by Layla Frost
“You…” I was about to tell them they needed to go to the hospital, but I knew it was a waste of time. If they’d been willing to go, they would’ve. “Let me get you guys cleaned up.”
Judge reached for Haze, who looked worse—which was saying something since they were both pretty damn bad.
I tried to help Hollywood, but he shook me off. “I got it.”
He took a few slow steps into the family room before stopping and inhaling. “My pussy senses are tingling. Were you fuckin’ on the communal furniture?”
Face burning, I opened my mouth to deny it but couldn’t get the words out.
“We put a blanket down,” Judge pointed out like it was no big deal. “Hold your breath.”
“You don’t want me smelling it, don’t break your own damn rules,” he said, but his words grew forced as he stopped to clutch a chair.
I reached for him again, but that time when he tried to wave me off, I snapped, “We get it. You’re a big, strong man who doesn’t need help. It’s much better to let you fall and bleed everywhere.”
“What’s one more bodily fluid in the room?” he shot back. Despite his smart mouth, he let me help him, giving me most of his weight.
He’s worse than he’s letting on.
It was slow, but we eventually got both men into the kitchen where it’d be easier to work on them. They slumped to the floor in front of the prep area sink.
I was about to crouch when Judge snagged me by the waist and hauled me back against him.
Leaning closer, he whispered, “They’re my brothers, and they’re hurt, but I’ll be fuckin’ damned if they accidentally get a glimpse of what’s mine. Go put your panties on.”
“Right.”
In a rush to help—but also so I didn’t miss the inevitable recap—I practically ran through the clubhouse. I pulled on a pair of panties and shorts before sprinting back.
No one had moved, and it didn’t seem like they’d spoken, though I couldn’t know for sure.
Judge grabbed me the big first aid kit from the cupboard, but I wished I had some of my own stuff.
After getting the confirmation from Judge, Glitch, and Nox that Elder Oaks was secure, I’d gone back to work the week before. I’d also gotten my car back and the okay to return to my apartment, though I’d rarely driven the former and hadn’t stepped foot in the latter.
Because he was protective—and it was also more fun—Judge took me to and from work on his bike. If the weather was crappy, we drove his car that I was totally planning to steal. I’d started keeping my bag of supplies in my locker rather than lugging it around.
I regretted it right then because the little antiseptic wipes they had were garbage.
Hoping there were a few strays left behind, I asked, “Baby, can you go see if I’ve got medical gloves and wipes in my trunk?” I held up the small square packet. “They’re triple the size and thicker.”
He raised his chin and left, returning a minute later with gloves and a small handful of wipes.
It’ll do.
After filling two bowls with warm, soapy water and grabbing several hand towels, I pulled on the gloves and started cleaning them off so I could get a better idea of the damage.
Most of their wounds were bleeders, but superficial. Haze had a gash above his eyebrow that looked borderline for needing stitches, but he refused to go to the hospital, and I wasn’t performing action movie surgery with some dental floss and a sewing needle.
Once they were cleaned enough to talk without the dried blood pulling, Judge—a surprisingly good assistant—asked, “What the hell happened?”
Hollywood shook his head. “We were going to a concert at Rye. Parked down the street, got off our bikes, and got jumped as soon as we took our helmets off. Four dudes at first. We put up a fight, but then a second wave came. Six total. Maybe seven, I dunno.”
“Did they take anything?” I asked, wondering if it was a random mugging.
“No, this was personal.”
“Why? And how would they know you’d be there or where you’d park?”
“Think there were multiple groups out looking,” he said, ending with a hiss as I touched his shin. “Tell your woman to stop feeling me up.”
“Shut up and stop being a baby,” Judge said. Though, truth be told, he didn’t look thrilled about me moving up to touch Hollywood’s thigh, but since it was necessary, he kept quiet.
I checked their abdomens and ribs, but neither seemed to have an issue beyond expected tenderness.
“Usually my face is the second most important part of me,” Hollywood paused, trying for a dimpled smile that fell short. “But I’ve been in enough fights to know internal organs are kinda vital, too. Protected them instead of this beautiful mug.”
I rolled my eyes, but it’d been smart since they could’ve had serious damage.
Judge paced. “Why do you think there were other groups?”
“When I climbed off my bike, I heard someone behind me say what street we were on. I turned just as one of the assholes swung a damn two-by-four like he was Hacksaw Jim Duggan. If I had ignored them talking, that sucker would’ve hit my head not my arm.”
“They brought wood?” I asked, surprised. Of all the weapons, it seemed the least effective and most conspicuous.
“No, we parked next to a broken fence. He must’ve grabbed it as they approached. I tried to get it, but it got knocked under a car.”
Shaking his head, Judge slowed his pacing. “Did they say anything?”
“Other than where we were, jack-fucking-shit.”
“How’d you get away?” I asked.
“I pulled my piece,” Haze said, his eyes closed. “Couldn’t see or aim for shit, but I was able to get it from my ankle holster.” He tilted his head. “After they got me down, they seemed more focused on him.”
“Crazy fucker pulled himself up and waved his glock around ‘til they ran like bitches. Stood in front of me ‘til they were gone.”
“I’d have shot the fuckers if I knew which one of them to aim at. Or if I had two guns—one for each of them.”
Judge’s brows lowered. “Thought there were six—”
I looked up at him. “You’ve never seen Tombstone?”
“No, what’s that have to do with this?”
“We’re having a movie night soon.” Turning my attention back to Haze, I asked, “You seeing double, Doc Holliday?”
“Not anymore,” he said.
“Your eyes are closed.”
“Makes it hard to see double that way.”
“Open.”
He did, tolerating me shining a flashlight in his eyes and asking him a million questions.
“I don’t have a concussion,” he said.
“Says you. But it’s your brain telling you that, and since your brain is possibly concussed, I’m not taking its word for it.”
He shot Judge a look. “Your woman is nuts.”
“Yeah, I know,” Judge said, not sounding the least bit upset about it.
“You don’t want to go to the hospital, fine. But you’re both crashing here tonight,” I ordered.
“Surprised we made it here without having to lay our bikes down, so sounds like a fucking plan to me,” Hollywood agreed.
“Why didn’t you call?” Judge looked pissed at them for taking the stupid risk, but there was a lot of worry underneath all the anger.
“Didn’t wanna interrupt your time with O,” Hollywood said before laughing at Judge’s furious and insulted expression. “I’m fuckin’ with you. Didn’t wanna wait around for them to regroup for round two. We were just gonna ride for a few minutes, but once we got started, figured we’d keep going.”
Stubborn and bullheaded and stupid.
Judge opened his mouth, likely to echo my thoughts with a lot more swearing and threats.
Before he could, Haze put his hand up. “Can’t yell, I’ve got a concussion. Either that, or someone’s phone is ringing.”
We all q
uieted and heard the soft sound before it cut off.
Judge tapped his pockets. “Must’ve fallen out…”
His words trailed off and my face heated, making it clear exactly what we’d been doing when it fell out of his pocket.
“On our couch,” Hollywood said dramatically. “I watch TV there. I’m gonna sleep there.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” Judge muttered, heading out to retrieve his phone.
Hollywood flashed me another forced smile. “I’d ask who was on top so I knew where I wanted to put my head, but I’m thinking—injured or not—he’d smash my face and you’d rip my dick off.”
“You’d be thinking right,” I said.
“Helluva woman.”
“I know.”
“You’re good for him. For each other.”
It was the first time any of the brothers had ever commented to me on our relationship—not including the occasional joke. Part of it was likely that they didn’t really give a shit beyond Judge being happy. But most was probably because they knew Judge was gonna do whatever the hell he wanted to do.
And, in that case, what he wanted to do was me.
Still, it was nice to hear Hollywood thought that.
It was also the truth, which was why I repeated, “I know.”
I nearly jumped out of my skin when a slam echoed around.
The swinging door had banged into the wall as Judge stormed in, his face like thunder.
And though they were both beat to shit, both men instantly—and wobbly—stood, ready to have his back and be pissed about whatever had set him off.
“That was Nox,” he said. “Rye’s been raided.”
“What for?” Hollywood asked.
“Dunno. Cops streamed in on a mission. Rhys was telling me he’s had a shit-ton of problems with staffing and deliveries. Typical shit for a bar, but it seemed to be happening too much. Said it was giving him a complex and an ulcer.”
Standing, I wrapped my arms around Judge’s waist before he trashed the kitchen and got on Swedes’ shit list.
It worked, and he plastered my front to his side, his hands playing with my skirt.
Man loves a good skirt.
“Us getting jumped and Rye being raided is too big of a coincidence,” Hollywood said. “Why would it matter whether we were there or not?”
Raising his phone, Judge said, “That’s what I’m waiting to find out.”
OPHELIA
Two months later…
“You nervous?”
I looked up at Judge and smiled. “Nope.”
And it was the truth. After all we’d been through, what was one more thing?
I’d returned to Elder Oaks two months before, only to leave again a few weeks later. Permanently.
Surprisingly, Judge hadn’t been the one to suggest—or try to order—I quit. He hadn’t hidden how much he’d hated the time we spent apart, and he’d made it clear my income wasn’t needed, but he’d otherwise kept his mouth shut.
The choice to quit had been mine—and not because I didn’t want to spend time away from him while he traveled for work.
Well, not just that.
After all the fights and bike trips and drama and action, taking care of rich seniors who didn’t really need much was… unfulfilling.
Okay, fine, it was boring.
I needed more mayhem in my life.
And, to be honest, they needed me, too.
In the short time since I’d quit, I’d already handled a burn, a staple gun incident, a fall, and more than a few killer hangovers. Not to mention some fistfight injuries.
I’d also tagged along with Judge when he’d gone to help Glitch update the security system for some bigwig’s building in the city, traveled with him to New York City when he’d met with a new client, and even got to hang at Nox’s with Gus and their dog, Nolan, when the guys had been called away from our planned dinner.
It was far from dull.
Even with all that, I still had a lot of free time, so I spent it volunteering at clinics in the city.
