept any less.” His voice softens slightly, and I can feel his breath stir my hair as he places a kiss against the top of my skull. “Besides,” Beast drawls, lifting his head up and letting those long, lazy vowels lasso around Crown’s neck like a noose. “We already fucked up once by letting her out of our sight today; we owe her this.”
Crown curses, releasing me and running his fingers through his hair.
“We need to make sure that Cat gives out as many injections as possible,” I continue, pointing down the hallway where my father disappeared. “If we don’t, people will start dying; they’ve only got thirty minutes.”
“The Grey Wolfe boy might’ve brought you a small dose of that crap, but he wouldn’t know that we already have it,” Crown says, looking up at Beast before redirecting his gaze back to me. “We got the test results back from our FBI informant; then we had an independent lab craft a separate drug to counter the effects of the first. We just got the initial batch in today.”
My eyes widen in response to that, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Using the FBI’s lab not only guarantees the best possible results, but now the feds know the special breed of drug they’re looking for—and who, exactly, is responsible for it.
I would not be surprised if I were to get a visit from the feds, although it’s possible that Death by Daybreak’s pet is keeping my name off the books. Who knows?
“If Cat knows that …” I trail off and swipe my hands down my face. I’m trembling, but there’s nothing to be done about it. Yep, yep, definitely in shock. That, and my face hurts. My goddamn fucking everything hurts. But I imagine it’s mostly bruises; Beast’s body shielded me from the worst of the explosion. I glance back at him, but even though he’s more bloodied than I am, he stands there like an immortal force, something impenetrable and eternal, a pillar of strength. “Okay, so if he knows about the antidote, then he’ll administer it.”
Although it might be too late for some. It’s definitely been longer than a half an hour since people started drinking from the kegs and snorting up coke. Fuck. We’ll have lost people tonight. How many, I’m not sure, but Gaz has done a goddamn number on this club.
What the hell did he hope to gain from that?
I think about that for a second, about the purposes of setting off a bomb in his own clubhouse. Gaz would never actually want to see Death by Daybreak destroyed, but if he were to get rid of my boys, and our dad, maybe a few of the old-timers, then he’d be clearing away his only opposition.
He could’ve, theoretically, taken over things, got himself voted in as president.
Especially if he were to blame the whole thing on me and the officers, if we were the traitors he so gloriously defeated.
But also …
“The families,” I say, feeling my blood go cold. “Anyone who isn’t on the compound is at risk.”
“I already gave the order,” Crown tells me, and the adrenaline in my veins spikes doubly over that. One, because I find his intelligence and capability awe-inspiring and undeniably attractive. Second, it means I’m thinking along the right lines. “We’re rounding everyone up who’s off-compound.”
“Grey then,” I assert, moving onto the next problem as my eyes flick back in the direction of my father’s office. I can see Gaz’s body, the small bloody entry wound on the back of his head, the mess of red and pink around him. “Cat ordered you to clean up the body; I really don’t want Nellie to see.”
“I’m not going to ask you to deal with your brother’s body, Gidge,” Crown tells me, frowning hard. He lets out a sharp sigh. “Why don’t the two of you look for … that boy.” The edge of his lip curls up in disgust. “Take him back to the farmhouse.”
“My farmhouse,” I correct automatically, and Crown gives me this impossible look. I don’t understand any part of it, and I’m in no state to dissect the emotions of one of these assholes. “Thank you.”
“You’re the end and beginning of everything for me, aren’t you, Gidget?” Crown asks with an exasperated sigh.
“It’s Gidge,” I correct him, the reverse correction to the one I’ve used my whole life. At first, nobody was allowed to call me Gidge. Nobody but my sisters and Reba. Now, the boys have to call me Gidge because the sweet, soft familiarity of a nickname is a light in the endless darkness of my world.
I need that, a soft place to land.
Is it possible that four inked outlaw bastards could be that softness for me? Could be my landing strip when I descend from a stormy sky?
Fuck, you’re a maudlin bitch, aren’t you? I think, forcing another exhale to calm myself down.
Crown places his warm hand on the back of my neck and leans down, brushing a fervent kiss across my lips that burns as good as it hurts. I’m in so much pain from Gaz’s punch, but I’d accept that agony for the rest of eternity if it meant that I could keep kissing Calder Reid.
I’ve never kissed anyone that simultaneously tastes like the most loving man I’ve ever met, and also the biggest alpha-hole dickhead. Crown is both of things concurrently; there is no untangling one from the other.
He pulls away, and I see that his own mouth is now glossy with my blood, giving him that edge that Beast and I have, making him look a little more real and a little less perfect. Where were you? I wonder again, but I don’t have time to ask right now.
We’re on a strict time limit.
“Take care of her for me,” Crown breathes, licking my blood from his lips like that isn’t a particularly weird or morbid thing to do. It just makes sense here, in this strange world of ours.
“I don’t need any advice on how to handle my wife,” Beast says, almost absentmindedly, and Crown scowls at him. I mean, he fucking scowls. Viciously. And then off he goes, to deal with my brother’s body. He could probably use some help, but he’s right in that I don’t particularly want to be inv
olved with burying Gaz.
My throat closes up as I move to head down the hall, subsequently stumbling and finding myself righted by Beast.
“If he were going to hide, where would he be?” Beast asks, his voice soft near my ear. I lean into it, so dizzy that I can barely keep my feet, even with my new husband’s help. Husband. But it’s so much more than that, isn’t it? Beast has chosen me, over everyone and everything—including the club.
I think on his statement for a minute, the wheels in my addled brain turning.
Where would he be? More like, where would I be? Because Grey and I are the same person in different bodies. I touch two fingers to my jaw, and blinding white agony explodes inside my skull. Did Gaz break my jaw? Fuck, I hope not. I hear jaw surgery’s a bitch.
If I were trapped on the mafia compound, then what would I do? What would I try for? Especially knowing there was an attack, that people would be looking for me. Everyone in the club and their fucking grandmother is going to be combing this place except … except for me.
Ding, ding, ding.
Grey would look for a place that’s undeniably mine. Somewhere that, if the club were searching, he might just be able to hide out.
“The farmhouse,” I say, turning to Beast and knowing that Reba could—and absolutely would—show Grey how to get there. If they doled out what they had of the antidote and took off while melee was still occurring, they might’ve been able to pull it off. “I think they’re already at the farmhouse.”
Beast nods, running his fingers down his smooth face and then frowning at them like he already misses his beard. He shakes his hand out like it hurts and meets my eyes with those gorgeous robin’s egg blue ones of his.
“Good. Because that’s exactly where I’d take you if we didn’t have anything else to do.” Before I can think to protest—or shit, maybe I should be thanking the guy—Beast grabs me and hefts me over his shoulder like a caveman carrying off his bride.
“Put me …”
I don’t remember finishing that sentence.
I must be particularly prone to fits of melancholy and rancor because my mind is filled with snippets of dark things. All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. Edgar Allan Poe’s dark poetry filters through my skull, likely summoned up by the same monster that encouraged me to compare the murder of my brother to a Steinbeck novel.
I guess it’s easier that way sometimes, to understand life through literature and dreams.
Images of the clubhouse, smoky and stinking of sex and alcohol, trickle into my subconscious followed by bursts of remembered carnality and heat. This is for Kian. I see blood; I see longing; I see Cat standing alone in a field.
More clearly than anything else, I see the four coffins laid out in front of him.
Four coffins for four children.
Three of them have closed lids, shiny and dark, littered with red roses and ash that’s wet from the rain.
The one on the end is open and empty.
I know in that disturbing certainty that only comes in dreams that the fourth coffin is meant for me. It’s only empty because I’m not in it—yet.
A groan of pain escapes my dry lips, so loud that it actually wakes me up.
My eyes flutter open, and I blink away sticky cobwebs to look up at a wood ceiling. My head is cradled by Beast’s pillow, my body covered with blankets that are undeniably soaked with his beautiful smell. Tea and books and leather.
I sit up suddenly and nearly conk my head into my husband’s.
“Easy, Gidge,” he breathes, putting his palm against my forehead. I move to shove him off, but he takes my wrist in his fingers and looks me right in the eyes. “Your friends are here; I put Grey in the attic for now. If he has to, he can climb onto the roof and crawl into the chimney. Crown forgot to put the cap back on after he did some repairs.”
“Can I come in now?” Reba demands from the other side of the door, and I moan as I force myself to remain in a sitting position. Beast releases my head and sits back on his haunches beside the bed. “That brute locked me out!”
I rub at my forehead, glancing over at the clock on the nightstand. Holy fuck!
“I’ve been asleep for six hours?!” I scream, shoving the blankets back and struggling to free myself from the tangled sheets. Beast grabs me by the shoulders and holds me still, using a gentle strength to keep me from thrashing around. “I need to get to the hospital, Beast,” I snap, trying and failing to move his hands even a fraction of an inch away from my shoulders. “Sin and Grainger …”
My voice breaks, and I lift up a gaze that I know isn’t appropriate. It’s one that begs with every blink, that shimmers with unspoken hopes that I have no right to have. My life has never been easy; it’s never been simple. I’ve lived through one horrible tragedy after another. How could I ever expect to ride into the sunset with not one, not two, but four men that I love with my whole heart? When the fuck did I ever allow myself to want and need that?
