by Anne Malcom
I’d always felt easy, relaxed, walking in there.
But without Luke at my side, it didn’t feel right.
I prayed that he was true to his promise, that no matter what, he’d be right behind me.
Luke
He braced. Hard. For the hit—fuck, for the bullet. He was certain the former was coming; the latter was an educated guess. You didn’t just walk into the compound you’d been trying to burn to the ground for years, stand in front of the man you’d hated for your entire life, the man whose life you were trying to ruin, tell him you loved his baby sister and get a pat on the back. No. Even in a normal situation you wouldn’t get that. And this was so far from a normal situation he would laugh if he wasn’t so fucking nervous.
Not about the inevitable punch or the semi-inevitable bullet.
He’d experienced a lot of the former and a fair few of the latter in his years wearing the badge. He was used to them. He sure as fuck wasn’t afraid of them.
He was afraid of any life without Rosie. Fucked up, but he was finding it hard to remember that he had any life before her. It sounded ridiculous, like he was a character in some Nicholas Sparks book for even thinking it, but it was the truth. It was all murky, the before, like a half-remembered dream.
At least it was when he was with her.
Now that he was staring in the face of the man who could alter the course of his life, his past, that dream, was promising an ugly and stark reality of a future without her if this didn’t go well.
Rosie’s family were everything to her. Some women built their worth on things, on looks, money, the men they could bed, the fucking image they put on their social media. Not Rosie. Her worth, her life, her happiness were packaged into that clubhouse, gated off and secured with barbed wire. She’d let him in, but the man in front of him could kick him out.
He’d never thought he’d want to so badly be in there.
They stared at each other for a long time. The length of a lifetime he’d be promised if this went to shit. Cade had this way of staring at a man like he had all the time in the world to cut his guts out and show them to him. Just for fun. It didn’t scare Luke. At least not before.
“You love her?” Cade grunted finally, breaking the uneasy silence.
Luke was momentarily surprised it was words that broke the silence instead of the unmistakable sound of a fist on flesh or a bullet discharging, but he recovered quickly.
“Yeah,” he replied.
Cade gave him that stare once more, testing the truth in that single word.
Luke supposed he had a lot of practice in staring at a man and looking for a lie in his eyes. Probably more than Luke did, though he’d never admit that out loud.
Cade nodded once. “Okay. Let’s have a beer.”
Luke gaped at him. Openly gaped. He could feel the loss of his poker face and didn’t have it in him to regain it.
“You’re shitting me,” he spluttered. “That’s it?”
Cade nodded again. “That’s it.”
Luke ran his hand through his hair. “You’re not spiking my beer with arsenic?”
Cade made a grunt that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. “Poison’s a woman’s weapon. Not my sister’s, of course. Hers is a G42. Subtlety is not her strong suit. Runs in the family.”
“But it can’t be that simple,” Luke said, a smile of his own threatening the corner of his mouth.
“Not many things in life are that simple,” Cade said. “It’s fuckin’ tiring dealing with them. Why the fuck try to make the simple things complicated too? Lost patience for that shit the second I saw life without my wife. My kids.” His eyes went dark. “So you love my sister. She’s happy, really happy this time, so that means she loves you. Do I wish she was with someone who didn’t spend the majority of his career trying to bring down my club? Perhaps. But then again, maybe not. Not my choice. Know by experience it’s not yours, or even hers either. We don’t get to control that shit. We’re just lucky enough to live it.”
Luke stared at Cade. The man who, up until recently, he’d thought of as a criminal, as a cold-blooded killer. Who he’d never heard that many words from… ever.
“Don’t get me wrong. You hurt her, I’ll cut off your dick and feed it to you,” Cade continued conversationally. “After she’s done with you, of course.” He eyed him shrewdly. “Don’t expect I’ll be needing to do that, though. I repeat the question. Do you love her?”
Like before, without hesitation, Luke answered, “Yes.”
Cade shrugged. “Then it’s that simple.”
He turned on his heel, walking toward the entrance of the clubhouse that Luke had never been an invited guest of before in his entire life. If there ever was going to be an invitation, Cade’s shrug and small monologue followed by his exit that didn’t include a death threat or the brandishing of a weapon was it.
Luke stared at the patch on the back of Cade’s cut, the grim reaper taunting him: ‘The Sons of Templar MC.’
All his life, he was convinced that piece of leather, all who wore it, and everything it represented were nothing short of the Devil. He tried to think of what specifically gave him that impression, that bloodthirsty need to see the entire club and its members dismantled and cuffed.
Laurie’s death? No, it was before that. But that certainly fed into his obsession.
He could stand there and ponder the origins of that hate. Or he could choose to leave it right there in the dirt, the last scrap of what remained of his previous life. His badge was long gone, and sometimes he missed the weight of it, but then he thought about that weight on his heart. The buck fifty of it, the chocolate curls that tumbled over it. Rosie’s favorite place, and his favorite place for her—besides on his dick.
The decision wasn’t so hard then.
Cade was right. It really was that simple.
He followed the grim reaper.
Rosie
The moments you expected in life to be climatic and chaotic usually weren’t that way. When you built something up to be either terrible or utterly awesome, most of the time you were disappointed or relieved.
Not that I ever really expected chaos or climatic. I lived in it. Normal would’ve been more unexpected.
But I did expect Luke, out of uniform, next to my brother, walking into the clubhouse during a party to have somewhat of an effect.
Especially when his eyes immediately found me, then his feet, then finally his arms.
There was a pause in all the noise, in all the chaos, so small I might’ve imagined it. Then it was gone, the music was loud, the men were louder, and drinks were flowing.
I didn’t notice any of that, too busy cataloguing Luke for injuries.
He laughed. “I’m not bleedin’ or bruised, babe,” he said, rubbing my arms.
I frowned. “I’m not convinced. I’ll have to give you a very thorough physical. Later.”
My stomach dipped even as I said the words, my skin prickling as Luke’s eyes darkened.
“Your brother didn’t shoot me on sight, Rosie,” he growled. “Don’t push your luck by making me take you to an empty hall and fuck your brains out.” His lips brushed my ear and my panties dampened. “Though, I’d risk getting shot to be fucking you hard and fast against a wall.”
I swallowed roughly, glancing around the room. “Stop, Luke,” I whispered. “Because you keep talking like that, I might let you. And I don’t want you to get shot.”
His hand brushed over my ass. “Later,” he murmured, just as Lucky sauntered up, grinning, his arm around Bex.
“Well fucking well,” he said as greeting. “The white sheep of the family returns, and she brought a friend.” His eyes went to Luke. “More than friend. So it’s good I didn’t shoot you, isn’t it, buddy?” He was grinning, none of his previous distaste for Luke showing. It was as if he hadn’t been in this very clubhouse a year ago, about to be shot and arrested by Luke.
Lucky didn’t hold grudges.
I grinned, and
so did Luke. “Yeah, I’d have to say I’m fuckin’ glad too,” Luke replied easily.
Seemed he didn’t hold grudges either.
The conversation was interrupted by Brock and Amy—or, more accurately, Amy.
“You little fucking bitch!” she yelled, yanking me out of Luke’s arm with a wink and into her cloud of Chanel No.5. She squeezed hard, then let me go. “I fucking knew this was going to happen,” she said confidently. “But I’m kind of disappointed. You didn’t blow anything up or get shot or anything during the courtship.” She frowned. “I expected more from you.”
I laughed. “The night’s still young.”
Brock yanked his wife back into his embrace. “For fuck’s sake, Sparky, don’t jinx shit like that,” he growled, kissing her head with a tenderness that didn’t match his gruff tone. “Perhaps we’ve had enough of that drama, thought of that?”
He squeezed her tight, as if he was scared her drama involving the father of the man I shot last year was going to rise from the grave and almost kill Amy a second time.
Though even flesh-eating zombies would have a hard—try impossible—time snatching Amy away again.
She rolled her eyes. “There’s no such thing as too much drama, right, Bex?”
Bex grinned, toying with Lucky’s wedding ring. “Oh, I don’t know. I’d say car bombs and shootings are quite enough drama.” Her eyes went faraway for a second, the year anniversary of that drama fast approaching. The day I shot someone. The day we lost Scott. It hit her hard, that loss. Cracked the pieces she’d only just put back together.
Lucky sensed it, as the men seemed to do, understanding their women’s distress. He tilted her head up and kissed her on the nose. “Love you, baby,” he murmured, loud enough for everyone to hear and not giving a fuck about it either.
She smiled. “Love you.”
“Can you not engage in full-on s-e-x right now? I have an impressionable young child approaching,” Mia yelled, Rocko grinning beside her. His little hand was grasping his father’s large, tattooed pinky. His father was a giant compared to him.
Bull was holding his wife’s other hand.
Bex grinned wickedly. “As if we’d start having sex right here.”
Mia grinned back. “You did it last week.”
Lucky shrugged. “I put a sock on the door.”
Mia laughed. “No you didn’t.” Then her eyes went to me, glowing. She snatched me from Amy, yanking me into her arms. “I’m so glad about this.” She gestured between Luke and me, then looked at her beautiful brute of a husband. “Zane is too, but it mucks with his street cred to squeal about the love fluttering in the air. He did it at home though.” She winked.
Bull merely shook his head, grinning.
Such a facial expression was commonplace for most people, but for Bull, it was pivotal. Because not so long ago, he didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, didn’t live. His body was walking around in this world, but his soul was somewhere else. Somewhere horrible where the day of Laurie’s death was on repeat.
But Mia brought him back.
Even if she wasn’t completely awesome, and completely insane with a hugely famous rock-star daughter, I’d love her for that alone.
I caught Lily’s eye from where she was sitting on the sofa. She was cradling her tiny newborn, