“Fuck you,” she snarled. “Take your fucking money and shove it the fuck up your dick. It doesn’t matter if my fucking money compares to yours. It’s my fucking money and is enough to sustain me. Stop being such an uppity, dumb motherfucker, Knox. Money don’t make a man. What’s in your heart and soul does. Right now? Plain fucking bullshit is in both places.”
“If my money makes you so uncomfortable, you have the problem, not me. The things you want me to have? A tattoo and a bike? That will never happen, unless I’m fucking desperate. Arrogant I may be, but desperate? Never!”
“What the fuck does a fucking tattoo and motorcycle have to do with the fact that you need to shove your fucking money up your goddamn ass?”
“You said you like tattoos and bikes. I don’t have either of those, but at least I have money. You’ll live in luxury.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you ever get a tattoo. I know a bike is out of the question because you’d have to learn to ride and that’s not your thing. When I want to go for a spin, Mort, Digger, or even Outlaw will be happy to take me.”
Any of the other bikers she knew would, too. Knox really, really didn’t like that, but he’d put his foot in his mouth enough, so he stayed quiet. And he’d definitely not bring up the prenuptial agreement at this particular time.
“Lawd, you think having money is the fucking end all, be all. Well, it’s not. You’re just a man,” she said flatly. “A man who can work my last fucking nerve, but one I love with all my heart. I don’t give a fuck if you have money, a tattoo, or a motorcycle. As long as you have a fucking J-O-B, I’m good.”
“I don’t have a job,” he corrected, wondering why she spelled it out. “I have a career.”
“What the fuck ever it is, you’ve made your own way in the world. You don’t sit around all day, doing nothing.”
He nodded, then went to her and pulled her back into his arms. “We never argue. Why are we doing so now especially over trivialities?”
“Frustration,” she answered, hugging his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.
“Roxanne—”
Footsteps pounding up the staircase interrupted him. Immediately, he pushed Roxanne behind him and faced the open door.
“I have no wish to see your naked ass, Harrington,” Cash called, “but if you don’t fucking get the fuck out of here in the next minute or two, all our sneaking will be for nothing. Meggie texted me and said the guys already said they’re leaving in half an hour. That means, there’s a greater chance Outlaw or Johnnie or Mort will see Stretch’s momentary scrambling of the outside feeds. In which case, you’re fucked and so am I.”
“He’s coming, Cash,” Roxanne called.
“I really wish I was,” Knox told her.
She laughed and thumped his back. “Dirty dog.”
He turned and kissed her again. “Sweet kitten.”
“Uh, dead dog and crying kitten if you don’t move your ass,” Cash retorted as if he was part of the conversation.
“Stop being such a nosy motherfucker, Cash,” Roxanne told him.
“I’m sorry for being such a jerk, sweetheart,” Knox said. “Forgive me.”
She caressed his lips. “Always, sugar.”
Forcing himself to pull away from her, Knox stopped at the door, awed all over again by her nudity and her beauty. He blew her a kiss and the smile she gave him lit her entire face.
Suddenly, he was yanked by the back of his shirt and dragged away.
“McCall,” he growled. “I wasn’t fucking finished.”
“Yes, the fuck you were,” Cash insisted, hauling him down the stairs so fast Knox nearly lost his balance.
Outside, they trekked the same way Knox had come earlier, passing the same four guards, who turned their backs and pretended they hadn’t seen them. Cash set a grueling pace to his bike. When they finally reached it, Knox didn’t ask questions. He took the bitch seat with the same urgency Cash jumped on.
Even if Knox had been inclined to complain about the brambles and branches they hadn’t gone through the first time, he doubted Cash would’ve heard. If he did, then he wouldn’t have cared. Besides, he’d spent time with Roxanne, had her in his arms, so that was worth all the scratches, nicks, and bumps he received on the wild ride.
When they reached the main road, Cash turned his bike on a dime, so sharp Knox knew they’d crash. They didn’t, making it to the dead-end street where the club was located, in one piece. Cash halted in the middle of the deserted road, not speaking, allowing his bike to idle. A few minutes later, he started off again. At the gate, it slid open almost as soon as they reached it.
Cash rode to his spot and killed the ignition. “Come on,” he instructed as they dismounted.
“Where are we going now?”
“To fucking fantasy world,” Cash said, rushing ahead. “Where does it look like we’re going?”
“The club.”
“Give that motherfucker a silver dollar.”
Cash paused long enough to glare at Knox. Opening the club door, he allowed Knox to precede him inside. Though after two in the morning, a few bikers remained in the club. Heavy breathing drew Knox’s attention to the pool tables. One of the brothers was fucking a girl. She was completely naked, not caring that the man had merely pulled his cock out through his fly since his pants were still up.
Knox walked on. At the bar, another girl was on her knees sucking Potter’s dick. He’d never been in the club at this hour without Roxanne and the rest of them. The hypersexual atmosphere disgusted him.
“Knox,” Johnnie called over the fuck-sounds, and laughter, and Harley pipes rumbling from outside.
Keeping his eyes forward, Knox went to Johnnie’s table where Cash had sat.
Johnnie poured a glass of Scotch for Knox and kicked out the chair for him to sit. “I think it’s nice that you spent a little time getting to know Cash, Stretch, and Fee.”
Knox looked over his shoulder and nodded toward the indiscriminate sex happening. “This doesn’t bother you?”
Johnnie and Cash exchanged confused glances.
“Do you see something that should?” Johnnie asked. “Is a girl being mistreated?”
“They’re engaged in public sex. Doesn’t that count?”
“Are any of them being forced?” Johnnie persisted.
Knox looked behind him again, then turned to Johnnie and shook his head. “No.”
“Then what they’re doing is none of our business,” Johnnie decided.
Knox searched Cash’s face and then refocused on Johnnie. He’d heard about the wild parties, the orgies, the Bobs, those special women who’d gotten their names because of dick-sucking skills. He’d probably even glimpsed this behavior before, once or twice. It was different now. He lived on the premises.
“I’m going to my room,” he said and walked away.
In the privacy of his room, he leaned against the door. Only for Roxanne would he live in a place like this, surrounded by seamy thugs and illicit activities. Once he was undressed and in bed, though, he decided he’d allow this to go on for another week or so. He missed Roxanne and wanted to be with her.
As he closed his eyes, he didn’t think of her. Cash had given him a cover story about spending the evening at his house. He’d have to thank the man the next time he saw him.
Chapter Twelve
Darkness surrounded Meggie. Underneath her, cold concrete froze her naked body. She twisted, the chains imprisoning her clanking with her movements. Her determination to live, survive, seeped away like sand through an hourglass. She shivered, losing the hope she’d tried to maintain. Her strength deserted her, even as she fought the darkness threatening to claim her. Her children needed her.
Her husband needed her.
She wanted to live. Raise CJ, Rebel, Rule, Ryder, and Ransom to adulthood. Grow old with Christopher.
A deep chill spread through her, stealing her breath. She gasped. The beat of her heart sped up, then slowed down. A sob escaped
her as she gave into the inevitable. She drew in one last breath, but death robbed her midway. The frantic pounding of her pulse rose in her ears, then all went silent.
Even as her brain shut down, deprived of much needed oxygen, Meggie resisted. She didn’t want to die.
Someone was screaming…
“Megan, baby, wake the fuck up. You dreamin’.”
“Christopher,” Meggie sobbed. “I want to live. Please don’t let me die.”
“Shhhh. I’m here, Megan. I got you.”
Her husband’s scent surrounded her. Spice. Man. A hint of smoke and vestiges of alcohol.
Safety.
Shuddering, Meggie opened her eyes. Christopher’s arms wrapped her up. One of his hands cradled the back of her head. Tears streaming down her face, she clung to her husband and wept, angry, afraid, and ashamed. Nightmares plagued her like demons. Once in the midst of one, it gripped Meggie in its dark clutches.
“Wanna talk about it?” Christopher asked.
His subdued tone made her cry harder. “You shouldn’t have disturbed your sleep, Christopher.”
“Baby, you was screamin’ like a motherfucker. Woulda had to be fuckin’ grounded for my ass not to wake the fuck up.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He released her, lifted himself up and braced on his forearm to look at her. His look tender, he thumbed away tears from her cheeks. “If you ain’t sleepin’, I ain’t sleepin’. That shit simple, so don’t fuckin’ apologize. We in this shit together.”
She nodded, grateful to be alive, thankful for the beautiful man who was her husband.
“Neither of us motherfuckers ain’t understandin’ that you fine. You alive. I just keep dreamin’ I get to you too fuckin’ late and you keep fuckin’ dreamin’ almost the same shit.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on. Things have happened to me before.”
“Yeah, baby. I guess you just fuckin’ outta practice. Shit been goin’ fuckin’ good, so ain’t no motherfuckers been tryna fuck you up.”
“I’m out of practice to be harmed?” she asked, to be sure she’d heard him right.
“Fuck, yeah. My ass outta practice for havin’ you fucked up.”
“That sounds a little—”
“Fuckin’ psycho?”
She giggled. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
He grinned at her. “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing, baby.” Rolling onto her, he nuzzled her nose with his own. “We gonna get through this, Megan,” he promised on a rough whisper. “It ain’t a good three fuckin’ months since we fuckin’ found you. Ain’t no wonder that we both trauma-fuckin-tized.”
“We’d reached such a happy place.”
“Life what the fuck we make it. We gonna make it a happy fuckin’ place again. We just gotta fuckin’ work through you bein’ snatched the fuck up in broad fuckin’ daylight when we wasn’t at war with nobody. That shit right there e-fuckin-nuff to fuck with any-fuckin-body.”
Her lips trembled.
“Don’t cry,” he said, low and sexy, brushing his mouth over hers. “I ain’t able to pro-fuckin-tect you from what the fuck goin’ on in your fuckin’ head, in your fuckin’ dreams, but I gotcha back in every-fuckin-thing else.”
“I’m so angry with Mystic. And-and afraid.” She thumbed his mouth. “And-and ashamed that I’m so affected.”
“I shot the fuck outta that motherfucker and my ass still fuckin’ furious with Mystic. I wish I coulda brought him the fuck back to fuckin’ life and killed him five, ten more fuckin’ times. I ain’t even able to chop the motherfucker the fuck up cuz of your fuckin’ ball.”
Caressing his jaw, she gave him a gentle smile. “It’s okay. You saved me.”
“No, it ain’t okay. Motherfucker hurt my fuckin’ soul when he snatched you. And, yeah, my ass scared like a motherfucker something else gonna happen to you. More than fuckin’ that, Megan, I’m shame, too. You trust me to protect you. You trust me to protect our boy.”
“Stop that,” she ordered. “You’re being too hard on yourself. You—”
He put a finger over her lips. “Ain’t sayin’ that for you to comfort my ass. You had the motherfuckin’ nightmare, not me. I just wanna let you know that my ass angry, afraid, and ashamed, too, and that shit pissin’ me the fuck off so fuckin’ much.”
“We’re quite the pair.”
“Yeah. Mr. and Mrs. Fuckin’ Pussified Motherfuckers.”
They met each other’s gazes and broke into laughter.
Christopher stole another kiss. “Megan, baby,” he croaked. “You my fuckin’ world. You the air that keep my breathin’. You my fuckin’ everything and I ain’t ever gonna get tired of sayin’ that to you. If I…” His voice trailed off and he swallowed. “If you woulda been…gone…” He paused. “I told my-fuckin-self you woulda fuckin’ know how fuckin’ much I love you cuz I tell you all the fuckin’ time.”
“If I would’ve been, er, gone, when you found me, I would’ve departed having no regrets about my life with you, except that it ended too soon. It is an honor and a privilege to be your wife and the mother of your children. I would’ve left knowing I am well-loved and knowing I let you know how much I adore you.”
They fell silent, staring at one another, drinking in their closeness, their love, and their friendship.
Ever so slowly, Meggie opened her legs, offering her husband a cradle between her thighs.
He turned onto his back, grabbed her hand, and tugged her toward him. “Fuck my mouth.”
Her nipples hardened at Christopher’s command. Removing her nightgown, she climbed onto him and settled her pussy onto his mouth, the stubble on his face abrading the skin on her inner thighs.
The warm pad of his tongue lapped her inner lips, circling her clit, and thrusting into her opening. She moaned, riding his lips, her juices hot and flowing. Her legs trembled. He worked her pussy with his tongue, lips, and mouth, tasting her, sucking her, and licking her.
“I’m coming,” she screamed, out of her mind with ecstasy, unable to contain her loud, breathy moans or the trembles in her body.
His tongue still buried in her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped her onto her back. Meggie stretched her legs open, arching her back and pushing against his face.
“Your pussy delicious,” he told her in a thick voice that threatened to make her come again. “Ima keep your cunt in my mouth and devour it.”
“Christopher,” she groaned, squeezing her nipples almost to the point of pain. “Get my pussy off.”
He raised her legs, resting her knees on her shoulders before burying his face against her and sucking her opening, his nose teasing her clit.
“The smell of your pussy the best scent in the world,” he growled, sniffing her seam and inhaling like a man lacking oxygen. Using his fingers, he opened her pussy lips, and met her gaze. “Ima lick your cunt til you come. Look at my fuckin’ tongue eatin’ your pussy up.”
She nodded, frantic, lifting her hips to offer her hungry clit to him.
He swirled his tongue around her bud, gentle touches that hinted at what he intended. He abraded her mound by rubbing his hair-roughened cheek against the delicate skin. He tongued her, gently at first, until he finally gave her what he always did. A relentless assault on her clit that made Meggie wild in her movements, her words, and her screams. She exploded over his tongue and he slurped her cream in wet laps. Lost in her orgasm, her body floated to another plateau where nothing but pleasure resided. A place where her flesh burned and her nerve endings crackled.
“You so fuckin’ wet.” He released her legs and braced himself above her. His green eyes were dark and hooded, smoldering with desire. Sinking into her, he closed his eyes and groaned, withdrawing and then slamming into her again.
“You feel so good,” Meggie gasped. “I love having your cock inside of me.”
He pumped into her harder, faster. “My cock yours, baby. Put it in you wherever you want.”
“Fuck, Megan. Fuck,” he repeated. “I’m about to flood your cunt with my cum.”
“Give it to me,” she demanded, jerking against him, tremors starting in her center and spreading throughout her body. “I want every last drop,” she got out, trembling.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
Powerless to deny him anything he wanted, Meggie met his gaze. Passion flushed his face; his labored breathing fanned across her skin. His dazed expression gave way to a curled lip. His body stiffened and his cock jerked inside of her before warmth flooded her insides. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding and caressing him through his most vulnerable moment, their souls and hearts laid bare.
He rolled onto his back and pulled her into the crook of his arm, then kissed the top of her head. “Sleep, Megan,” he whispered. “I got you. Always and forever.”
“I love you,” she whispered drowsily, snuggling close to him.
As she drifted off, his words, “I love you more,” reached her, and she smiled, thankful, once more, that the Fates had put Christopher in her path.
Chapter Thirteen
“What was your childhood like?”
Dr. Briscow posed her question as she had the others, with calm detachment. She was an older woman, who wore horn-rimmed glasses and a severe bun that pulled at the skin of her temples. Despite her no-nonsense attitude, similar to all Kendall’s previous psychiatrists, Dr. Briscow seemed different. Interested. As if what Kendall had to say really mattered.
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