Oh, and getting married.
I’d also done that.
According to Judge, he’d wanted to put his ring on my finger a few days after we’d met. But sensing I’d freak out—and try to pop off his nipples—he’d held off as long as he’d could.
In Judge time, it’d been ‘for-fuckin’-ever’.
For the rest of the world, it’d been a month and a half.
We’d gotten married a week after he’d asked with all our friends, the brothers, their families, and my parents in attendance.
It’d been… interesting.
My parents had been reassured I hadn’t shacked up with some meth dealer who would knock me up, knock me around, and then knock every other woman up.
They’d been happy to see me happy.
They hadn’t stayed for the afterparty.
So, after all those changes, getting one little tattoo hardly seemed like a big deal.
That was, until the pretty tattoo artist walked in and everything became very real.
“First time, right?” she asked, throwing her hot pink and rose gold hair up into a messy bun, exposing the shaved side.
“Yup,” I barely squeaked out, making Judge chuckle.
“I love fresh skin.”
Little Walking Dead, but okay.
After washing her hands and setting up little cups filled with ink, she grabbed a pair of gloves and a stabbing machine—otherwise known as a tattoo gun. “Ready?”
No.
“Yup,” I squeaked again.
Maybe to distract me from the pain, or because the pain would distract me from him, Judge waited until she started before announcing, “We gotta move outta the clubhouse.”
My eyes snapped to him. “What? Did someone say something? Are they mad?”
“Relax.”
I flipped him the bird with my free hand.
“This is coming from me. No one’s said shit, and I haven’t said shit to them about it ‘cause I’m not discussing our shit before I talk to you. But the clubhouse is for Mayhem. Brothers have to be able to come and go.”
“Okay, and? Let them.”
I hadn’t understood what Judge had meant about liking the company until I’d experienced it. Every day was new and exciting, seeing brothers nearly daily or ones who just came through every so often.
It was home.
And they were family.
“That would mean I can’t fuck you on the couch,” he pointed out.
That’s a very big con in my book.
My face flushed as my eyes darted to the tattoo artist.
“Don’t mind me,” she said. “And definitely not the worst thing I’ve heard during a tattoo.”
Judge leaned closer, bringing out the big guns. “Babies don’t belong in a clubhouse.”
Every time he talked about babies, my brain went stupid and my heart went crazy.
And my pussy went Niagara Falls.
I hadn’t known it before, but there was very little hotter than the idea of a big, badass biker holding a tiny baby.
“Bongs probably aren’t good toys for developing fine motor skills,” I joked.
“I’m shocked since stoners are known for their quick reflexes.” Gripping my thigh, he sweetened the pot, even though he’d already won—not that I was gonna interrupt to tell him. “Any house you want. We can even build.”
“Near the clubhouse?”
Giving a quick head shake, his words were guarded. “Not having my family that close.”
Guess if danger came knocking, we don’t want our family home right there for them to hit, too.
“But it’s a lotta land,” he said. “We’ll circle the perimeter and see if you like a spot.”
I tapped my fingers on his hand, pretending to think. “Fine. But you owe me.”
He smiled his wickedly charming smile.
Before he could say whatever filthy thing he was thinking, I reached my free hand over and pi
nched his nipple.
Less than an hour later, I was looking down at my first tattoo—a tiny gavel on my ring finger.
It was completely different, but still perfectly matched the crown Judge had gotten inked on his ring finger before the wedding.
I was plotting my next one as we paid and headed outside.
“Like it?” Judge asked.
“Love it. But I won’t be able to wear my wedding rings while—”
“Wear ‘em on the other hand.”
“Or I could wear them on the other hand.” Leaning into his hold, I looked up. “You’re a psycho.”
“Yeah, but I’m your fuckin’ psycho, princess.”
JUDGE
Two and a half years later…
“Harder.”
Fuckin’ hell, she was killin’ me.
“No.”
“Please, baby. I need it harder.”
Christ.
There was only so much my dick could take, and O’s soft, moaning voice begging me was far beyond that line.
“Don’t wanna hurt you,” I said.
“You won’t.” Ophelia looked over her shoulder at me, her blond hair wild and her gray eyes narrowed. “But I’m gonna hurt you if you don’t do it harder.”
“Violent.”
“Ruthless, too.” Her last word stretched into a moan as I pressed my thumbs into her lower back.
Digging deeper, I worked my palms and fingers up and across her shoulders before returning down to start again.
“You’ve got magic hands,” she sighed when I used my knuckles between her shoulder blades.
“Got a magic something else, too,” I growled.
Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to hide a smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
Working my way back down, I straddled her legs and rubbed her lower back harder, moving my hands out toward her sides. I gripped her hips, but before I could lift her onto her knees, my perfect wife was already moving, positioning herself with her ass in the air.
“You good?” I asked.
She shot a playful smile over her shoulder. “Other than you taking forever, yeah.”
I wrapped an arm around her, spanning a hand over her small baby bump before sliding to cup her between her thighs. My middle finger teased her slit through her fuck-all hot panties.