“If it’s connected with the Knights, then it could be the cigarettes. Makes sense that the ATF would be involved.” I scrubbed a hand over my chin. “Wonder why we haven’t been called in.”
“Wouldn’t wonder too hard. Ama. You know her folks will do what they can to keep her safe. Plus, if anything happens to us, you heard her today.” He shook his head. “I’ll bet you my bike that Lucie knows exactly what’s keeping Ama stable.”
When he made to walk off to the door, I grabbed his arm and jerked him back. “Hey, did you know back then she was suicidal?”
“No.” He pulled a face. “I knew there were some tough times. Some of the cunts at school were giving her shit about her folks, and then about the MC too. She was having some trouble with her classes, especially when they shoved her into some AP stuff, but I think that would have been after the time she was talking about.” His nose wrinkled. “I don’t know, man, she’s always been kind of fragile, you know that.”
I winced at that. Mostly because I hated the word. Ama was fragile, but it was the fragility of a poppy. Sure, it swayed in the breeze, its delicate leaves fluttering and being torn by its environment, but it appeared year after year. It was hardy, made of tough stock, and that was Ama.
What she’d gone through might have broken another kid.
She was here.
Bruised, a little battered mentally, but still fighting strong.
Gnawing on my bottom lip, I stared at the house and murmured, “Once you’re in, you know it will kill her if you leave.”
His shoulders hunched. “I was jealous.”
“Aren’t you now? You saw how she ran to him.”
Keys smirked. “She did the same to me when I arrived at the tattoo parlor.”
My brow crumpled. “Why the fuck didn’t she do it to me?”
He slapped me on the back with a laugh. “You had food.”
Jesus. Yeah. Ama and food weren’t something you got between.
With a dopey grin crossing my jaw, I began to walk up to the house. When I headed inside, Keys at my back, I stared around. There was a caution to my movements that I couldn’t really explain. It was almost like I was waiting for a skeleton to pop up around the corner.
Ink was a well-respected brother in the club. He was trusted, and as a Secretary, everyone had a habit of going to him with their shit, expecting him to mop it up and, kudos to him, he usually did it. But I don’t think anyone knew him well.
He’d sure as fuck kept the fact that Ama was sneaking into his bedroom at night a secret.
What else was he hiding?
I knew he’d been in the army. Also knew he’d been kicked out for insubordination, which didn’t exactly surprise me. A lot of brothers started in the army and found their way to an MC. There was less BS, less posturing, but it still had some structure ex-soldiers needed.
Ink’s house was clue enough that he’d been in the Forces. It was neat. Clean. Just like the outside. Well maintained and properly kept.
It just wasn’t what I’d expected.
I’d thought it would be a man cave, with black leather sofas and huge TVs in every living space. Instead, in the lounge, the walls were a weird blue color, the sofas were leather, yeah, but cream, and they were covered in soft-looking blankets. A glass coffee table supported a reusable Starbucks mug that he’d evidently dumped there when he’d come in, and the TV stood on a matching stand. But it wasn’t a sixty-inch behemoth. Just a regular-sized one.
When we headed into the kitchen where the murmurs of conversation were coming from, I frowned at the sight of the shiny white cupboards, the small scrubbed oak island in the middle, and the matching table against the back wall. It was clean and modern, and not what I’d expected.
“From the look on your face, I figure you thought I’d live in a dive or something,” he mumbled as he popped his neck, before heading into the fridge which he’d evidently stocked because he hurled cans of beer at us. “Ama, what do you want to drink?”
“Just water, please,” she replied from her place on the island, her legs swung back and forth as her gaze darted between all of us.
Was she expecting us to fight? To confront Ink with—hell, with what? He hadn’t done anything wrong. If Ama was sore today, it had to mean that he’d taken her virginity last night so he’d done right by her all along.
I had to respect that, because fuck, I wasn’t sure if I’d have been as good of a man as that.
❖
Ink
Her scream, when it came, didn’t come as a surprise.
I had some haunting and harrowing dreams of my own, so my sleep was never that strong anyway, and ever since she’d become a part of my nightly routine, that had only been exacerbated.
From the way the boys had been touching her? I’d figured they’d worked shit out at the parlor after I’d gone. They’d definitely moved up a gear from just friends.
Deep down, I’d hoped that would ease her mind some, but that was too much to hope for. Love, lust, and sex weren’t cures for what she’d gone through.
Her PTSD ran deep, and I couldn’t fucking blame her.
What she’d gone through, what she’d seen and had to do, it was a wonder she wasn’t more fucked in the head. As it was, the nightmares, the need to constantly have a drink at her side—one she usually always gulped like it would be denied her again—and the habit of never leaving any food on her plate, were minor in the grand scheme of things.
Of course, I doubted I knew every single one of the quirks, but those were the ones I thought manifested the most. The ones Lucie had called idiosyncrasies, and that she believed would be the breaking point in any relationship Ama had with a man. Or, I guessed, men.
Tonight, I curved my arms around her, but I wasn’t surprised when the door opened and Saint and Keys came in.
The three of them had camped out in the living room after Lucie had come and tucked Matty and Seamus into the spare bedroom.
I’d left them watching a movie because I needed to be up early in the morning. It had come as no surprise to stir a few hours later and find her tucked into bed with me.
The scream had evidently woken the others, but not her brothers who apparently slept like the dead because I didn’t hear a thing from their bedroom down the hall. When they clambered in beside her, Saint on the outer edge, Keys beside Ama, I didn’t say a word. Neither did they.
The sound of her sobs tore at me, fucking wrenched at my soul, but even though my hands formed into fists as my outrage powered through me, I shuffled them along so she wouldn’t feel them. I didn’t want her to know how tense her bad dreams made me. How they made me wish to turn back time so I could rip Aaron Sanchez apart again and again, truly make him pay for how he’d messed with her head.
The British had tortured men they suspected of being in the IRA with something called the ‘five techniques.’ They were illegal now, of course, they had been back then too. But they were torture methods that fucked with people’s heads long term.
I knew for a fact that she’d endured at least four of those techniques. Her eyes had been covered for days, and she’d been denied food, drink, and sleep. And, because I’d gone to therapy with her, I also knew he’d very rarely stopped talking. Subjection to noise was usually loud blasts of sound, but the constant chattering of a stupid fucker who had revenge on his mind? Reminders of how he was going to hurt her to punish her fathers? How she was going to pay for what her dads had done to his?
That was just as much a torture method as anything else.
I rubbed my hand down her spine, unsurprised to nudge Keys’ hand, which was on her lower back. What did surprise me, was when I felt her breathing deepen as she returned to sleep.
“She does this every night?” Saint asked somberly, and as I tilted my head on the pillow, I saw that he was staring up at the ceiling.
Out here in the boondocks, there wasn’t all that much illumination. At the clubhouse, my ceiling was painted with lights from incomin
g bikes. Here? It was just dark, and it felt good.
It’d been too long since I’d been out here, too long since I’d been in the silence of my home.
“Yeah. She does.”
“How do you stand it?”
“Stand what? Being woken up?” I groused, not liking his question.
“No. Not wanting to go and rip a motherfucker’s head off?”
“I did that already. Trust me, it provides me with no satisfaction now.”
Silence settled among us at that, then he questioned, “It true you were discharged for insubordination? Or is that BS?”
“I’m good at following orders, but orders that are plain wrong? Nope.” The ‘p’ popped. “I was only in for a little while. Just long enough to mess with my head some, but not long enough to do much other damage if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Nah. Was just curious.”
Keys snickered, “Who decorated your lounge, bro?”
My lips twitched. The fact that Ama had liked it said it all. “My sister. She had it ready for me when I got back from overseas. My grandparents left me this place.”
“They did?” Keys rocked up onto his elbow. “You know we barely know anything about you, right? I mean, I’m stunned you have fucking grandparents and everyone has two sets.”
“Well, I ain’t a miracle, even if Ama thinks I am,” I told them, laughing softly when they groaned. “No immaculate conception here.”
“Yeah, well, if this is gonna work, you need to tell us who you are. I know almost everything about Saint. Know shit I shouldn’t know, and crap I wish I didn’t know, and I figure it’s the same for him. I can’t be pulling this girly sleepover shit on a night with a dude who won’t tell me jack shit.”
“Eloquently put,” Saint mocked, but he didn’t argue with him, so I knew where they were coming from.
I got it. I did. But sharing and me didn’t go hand in hand.
Clearing my throat, I told him, “Can’t just reveal all my secrets in one go, now can I? Plus, we’re not the ones dating.”
He snorted. “So what? I’m sharing your bed. Even if I ain’t gonna suck your cock, I wanna know shit about the owner of said cock just because Ama is sucking it.”
“So you’re protecting her?” I wasn’t displeased by the notion.
“It’s what we do,” he retorted, and the pride in his voice pricked at me.
Enough to say, “I’ll share. Over time. Won’t hold back from either you or her. We gotta be friends, otherwise this shit won’t work.” My words turned into a rumble as I murmured, “Surprised you’re okay with this.”
“Same goes. We all know we want her for our own, but shit, I’d have to be blind not to know how she feels about you and Keys,” Saint murmured, “and I’m not about to take you away from her when the three of us ground her.”
“Well said,” I rasped, staring up at the ceiling and pondering a fate that had me in bed with three other people.
Wherever I’d expected my life to lead me, it sure as fuck hadn’t been with two kids whose ages put together equaled mine, and the son of one of my friends and fellow councilor.
Not that I was going to complain.
None of us said much after that, and when I fell asleep, I fell harder and faster than I could have expected, considering I was sharing my personal space with new people.
When I woke up, the early morning light told me it was after six but before seven. There was a dim light that pierced the shadows of the room, leaving most of the space in a murky gloom.
Looking over my shoulder when I rolled off the mattress, I saw that Saint wasn’t in bed, but Keys and Ama were wrapped up in each other like they were newborn pups.
My lips curved at the sight, and the lack of envy I felt stunned me. It warmed my heart to see her so comfortable, but seeing just how young she looked unnerved me. Still, there was no mistaking her age, nor forgetting mine. Not when my fucking back ached as I crawled out of bed, or my messed-up ankle that twinged as I headed into the shower.
Washing up, I pulled on a pair of boxers that I stored in a dresser in here, and strolled right on out, hoping to fuck that Saint had prepped some coffee.
I needed plenty of that today.
Grabbing my cell from the nightstand, I stared down at the several unread messages but no missed calls, and tried to take heart from that. Yet, as I stepped away from the bed and made my way to the kitchen, what I read didn’t exactly warm my heart.
Wolfe: ATF motherfuckers just shown up. They’re asking for me. If I don’t tell you I’m okay, be careful with what you share with Ama. I don’t want this to break her heart.
A few hours later, he’d sent: All clear. The fuckers found nothing.
My lips twitched at the barrage of ‘strong’ arm emojis bombarding the bottom quarter of my screen.
When I connected the call, I wasn’t surprised when he answered. Dipping my chin at Saint who was at the kitchen table and staring into his coffee like it held the answers to life, I said, “You all right, Prez?”
Concern flashed in Saint’s eyes, and I nodded my head to the side to let him know that everything was fine.
Or as fine as it could get when Keys’ sister might be a snitch.
Fuck, that was going to be an epic conversation.
“Yeah, they found shit and didn’t even have enough to arrest one of us.”
“What about Martin’s men?”
Wolfe grunted. “They’re fucked. He tried again last night, but the cops just aren’t interested in what he’s offering them.”
“That’s a fucking shame,” I replied on a tired sigh. They might be Knights’ and I might have spent a few years at war with them, but they were brothers-in-arms now. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I asked, “Is there anything I can do?”
