by Anne Malcom
Her face jerked up in surprise. “A coffee? Now? You’re late to work and you’re playing hooky?” Strange look gone, her voice was playful again.
I grinned, thankful I hadn’t offended my one new friend. “Yeah, I totally freaking am,” I decided, walking forward and hooking my arm through hers. Her sharp and floral perfume overpowered me as soon as I did. It itched my nose, but I ignored that. “It’s a morning of trying new things. It seems only apt.”
“Well, well, well, look who finally decides to show up,” a terse voice said as Jen and I arrived back in the office, laughing about an ex she had who “got what was coming to him.” I didn’t even know why I was laughing, but it was just the mood I was in.
The mood that only improved at the sound of the reproachful voice.
And not because it was coming from my pissed editor.
No, it was coming from the woman who was sitting in my chair, her heeled shoes propped up on the draft of my latest story. One she’d helped me research—in secret and not getting stabbed or anything. “I’ve already done that, so I’m an expert at knowing how to avoid it” were her words on the phone a couple of days before.
“Lucy!” I yelled, surprising myself.
I didn’t yell or scream at the sight of old friends.
Maybe because I didn’t have old friends, not counting my grandmother, and she’d skin me alive if I called her old.
But talking to Lucy, realizing how important she had been to me, how much she’d known and chosen not to pry about, how much she’d helped me with, I couldn’t not yell and beam and damn near sprint over to the beautiful and glamourous pregnant woman pushing out of my chair.
Even at what looked to be six months, she was polished, wearing her signature Breakfast at Tiffany’s all-black elegance. Her turtleneck was skintight and showed off her beautiful baby bump, the rest of her tiny body encased in skintight leather pants.
The woman was noticeably pregnant and still pulling off leather pants. And bright red Manolo mules.
She was a superhero.
Or at the very least a witch.
Her eyes widened as she took me—and presumably my uncharacteristic yell—in. “Oh my God, someone got laid,” she breathed, yanking me into a somewhat awkward but warm embrace.
She held me back at arm’s length to run her eyes over me. “Yeah, you got laid good. I’m so happy for you.” She pulled me into her arms again before releasing me completely. Her eyes went behind me, locking in on Jen, and all warmness of before seeped out of them as she transformed her friendly and welcoming gaze into something else.
Lucy had the power to be intimidating. Very freaking intimidating. She was tall, absolutely beautiful, and a total ass-kicking babe. But she hadn’t utilized that power. Not in front of me, anyway.
She was utilizing it now. And it made me uncomfortable.
“Lucy, this is Jen,” I said, trying to warm the air. “She’s the new columnist. Jen, this is Lucy. She used to be the best journalist in Amber, but then she moved to LA and took down a drug lord, so she’s pretty much the best journalist in the US right now. And obviously pregnant. And her ankles aren’t even swollen. So she’s definitely a witch,” I babbled.
Jen was smiling warmly in the face of Lucy’s slightly chilly expression. “So nice to meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Lucy smiled in a way that made it look like a scowl. “So nice to meet you too. And I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve heard nothing about you. I’ll be rectifying that, obviously, because I’m nosy and also protective over my girl.” She nodded at me. “But right now, I’ve heard almost nothing about my girl breaking Gage in, so I’ll be needing everything on that, like yesterday.”
Lucy gripped my hand before I could try to say something to Jen to lessen the blow of Lucy’s words, her pretty face scrunching up in hurt.
“Niles, Lauren’s taking lunch,” Lucy yelled in his general direction.
Then she proceeded to drag me toward the stairs I’d just come up. You wouldn’t think such a feat would be possible since she was really pregnant and in towering heels.
But nothing seemed impossible in my life now.
“Come on, babe, you’ve got to come to girls’ night,” Lucy whined, making her eyes big and clasping her hands together in a prayer. “You’re officially an old lady now. And you need to be initiated. And don’t worry, it’s not anything to do with hoods, daggers, or animal sacrifice. I’m sure Gage has that covered.”
This was after we’d taken a long lunch, like a really freaking long one, during which I told her everything about Gage and me. Well, not everything, but the important parts. The important part being that he was mine and I was his.
She had cried.
Actually cried.
Then she’d scowled as she snatched the tissue off me. “Fucking hormones,” she hissed. “I can’t hear one piece of good news without babbling like a fucking disgraced celebrity who ‘forgot’ to pay their taxes.” She narrowed her tear-filled eyes. “And you and Gage being together is a good thing. Like good. But not me crying good. The only thing I should ever be crying about is the moment Karl Lagerfeld names a purse after me.” She paused. “Or when I finally pop this thing out of me, I guess,” she said, pointing to her stomach.
She reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “But I’m happy,” she murmured. “And I’m going to tell you that, because this is a Sons of Templar relationship and he’s Gage and there hasn’t been an ounce of drama, things might get bad.” Her eyes clouded over slightly. “Bad,” she repeated.
My stomach dropped thinking of everything the women had gone through.
“But this man and this club will protect you with their lives,” she promised. “And the bad is worth it, for the good. And you and Gage deserve good.” She smiled wickedly. “Or at least the best kind of bad.”
