“That trouble Jupiter was in wasn’t so much about the garage going under; it was her brother getting into bed with the wrong people. He’s been running drugs for White Nation and the Bayou Bastards MC through Kings turf.”
“Fuck!” I scrub a hand over my beard.
“Chaos is pissed,” Sterling says.
“I don’t know why Prez is pissed.” Saint stubs out his cigarette in the mess of blood and bone shards. “I’m the one who has to babysit that stupid fuck for the rest of the night.”
“Jupiter can’t go home, and she can’t be at the clubhouse because she’ll lose her shit once she finds out we have Bobby Ray. Dad has reached his limit with the Jones family. So I guess that leaves the cabin.” Ruin shoots me a wicked grin and claps me on the shoulder. “Better hurry. Jupiter doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Thanks for keeping my ass in the dark over this, boys.” I scowl and brush past him, heading for the exit.
“We just found out,” he calls after me. “Bear?”
“What?”
“I’m glad you were here.”
I nod and open the door, mentally preparing myself. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to babysit my little brat, but a part of me loathes the idea of giving her unfettered access to the broken parts of me. And she’ll see them. There’s no doubt about that, because I can’t switch off the night terrors and the PTSD that sometimes sees me rocking in a corner, addlebrained with fear, abusing my body, and adding to the collection of scars that I earned on the Teams. I can’t protect her from that, which makes me just as dangerous as the men hunting her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bear
Our headlights beam off the front window of the cabin, and I shut off the engine. It’s like a fucking oven in here, and Jupiter sits on the bench seat beside me, shaking in her oversized hoodie.
“You okay, darlin’?” I ask.
“What kinda question is that? I just killed a man with a wrench.”
“He’s not a good man, if that’s what you’re wonderin’.”
“I don’t know what I’m wondering. I don’t ... I can’t stop shaking ... I can’t feel my toes.”
“It’s shock.”
“Shock?” She stares at me in disbelief, but I don’t even know if she’s registering what she’s saying.
“Come on inside. I’ll make some tea, and you can take a nice hot shower to sooth your nerves.”
She reaches for the door handle and misses. A panicked laugh bubbles up from her throat. I climb out of the cab and move around to the passenger-side door, opening it for her. Her fingers hold onto the seat with a white-knuckled grip, and I help pry them loose.
She clutches my forearm as she steps down from the truck, her tiny fingers digging into my scarred flesh. I want to pull away. Someone as fucking perfect as her shouldn’t touch me and my twisted, marred flesh, like the gnarled knots in a tree. But I don’t pull away. I don’t put distance between us, because it’s clear she needs me, and that’s my downfall—always being the one who’s needed, always being the sucker willing to sacrifice parts of myself, my body, my time—fuck, even my soul—for what’s right.
I lead her to the cabin door and shove the key inside. “You should probably wait here while I check things out.”
“I ... I don’t want to,” she says in a tiny voice so unlike the lavender-haired little spitfire I’ve come to both know and loathe.
“Fine. Then stay behind me.” I pull my gun from my holster and cradle the grip in the heel of my hand. Jupiter’s throat bobs.
I step over the threshold and flip on the lights. An empty cabin greets us, but I make my way toward the bathroom to check it anyway. It’s a tiny space with no door, a toilet, a hand basin, and a chipped claw-footed tub. I shove the shower curtain with my foot. The metal rings scrape against the rod, putting my teeth on edge, but I relax when I see it’s empty. Good. I’m tired as hell and don’t feel like killing some stupid motherfucker tonight.
Jupiter stands in the middle of the cabin, surveying the place. There isn’t much to look at. This one room contains a kitchen sink and a microwave, and a shabby sofa with frayed upholstery—likely tortured by the sun and years of misuse. The bed isn’t large enough for me on a good day, much less with company in it, and everything I own sits in a black canvas overnight bag in the corner of the room. She stares at the faded curtains over the window and wraps her arms around her shoulders.