I’m a beautiful fool, that’s for sure.
“They’re both alive,” Beast says, wetting his lips in a way that tells me that’s far from the full story. “But Grainger needs another surgery; we need to get to the hospital quick, suge.”
Shit, shit, shit.
I try to surge up to my feet, but Beast holds me where I am, forcing me to meet his gaze yet again.
“You need to take it easy; your face is swollen, and your body is purple, darlin’. You shouldn’t rightfully be up at all. Honestly, a hospital visit for you wouldn’t be entirely out of order.” I finally succeed in shoving his hands off of my shoulders, but only because he lets me.
Then I’m up and unlocking the door, surprised to find both Grey and Reba waiting for me on the other side, my dog wagging his tail at me from down the hall. Fem doesn’t approach though, keeping his distance from both Grey and Beast probably. He hates men.
Reba’s face breaks into pieces at whatever she sees on mine.
“Oh goodness, sugar, what did he do to you?” She touches her fingers to my cheeks on either side but even her featherlight touch is too much, and I cringe. I can only imagine what I look like now that the swelling’s set in. “Gidge …”
“I need you to stay here while we’re gone,” I say, letting my gaze trail past Reba and over to Grey. As soon as Beast steps up beside me and sees that the mafia brat is standing in his hallway, he goes all cold and scary the way he did when he beat the crap out of Gaz. More specifically, when I begged him not to kill Gaz. Not for my brother’s sake, obviously, but for his own. “Wait.” I hold my right arm out, blocking the doorway. Could I ever physically stop Beast? Even if I were to drop all other hopes and dreams and throw myself into a fitness career? Nah. I’m woman enough to admit that: I will never be able to beat Catcher Coffey when it comes to sheer, brute strength alone.
But luckily, I don’t have any need to do that.
Because Beast has gifted me his leash; it’s attached directly to his heart. And, if we’re being honest, probably his cock, too, right? I want to laugh hysterically because, like, this is exactly the sort of wedding day someone like me would have.
I got one, hot quickie with my new hubby and then bam, my entire life is ruined, and nothing in the universe makes sense. How could Cat shoot Gaz over me? How? I don’t understand, and, like with most humans, I am terrified of the things I understand the least.
“Grey,” I say again, and he sighs dramatically, reaching out a finger to brush some of my hair back. It seems to be, uh, stuck to my forehead with sweat. Fantastic. Beast snatches Grey’s wrist before I can stop him, and the latter gives an angry cringe at the awful sort of cracking sound that ensues.
“You can be friends, but don’t fuckin’ touch,” Beast says, very calmly, very evenly. He releases Grey’s hand as the boy rubs at his wrist like it hurts. Must not be broken though or he wouldn’t be rubbing at it like that. Thank fuck.
“You look as terrible on your wedding day to Beast as you did on your one to me
,” Grey offers up, rather dryly I might add. Ballsy, considering he’s on enemy territory once again.
“Have you learned anything since you were last kidnapped and held prisoner by the club? Don’t be a salty idiot, Grey,” I warn him, even as I feel Beast tensing further behind me. I have no doubt that without me standing between them—metaphorically more so than physically—that Beast would not hesitate to kill Grey Wolfe. “You’re in big trouble here; there’s no time or resources to get you off the compound for a while.”
“Wouldn’t be possible right now anyway,” Beast amends again, as if he feels it’s important for Grey to hear that. Why, I’m not sure. Warning him to stay away so he doesn’t die for my benefit? Mm. Probably not. More like, he wants to know what, exactly, Grey knows before he releases him.
Because if Grey is caught and tortured again, what will he tell the club about us? Might be a moot point since whatever Gaz showed my father on his phone was presented like indisputable evidence. Still, it never hurts to be cautious.
Cat might still come for me.
No part of me believes that I’m out of the woods just yet.
“I wouldn’t go to the hospital if I were you, not right now,” Grey tells me with a sigh. He points right at my forehead and closes one eye. “There are snipers all over waiting to shoot you in the face.”
“I survived the motorcade,” I say, my palms itching as I think about Grainger, about Sin. If Beast is actually willing to risk taking me to the hospital, then things must be bad. They must be really, really bad. “What makes this any different?”
“You survived the motorcade because I helped you out. I had Reba slip me information about anything she could come up with, much of it relevant and factual. When I gave my father the incorrect start time for the motorcade, he believed me.”
I give Reba a harsh look, and she cringes.
Like … is her loyalty to Grey now? For fuck’s sake.
“It was the only way. I couldn’t see you get hurt,” she whispers, and I grit my teeth, make my head explode with fireworks of pain, and then remind myself to never, ever do that again. Maybe Beast is right? Maybe I do need a doctor?
I Will Revel in Glory Page 2