I thought about that morning.
My stomach dipped.
Then it dipped more thinking about the fact that I knew there was more coming. More of the best kind of bad. I knew Gage was holding back. Waiting. But I didn’t want him to. I needed him to give me that bad.
But not something I should’ve been thinking about in front of my pregnant friend, even if she did just ask me about length and girth over salad.
Of course, while I retreated into my thoughts, she’d been deciding I had to come to the night out all the women were having tonight.
“Pleeeeease?” she whined, taking my silence as a no.
I smiled, despite myself. Lucy and I were complete and utter opposites. She was drop-dead gorgeous, with style and confidence radiating from her very pores. She was outgoing and liked to party hard—well, she had until the big bump protruding from her stomach stopped her from imbibing alcohol. She had a huge group of loyal girlfriends that included the wives of some of the most feared and respected men in Amber. Of those women, I’d only met Amy, but I felt like I knew them all already, and they were both intimidating and impressive.
But they weren’t my people.
No matter how much I wished they were.
I didn’t have girlfriends. I wasn’t outgoing, confident. And I definitely didn’t party. A lot of people would’ve thought my shyness was snobbishness and my avoidance of any mood-altering drinks—including coffee—was boring and that I was a wet blanket.
Not Lucy.
She didn’t do judging.
Not since the second she’d walked into the offices at the Amber Star, when she’d treated me with a warm smile and asked me if I wanted to go eat an entire day’s calories with her on her lunch break.
She was thin, beautiful and most likely a size two. So she counted calories. Well, before.
I did not.
But I went anyway.
And we’d become unlikely but firm friends since then.
She’d lumber into the offices in dark glasses, muttering about regrets encouraged by “too many cosmos and my fucking insane best friend” or lamenting, “Why don
’t cars burn as well as they used to?” while drinking coffee after coffee and still managing to look like a runway model.
I’d listen to all of her stories with wide eyes, thinking about how she’d spent the night blowing up the car of a man who’d broken her sister’s heart, and I’d been getting my heart broken by Jane Austen.
We were worlds apart. Not just me and Lucy, all of the women. They had caused somewhat of a stir in Amber, with kidnappings, car explosions, weddings, births, and rock stars, something right out of a soap opera.
Me? I literally watched soap operas and got too nervous to finish them out. No way I could even be on the sidelines of whatever ended up happening tonight, and something would happen. Even being a bystander, I knew there was no such thing as a ‘quiet girls’ night’ with these women.
I was going to say no.
That’s what the old Lauren would’ve done.
It was safer.
“Okay,” the new Lauren found herself saying. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
Lucy smirked, rubbing her stomach. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out.”
Gage
“Oh my God,” Lucky breathed after Gage had spoken. “It’s happening. The apocalypse. I knew it, of course. I’m not an idiot, I watch the Walking Dead.” He rose. “I’m going to have to buy a crossbow before they’re all sold out.”
No one even blinked at Lucky and his fucked-up words. Everyone was used to the fucker spouting shit that didn’t make a lick of sense.
Lucky grinned at Gage, deciding to answer the question that no one had asked, that being what in the fuck he was talking about. “Because it’s gotta be the end of the world if Gage, of all people, is turning down a job where he not only gets to blow things up, but he gets to kill things.”
Lucky was talking about the new contract the club had gotten for a pack of lowlifes cooking meth. Some rich fucker’s son had been killed by a bad batch of the stuff. That same rich fucker had connections and pockets that led him to their door. And he was offering them a fuck of a lot of money for a lot of blood.
Neither money nor blood was going to bring his son back, but it was a good distraction.
Gage had used all sorts of bloody distractions in his life.
But he had a far deadlier one now.
Hence him not taking a contract that would take him away from Lauren. Something simmered underneath his skin. An uneasiness at how easy things had been between them. Well, things hadn’t been easy, because he was in love with her already. And that shit on its own wasn’t easy. It was the most complicated thing on this planet. The most painful and the deadliest.
So it hadn’t been easy.
But he also hadn’t been faced with the violence that had stared every single one of his brothers in the eyes. Showed them how their life could snatch away the most precious of things.
Kidnappings. Bombs. Shootings. Fucking rapes.
Actual bile burned at Gage’s throat with the utter thought of Lauren having to go through any of that. And the odds were against her, as it was with every single woman connected with the club. And that was with his other brothers.
With him, it was worse.
He should’ve done what he wanted to do the second she’d revealed her pain to him. He should’ve let her go so he didn’t cause her another second of pain. Because he was going to, he knew that. But he was also too fucking selfish and cowardly. He was yanking her further into his life, burying her in the good things so when the bad hit, she was in too deep to crawl out.
It was fucked up.
Cruel.
But he was doing it anyway.
“Got better shit to do than blow things up and kill things” was Gage’s response to Lucky.
Understatement of the fucking century.
Lucky grinned at him, slapping him on the shoulder. “My little psychopath is growing up. I’ve never been more proud.”
Something was changing now that he had Lauren. He was part of something that he’d always been on the outside of. The thing he’d been glad to be outside of when he’d witnessed his brothers going through Hell in order to get to their own versions of Heaven.
But there he was, fucking glad about being inside it.
So he didn’t stab Lucky.
“All right, Bull, you gonna tap in for this one?” Cade asked, ignoring Lucky as he always had to in order to get anything done.
But Lucky was not to be ignored, directing his gaze at his president. “Why is it automatically the next psychopath in the group who gets all the fun stuff?” he demanded. “I want to blow something up. Becky doesn’t let me do it to the cars anymore.”
The fact that his wife had to dictate that particular edict to him was why they had taken so long to have kids when every other fucker was popping them out like candy. Well, one of the reasons. The scars that Bex wore—rivaling Gage’s own—were a huge contributing factor.
Cade sighed. “Fine, you can go. Bull will go to supervise. Surely one of your boys needs a field trip.”
The corner of Bull’s mouth turned up in response.
His two sons took after both him and Mia. In other words, they were fucking insane. Gage took it upon himself to teach them all the best ways to incapacitate someone, steal things, and generally just encourage what was already there. They were Sons, after all.
Cade looked around the table. “That all?” He didn’t wait for a response, just smashed the gavel down. “Good, I’ve got a wife and kids who are a lot prettier to look at than you fuckers.”
Brock clapped him on the shoulder. “I would agree on that score, but the kids are currently under the care of their grandmother, along with mine. Since it’s girls’ night.”
There was a collective groan around the table.
Girls’ night was never just girls’ night. No. Not with their women. Shit went down on those nights. And not normal shit. No, Gage wouldn’t be surprised if there was some kind of national emergency as a result.
Gage shook his head, feeling sorry for the poor fuckers and readying himself to get out of there before shit started going down.
So he could go home.
To Lauren.
“Ah, don’t you go looking so smug,” Brock said, focusing his attention on him. “I have intel that suggests your woman is now firmly part of the posse, being that my fucking woman won’t shut up about how ‘kickass’ she is and how she’ll ‘cut the balls off that mad motherfucker if he does anything to fuck this up,’” he air-quoted.
There was a collective chuckle around the table.
Gage’s body tensed, and not for entirely bad reasons. He knew Lauren kept to herself. Knew the reasons why. The fact that she didn’t have a lot of friends filled him with a sick satisfaction at first, because that meant he didn’t have to share her with anyone. He was a greedy fucker; he wanted all her time.
But he wanted that shit for her. All the shit she’d been hiding from because of her pain. These women were crazy as fuck—arguably crazier than Gage himself—but they were good women. And they would look out for Lauren. More people caring about the most precious thing in his world was a good thing.
Her being at girls’ night was not a fucking good thing.
“Fuck,” he hissed, standing and intending on riding straight to Laura Maye’s bar, since the bitch was crazy too, and crazy tended to group together in places that served alcohol.
“Hold up, brother,” Cade said, stopping him from striding out the door. “You’ll likely get skinned alive by my wife if you interrupt too early. I don’t fuckin’ like the prospect of whatever crazy shit’s gonna happen tonight, but take it from me, it’s better to leave it for a bit. Have a beer. Give them a second to initiate Lauren to the fold.”
Gage was tense. Because he wanted that for her. But he wanted her. And he sure as fuck didn’t want her in danger. And the girls’ night was about as dangerous as a two-year-old with nuke codes. Or Lucky with anything that could explode.
“One hour,” he relented.<
br />
Brock smiled.
Cade’s mouth turned up.
Asher shook his head.
Bull clenched his fists.
Steg, who was now used to this kind of thing, gave a weary shake of his head, something that was decidedly too old for the man who had held the gavel for years before Cade.
Lucky gave him a fucking thumbs-up.
It had been an hour, and he’d been counting the fucking seconds. For a slightly different reason than usual. Not just to distract him from the aching need for a fix—that was still there, of course, always would be—and not just to be pleased that another second of his life was over. No, he was counting down to when he could see her.
It was just him and Cade at the bar now. Gage was still nursing his first beer. He and alcohol enjoyed a careful and dangerous relationship. He didn’t cut it out like the junk because people needed vices. And it was only slightly less dangerous than junk. There were points though, after too much whisky and not enough blood, that his resolve wavered in the haze of alcohol. But he never gave in. Not in seven years. But the hangover was that much worse because the pain of how close he’d come was lingering.
And since he was with Lauren, he didn’t want to seek solace in a bottle. Not when he had her.
Brock was readying himself to come with him, though he’d had to go home and check on the baby. The fucker was more maternal than Amy. Though that wasn’t hard.
“She’s too good for me,” Gage clipped, his words razors, cutting only as the truth could.
To the bone.
To his utter fucking surprise, Cade grinned. The fucker grinned. He never smiled unless it was at his kids or his wife. And it had taken his wife a long time to tease that smile out of him. They’d been through enough to wipe that smile off permanently.
“Of course she is,” Cade said. “They’re all too fucking good for us. As it should be. We should be aware of that shit, so then we make sure we always do whatever we can to make sure we’re good enough for them. That every fucking day’s goal is winning them over as if we don’t have them.”