I set the gun on the small kitchen counter. “Hey, you did what you had to.”
She glances down at the floor. “I know.”
I’m not used to seeing Tink vulnerable. Tough as fucking nails, yes, but never vulnerable, and it makes me want to wrap her in my arms and hold her until the shaking subsides. It makes me want to revive the asshole whose face I just put my boot through just so I can kill him again for making her feel this way, for making me feel this way.
I can’t do any of that. I can’t raise the dead, but I can hold her if she’ll let me.
I pull a bottle of Tennessee whiskey from the shelf above the microwave, twist off the cap and take a hearty swig, all too aware of her eyes on me. I hand her the bottle and she accepts it, bringing it to her lips and taking a long pull. “Easy, baby girl. I’m supposed to be protecting you, not gettin’ you as drunk as Cooter Brown.”
I pull the bottle from her lips, longing to taste the liquor on her tongue, willing to drown in her kiss, but knowing this isn’t the time. I screw on the cap and set it down. Then I reach out and pull her into my arms, carrying her to the couch. I sit and pull her into my lap. She doesn’t struggle or pull away, so I’d consider that a win.
“You really get off on this, huh? Taking care of others?” she asks.
“My whole life, that’s all I’ve done. Sometimes I feel like it’s all I know how to do.” I rub lazy circles into her back. “The first man I ever killed wasn’t in warfare.”
Her gaze darts up to mine, but she doesn’t look frightened. Her eyes have finally lost that glazed look and are now wide with curiosity.
Jupiter doesn’t say anything. She just stays in my arms, her pretty baby blues soft and inquisitive, and I don’t want to just give her my story. I want to give her all of me. But the last time I handed a woman my whole heart, the last time I let someone in, she crushed it, fucked my Sergeant at Arms, and then sewed on my nomad patch as if she couldn’t wait to be rid of my bullshit.
“I killed the asshole who assaulted my girlfriend. Fresh out of high school, and I had a rage inside me that I couldn’t quell. I had a shitty homelife. My dad was an angry fucker who beat the shit out of me on a daily basis. He’d already sent my mama to an early grave.” I shake my head.
“God, I’m so sorry.”
“The stress of living every second with him breathing down her neck killed her.” I shrug and squeeze her tighter. “Charlotte was my escape. We grew up in the same town, and I came from nothing—less than nothing. She looked past all that. We were pretty hot and heavy, and I’d sneak in through her window every night, but it wasn’t like her to come to mine. She’d been at a party with her friends, and some douchebag hadn’t listened when she said she wasn’t interested. I went after the asshole. I hadn’t meant to kill him, but that rage just boiled over and I beat him so hard his face didn’t resemble a face no more.”
“What happened?”
“I dumped his body in the Appalachians and made sure no one would ever find him again. He was alone when I caught up to him. Police didn’t even so much as look in my direction. But it ate me up all the same.”
Jupiter exhales and her shoulders sag. She leans against my chest. “How did you get past it?”
A cold laugh slips free of me. “I joined the Navy SEALs.”
“Really?”
“Yep. The Taliban were threatening our safety—mine, Charlotte’s, America’s. I finally had an enemy to funnel my rage toward, but it didn’t make a lick of difference. I still saw his face with every shot I fired from my rifle. I saw my f
ather reflected back at me every time I looked in the mirror, and then we got hit by an IED. I got taken.”
“By the enemy?”
“Well, they sure as shit weren’t friendly.” I scoff. “It was clear they weren’t prepared for hostages. The idiots tied my hands with rope behind my back. They interrogated me, beat me, hollered the same questions at me for hours, but I don’t know what the hell they were saying. I gave them nothing and they gave me scars because of it. But it was in those moments, when they’d beat me with canes, barbed wire or knotted ropes, that I finally found a little peace for all of the shit I’d done. The absence of the rage I’d carried for years had left me numb. I didn’t care if I lived or died. It seems I haven’t cared about much since until I saw you tonight with that panic in your eyes, and I saw that cocksucker on the ground, and the blood at his temple, and I couldn’t live with the fact that you might not be able to deal with what you’d done and that you’d be consumed with this rage for the rest of your days too.”
Tears spill over her long, black lashes and roll down her cheeks. “I killed a man, Tennessee. Maybe I deserve to live with that.”
“Maybe the world is better off. I know Uprising sure is, and your brother is too.”
“My brother?”
“We know, Tink.”
“What?”
“He’s been moving drugs through the cars that come into your shop.”
“Oh my God.” She sits up and holds out her hand. “Give me your phone. I have to warn him.”
“The club already has him.”
“No. No. You have to stop them.” Jupiter shoots to her feet. “You don’t understand. Chaos will kill him. Ruin will kill him.”
“No one’s killing him. The club’s not thrilled with him, but we’re not about to kill your brother.”
“Will you take me to him?”
“No.”
“Bear,” she demands. For a moment, I’m thrown, because she never calls me by my road name. Ever. “Please? Please take me to him.”
“I can’t. Prez’s orders.”
“Oh, fuck Prez.”
“You wanna end up just like your brother? Then say that again around Chaos,” I snap and take a deep breath, remembering she’s been through a lot tonight. The Taliban really could have saved themselves the trouble and just had Jupiter torture me. “We ain’t going nowhere until I know you’re safe. So, I suggest you sit your ass down and get comfortable.”
She glares at me. “Promise me they won’t kill him.”
“They’re not gonna kill him. They’re pissed off. And I’m not a patched member of Uprising, I don’t have sway here like I did with my own charter, but I would vouch for his ass. I think Ruin and Sterling already did.”
She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Why? Why would you do that? You hardly know him. You hardly know me.”
“Because as much as you’ve been a pain in my ass since the day we met, you’re also the one person I feel okay around.”
Her face crumples. Her anger disappears with it. She lets out a long, slow exhalation. “Me too.” The words are so quiet, I’m not sure I heard her right, but the vulnerability is back in her gaze and it’s tearing at my insides. “Are you gonna let me see my brother?”
“No, Tink. Not until Prez gives the order. Are you gonna keep giving me shit about it?”
“Not if you can assure me he’s safe and not having the shit beaten out of him as we speak.”
I sigh and pull my cell from my pocket, scrolling until I find Saint’s number. “Hey.”
“Bear, what’s up, brother?”
“You with Jupiter’s dipshit brother?”
“Uh-huh. I still don’t know why I’m on babysitting duty.”
“Just lucky, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“So, will you do me a favor and put him on?”
“What? Why?”
“Because Jupiter has her panties in a wad and wants to make sure Chaos didn’t skin him alive.”
“What? You told her?”
“I didn’t ... She may have got it out of me.” I glance at Jupiter, who’s scowling at me, and give her my back. “Yeah, I told her, but only because she was freaking out.”
“I was not freaking out,” she protests.
I walk across the room so Saint won’t hear her, but it’s a small fucking room. “Just put him on the goddamn phone.”
“I don’t know, man. Prez said not to let him have any contact with the outside world until we decide what to do with him.”
I cringe and hope to Christ that Jupiter didn’t hear that. “I’ll deal with Prez.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Well, I gotta get something out of this.”
“How do you fuckin’ figure?”
“Because if Chaos finds out, he’s gonna have my balls before he can get to yours.”
“I’ll take your shit jobs for the week.”
“Make it a month.”
“Fine. Now put him on the fuckin’ phone before I come over there and kick your ass.”
“Sweet,” Saint says. From the earpiece, I can hear him opening a door as he walks into another room. “Hey fuck face. You got a call.”
Bobby Ray grunts. “Wh-who is it?”
I hit speaker and turn, fully prepared to hand over the phone, but Jupiter is right behind me and practically snatches the goddamn thing out of my palm. “Bobby Ray? Oh my God, are you okay? Did they hurt you?”
“Juju?”
“Yeah, dumbass. It’s me.”
“I’m sorry, Juju.”
“I know, honey. I know.”
He sobs into the mouthpiece, and normally, I’m not one to tolerate this kind of bullshit. If he were caught by the Tennessee charter, he’d be dead already, but I can’t help but feel bad for the poor bastard. It can’t be easy knowing you’ve disappointed Jupiter Jones. “I’m sorry, sis. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”
“Just don’t do anything else stupid, okay? Promise me you’ll stay put and wait for the Kings to sort this out.”
“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I got plans, sis. I’m gonna fix this.”
“Bobby Ray, don’t you dare. Your hairbrained plans are what got us into this mess in the first place. Your little friends came after me tonight.”
“No,” he says in disbelief. “What happened? Are you alright?”
“Yeah. I delt with it. I’m safe. You are, too, with the Kings. Just make sure it stays that way. Keep your goddamn mouth shut unless Chaos asks you a question, and for the love of all things holy, please, please don’t do anything to make them want to shoot you.”
“I love you, Jupiter.” His voice turns softer. “I’m scared. I’m so scared.”
“I know. I love you too, dumbass. Just be good.”
“Time’s up,” Saint says. I take the phone from Jupiter and turn off the speaker so she won’t hear whatever my brother says next. “See you bright and early for my—”
“Nice try, asshole. I’m not doing shit for you.”
“What the fuck?” Saint asks.
I end the call and toss my phone on the couch. Jupiter swigs whiskey straight from the bottle. A lock of her lavender hair shivers as her body trembles. The pale strands are tinged with red, and there’s a little bit of dead guy in it still. “Maybe you should take a shower.”
“Why?”
“Because you have biker in your hair.”
Her mouth drops open and she raises a hand as if to feel it.
I shake my head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
She jumps off the couch and heads across the room to the tiny bathroom. It’s blocked off by a low, wooden partition that still lets me see everything from the couch.
“I swear I won’t look.”
“Like I believe that,” she shoots back. But as she takes off her clothes, she looks slowly over her shoulder, those gorgeous blue eyes meeting mine. “I know how you like to watch,” she says, all sultry like, and my blood sur
ges right to my dick. It takes everything I have in me not to bolt across the room and fuck her up against the shower wall, but she’s been through some shit tonight. She’s vulnerable—even if she don’t fucking know it yet—and when I bury myself inside her again, I want her focused solely on me and my big cock filling her up, and not on some dead guy on her shop floor with his head caved in. So I lean back against the couch, and like a fucking saint, all I do is watch.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jupiter
I wake from my nightmare only to realize it’s reality. The gruesome images of that man with his crushed skull don’t disappear, despite how I blink and rub at my eyes. My hands shake as I reach out for Bear. He’s sleeping beside me, and I run my fingertips over his scarred flesh, learning all of the beautiful and horrid imperfections.
His breath labors, and I still, my fingertips pressed into his warm skin. His arm lashes out and his hand wraps around my throat. I gasp and struggle against him, and then I’m suddenly pinned between him and the mattress as his hands and weight suffocate me. I kick and buck underneath him and gasp for air. I claw at his hands, beg and plead with my eyes because I have no breath with which to tell him to stop.
All of a sudden, he stiffens, and releases his hold on me.
“Jupiter?” My name is barely audible. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry, darlin’.”
His weight settles between my legs, and his dick presses into my lower abdomen. His hand is still at my throat, but it’s no longer crushing—it’s the opposite. His thumb tenderly strokes my bruised flesh, sending sparks of electricity through me as they collide with my fear and adrenaline. I writhe against his erection. My nipples pucker against the flannel shirt I borrowed, and I whimper. “Please?”
“Please what, honey? I need you to say it.”
“Fuck me, Daddy.”
“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath. But his fingertips leave my throat and trail down my chest, roughly palming my breast. “You want me to slip inside that hot pussy of yours? Fuck you until you forget your own name?”
“Yes, God. Yes. I want that.”
“Tell me, darlin’. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
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