“For them? No. Martin’s council has that in hand. It’s a shitty fact of life. Just fucking sucks that it’s because we may have a snitch living among us.”
“Lucie learn anything?” I questioned, as I poured myself coffee from the thankfully full pot. Stacking the phone between my ear and shoulder, I added creamer and sugar—morning was the only time I didn’t take my coffee black.
“Yeah. She learned the bruises were makeup.”
I whistled under my breath. “What about the baby?”
“That’s real. Apparently she just doesn’t need to pee a lot. And that’s a sentence I never imagined telling you.”
I laughed, but sobered up to ask, “Is Hex the father?”
“I don’t know. She won’t say. Seems like it, but she’s gone quiet on all fronts. Lucie is keeping an eye on her.”
“Fuck. I wouldn’t want to be Kenzie.” I could feel Saint’s attention prick up at that, but I ignored him for the moment. “What about Bubbles? Saint said she pulled that shit on him too.”
For a second, I was sure he’d disconnected the call, then he ground out, “Is Saint there?”
“Yeah. Want to speak with him?”
“Yes. I fucking do.”
I shoved the phone at Saint as I turned around and stepped back to the table. “Wolfe wants to talk to you.”
“Wolfe?” he asked hesitantly.
Though the conversation should have been one-sided, I could hear Wolfe’s voice down the line. “You sure that spawn ain’t your brat?”
“No. I always used a rubber. Always. And I never fucked her when I was drunk. Hell, you know me, Wolfe. I don’t even get drunk that much anymore.”
He didn’t have to say that was because of Ama. That went without saying.
Wolfe grunted. “Ink keyed you in on what she pulled with me?”
“Yeah.”
“Know who the father might be?”
He snorted. “Your guess is as good as mine. I mean, I guess she has her favorites, and I figure I’m one of them, but she gets passed around the club. You know that.”
“Yeah, unfortunately I do.” Wolfe grunted again— figured it was going to be one of those days when he did that m
ore than scream. I had to figure that was a blessing considering the night he must have had.
I couldn’t imagine the ATF had been ‘friendly’ when they’d raided our place. Most of the brothers would have been hauled into the front yard in handcuffs and tossed on the ground, face forward.
I didn’t doubt the ATF would have landed a few kicks to the back too.
Saint cleared his throat. “I-I know it’s not my place, but is Lucie okay?”
“It’s your place. Or ain’t you my son-in-law now?” Wolfe grunted. “Trust me to get a daughter who doesn’t fall far from her mother’s tree.” He huffed. “Dear God, please don’t let Seamus and Matty follow the same path.”
I had to laugh at that, and Saint grinned at me when I grabbed my phone and set it on speaker. “A harem, huh? I don’t see why not. Especially with that red hair. Remember before Lucie? Flame always had his pick. Didn’t matter he wasn’t interested in anything other than a fuck,” I said with a laugh.
Wolfe sniffed. “Bastard. Always did have the luck of the Irish.”
“Handy considering he’s, what? Polish?” Saint laughed and I smirked at him because Flame was hardcore Irish. That was why one of his kids was called Seamus of all things. “Anyway, you need me to come in soon?”
“No. If you come in, Ama will want to and the place is a fucking mess. I don’t want her upset.”
A rough voice came from the doorway. “Daddy, I’m not four. I swear, you treat me like I’m going to break apart at any minute.”
“Baby,” Wolfe rumbled, his voice loaded with regret. “I didn’t think you’d be able to hear.”
I winced. “Sorry, man. That’s on me.”
“It fucking is.”
Ama grunted—the sound was way too much like her dad’s. “Daddy! Stop it. Anyway, I want to come home. I don’t have any clothes or anything here.”
“Buy some. Fuck’s sake.”
“No. Matty and Seamus are going to be nightmares too. You know they hate being away from the clubhouse. If they’re not causing chaos there, they’re not happy.”
Their Saint: Hell’s Rebel’s MC Part II Page 14