“Thanks, brother. I owe you big.”
“Nah. Buy me a bottle or something, maybe. Looks like you’ve got your hands full here.”
Sherlock simply nodded and followed J.R. back into the apartment. At the door, he turned and faced Gordon, who’d been right behind him. “I’ve wanted to take care of her since the day I met her. I am her rock. I need that as much as she does.”
~oOo~
“You look tired, sweetheart.”
She did. Tired and pale. J.R. had said he didn’t think she’d lost too much blood, and he’d left some iron pills to be on the safe side, but Sherlock didn’t like her color at all. The bruise on her cheek was much more visible now, with the blood cleaned up and her skin so pale. When she was up to it, she was going to tell him who the fuck had done it.
They were alone; after J.R. left, Sherlock and Gordon had cleaned up the mess, and then helped Sadie clean up, and then Gordon had kissed her cheek and shaken his hand, and bid them goodbye, just a few minutes ago.
“You don’t have to stay. I’m all sewn up now, and I’m not going to use or cut or anything. I’m okay.”
She definitely wasn’t going to use, because that shit was long gone. That wasn’t why he was staying, though, and it was time she believed it.
He sat on the bed, next to her hip. “I’m not leaving you, Sadie. You need to listen to me now. I love you. What happened last night changes nothing at all, not for me. What happened with Taryn was her fault, and my fault, but it was not your fault. I should have been more open about her, but I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I just…like I said, I just hate thinking about her. It’s you I want to think about. It’s you I want to make a life with.”
“The kids? Her kids, I guess. You don’t miss them?”
“Sure. I love them. But they’re not my kids, not my family. They never were. I was only borrowing them because I didn’t have one of my own. Now I have my own. And I am not leaving you. Short of kicking me to the curb, there’s nothing you can do to chase me off.”
She turned her head away, and he reached out, took her chin, and gently turned her back. “Listen to me, little outlaw. This isn’t me feeling sorry for you. This is me needing you. Taking care of you, loving you—it fulfills me.” He thought about what Gordon had said. “You don’t have to be strong for me. You don’t have to be anything you’re not. I like being strong for you. I love you for who you are. You can rest with me, Sadie.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. I get so lost.”
He wrapped his hand over hers. “Then let me hold your hand.”
She turned her hand in his and brushed her fingers over his palm. Then she slid her fingers between his, weaving their hands together.
She nodded and began to cry. Moving carefully so he didn’t jostle her injured arms, Sherlock stretched out at her side and held her.
~oOo~
“The plan?” Muse asked as he, Sherlock, and Demon dismounted around the corner from a neat little bungalow with green shutters. “There a limit to how far you want to take this?”
“Breathing. I don’t feel like dealing with a body. Beyond that, I don’t care.”
Demon and Muse both nodded. “Your lead, bro,” Demon said. “We’ll keep you in check.”
They were both a lot more experienced in this work than he was—though there was some irony in the fact that Demon would be keeping him in check.
Three days had passed since the morning that J.R. had put almost a hundred stitches in Sadie’s arms. It had taken three days for Sherlock to feel like he could leave her at all. As soon as she was steady on her feet, he’d packed her up to his house, where he intended she would stay, and he’d been camped at home with her since.
It had taken her two days to tell him where she’d gotten that motherfucking bruise on her face.
Now Sherlock knocked on a green door that matched the shutters. A tall, thin, blond guy, about thirty or so, with a shaggy brown goatee, answered the door. He got a load of the three Horde, sporting colors, and stood up straight, his eyes wary. “Hey, fellas. Something I can do for you?”
“Gage Emerson?”
“Yeah…we got a mutual friend?”
Sherlock punched him in the face. Damn, that hurt, but he resisted the urge to shake the pain out of his fist.
Emerson reeled backward and fell into, and then through, his coffee table. The Horde charged into the room. Demon came around Sherlock and grabbed Emerson by his t-shirt, dragging him back to his feet. Sherlock heard the door close behind him.
Emerson wiped blood from his gushing nose and swelling mouth. “What the fuck, man? I got no beef with the Horde.”
“You sold to Sadie Ballard.”
“I didn’t sell it—I gave it to her. A gift.” His expression suggested that he thought his generosity should make everything right.
“She’s over a year clean. You could have fucked that all to hell.”
He blinked, growing confused. “I didn’t lean on her, man. She came to me.”
“She’s my old lady. She’s under the protection of the Horde. You understand what that means?”
Emerson paled and tried to step back, but Demon now had him by the neck. “Fuck. I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know.”
“You know what else, cocksucker? She’s got a bruise on her cheek. You know how she got that?”
Now his bloody mouth dropped open, and he lifted his hands in surrender. “Bro, look. I’m sorry. If I’d’ve known who she was to you… I’d never cross the Horde. I am so, so sorry. Tell me what to do to make it right. Anything. I’ll do anything. What can I do?”
Sherlock made like he was considering the question.
“You can bleed.”
~oOo~
When he came into the kitchen, the house was dark, quiet. There was a small stack of dirty dishes by the sink. Sherlock paused in the act of taking off his kutte and stared at that for a second.
Even with her arms stitched up, Sadie didn’t leave dirty dishes out. Not a single plate, not a fork. She thought it was gross.
“Sadie?”
Feeling a kind of worry that was becoming all too familiar, Sherlock went through the dark house, hoping for the best and trying to prepare himself for something else. His hands ached, and he flexed them, trying not to let them clench into fists.
He found her lying in bed, curled on her side. When he came into the room, she turned her head. He let the tension out of his body in a breath and went to sit next to her. “Hey, little outlaw. You okay?”
“Hey. Yeah. Just tired.”
He’d only been gone a few hours, and she’d been fine when he’d left. Herself. She hadn’t really needed him to hover; it was more that he’d needed to hover.
“Rough day?”
She sat up and put on a big, bright, completely false smile. “I kind of got fired today.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Guess I’ve flaked out a little bit too much lately. I’m officially on a ‘leave of absence’ until the kiddie porn case is over, but yeah. Fired.”
“Damn. I’m sorry.” He put his hand on her thigh and gave it a squeeze—checking as he did so for any new damage. He didn’t see any. She’d experienced a major setback and hadn’t cut. That seemed like a good sign. Or maybe it was just that she didn’t have that horrible box with her here at this house.
“Yeah. Oh well, I guess.” Looking down, she frowned and put her hand over his. “What happened? You’re hurt.”
He thought about ducking the question, but it wasn’t one he needed to duck, and he had to be straight with her where he could. “I took Muse and Demon and paid a visit to your buddy Gage.”
She searched his face for a long time. Her own was nearly expressionless; he’d expected something else. Shock, maybe. Anger.
When she finally spoke, she asked, “Did you kill him?”
“No. He’s probably in the hospital right now, but we left him breathing. He’ll never come near you again, though, I guarant
ee that.”
“Will it get you into trouble?”
Her interest in the consequences for him gave him heart. “Absolutely not. He knows he can’t talk.” He took a breath and caught her eyes again. “I have killed, Sadie. I think you should know that. But only when I had to, and nobody innocent.”
She nodded. “I figured.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I’m not naïve about everything. I did some research. I didn’t figure the Horde were the only outlaws in history who didn’t do outlaw things.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“That’s a strange question. Does it bother me that you’ve killed people? Is ‘no’ a possible answer to that? Sure, it bothers me. If you say you had to, though, then I believe you.”
“Are you sure? I have your trust?” He thought about the way she’d torn herself up—literally—for shooting at Taryn, how horrified she’d been that she’d felt that urge and acted on it. But then, what she’d done to herself that night had been about so much more than pulling the trigger.
“It’s not really my trust in you that gets shaky. It’s my trust in myself. Sometimes I just feel like everything’s spinning out of control.” She laughed and looked down, at their still-joined hands. “Pretty sad, since I’m not exactly in charge of anything important. Just my little life. Not doing such a bang-up job with it lately.”
“That’s bullshit, sweetheart. You know, I need you to meet my brother. He’s a fucking mess, with nowhere near the reason to be that you have. He’s washed out of rehab a bunch of times. Doesn’t even make it a week. You, though, you kept your life going when you were using, and you’ve kept clean since you stopped.”
“Yeah, but…” she gave her arms a significant look.
“I know. You’ve got work to do still. But you’ve been carrying too much on your own skinny little shoulders. You don’t have to do that anymore. There’s lots of room on mine.” He cupped her cheek. “Sadie, I want you to move in here. Officially. Completely. It’s time. Let me take care of you.”
With a long, slow, heavy sigh, she scanned his face again, her eyes moving back and forth. “Why, Sherlock? What does being with me do for you? I’m a disaster.”
This was the moment, he realized—the point at which what they had would solidify or break apart. It all hinged on whether his answer was enough to make her see.
“I love that you need me. I need it. But I’ve told you that already, more than once. So I’ll raise it: I’ve never known another woman who likes the things I like, who understands the things I do, who can share that part of my life. One of my favorite things we do is game together. Gaming has always been a solitary thing I did with these disembodied voices of other players in my head, people I’ll never know, who call me ‘Ben’ because that’s the name of the toon I’m playing. Playing with you is better. I love that you know that part of me.
“It’s more than that. The club has been changing these past few years. Guys are pairing up, settling down, making families. I wasn’t part of that, and I’ve been getting more isolated from the family part of the club—and that’s the thing that makes us stick. I hardly noticed. But then you met everybody, and you know them, and you’re making relationships of your own, and I’m part of something in my own club that I wasn’t before. I thought I was okay with the way my life was segmented into boxes. Until I met you. You put all my parts together.”
Her beautiful mouth quivered, and he laid his finger on it. “That’s why, little outlaw. You make me whole.”
“Fuck a duck,” she breathed, her lips moving against his finger. “I love you so much.”
“You’re moving in, then?” he chuckled.
She nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
“Good girl.” He leaned in and claimed a kiss.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“What are you doing?!”
Sherlock stopped and cocked his eyebrow at Sadie. “I’m packing. Does it look confusing?”
She snatched the throw pillow out of his hand. “That’s a kitchen box. This is a living room pillow.”
“You live in one room, sweetheart.”
“Not anymore, I don’t. Only kitchen things in the kitchen box.”
“That pillow fills this box perfectly—and keeps the dishes safe. Bonus efficiency.”
“Nope. Wrong room. Use dish towels instead.” Matter settled, Sadie turned and crossed the room to her empty bookcases, where she’d been sealing a box of books and games when she’d watched Sherlock come over and grab that pillow.
She sidestepped Fargo and Keanu, who were carrying the chest from her bathroom. They met Connor coming into the apartment and did the dance people did when they were trying to fill the same space.
It had taken several weeks to work everything out. Sadie had had trouble with the thought of selling her place, and she’d finally decided to rent it out instead. The building association wanted to get up in her business about that, but they’d eventually come to terms. So now, in October, she was officially giving up her own private place and moving in with Sherlock. She’d really been living with him since August, but as of this weekend, it was official.
She set the throw pillow back with its mates. Then she crouched down and wrote ‘LR: BOOKS/GAMES’ on the top of the box she’d just sealed, set the Sharpie aside, and slid her hands under it.
“No.” Sherlock’s voice and its demanding tone carried emphatically from the kitchen. She looked up to see him staring at her, shaking his head.
“It’s not that heavy.”
“No.” He came around the counter and headed her way. “There are six men here. You don’t need to carry a single fucking box. Find something to pack. Demon got that beaded light thing down in the bathroom—I’m sure you can occupy yourself wrapping that up.” He held his hand out to her. “Up you go. Step away from the box.”
She took his hand and let him pull her up. “Geez, Dad.”
He grinned and patted her belly. “Yep.” Then he hooked his arm around her and drew her close. Sadie leaned in, resting against his body. He was so much bigger than she was that she always felt enveloped by his embrace.
“Get a room,” Muse grumbled, but when Sadie caught his eye, he winked.
Sherlock kissed the top of her head and set her back with a smile. “Okay. Let’s get this done.” He patted her belly again and went back to the kitchen.
Whether it was a dumb idea or not, she was pregnant. Once she saw the test result, that was when it really hit her that having a baby while she was a fucking calamity of a human being might not have been her most intelligent decision ever. But Sherlock wanted it so much, he was so happy, so devoted, so protective, so perfectly loving, that she couldn’t manage to really freak out about it.
It was kind of cool, too, to be pregnant when other women she knew were. Faith was due in April, only a few weeks before she was, and Juliana’s little girl was due in December. Sadie had taken to studying all the Horde mothers very closely. And she’d started babysitting Ezra. Just a couple of afternoons a week; Bibi had him the rest of the time. She liked the practice, and she liked the baby. It gave her some little confidence that maybe she could be okay as a mom.
At six months old, Ezra had gotten through the colic stage. He was sitting up and starting to play with toys and people. He loved to watch the other club kids. All the Horde had been together at Hoosier and Bibi’s house for a Sunday dinner the first time he’d laughed. Sid had collapsed into sobs at the sound.
Sid was what scared Sadie most of all about having a baby. She was an emotional yo-yo, and she always seemed tired and stressed. From what Sadie could tell from the way the women talked, Sid had been pretty calm and cool before Ezra.
Sadie was starting out a wreck. If she had trouble like Sid was having trouble…well, then, good thing she hadn’t let Sherlock throw away her box.
That had been their worst fight so far. A real one. He could not understand why she needed that box; he could not understand how having
it made it less likely that she’d self-harm, not more. She’d fought him harder than she ever had before, because that was a fight she’d needed to win, reasonable or not.
He’d hated giving in; she’d seen in his eyes that he thought he was letting her down by giving up that fight. But he was wrong. Until she could give the box up herself, she needed it. Him forcing the point would only make her need it more.
She hadn’t needed it since that night she’d carved up her arms, though. Barely a twitch of that need since.
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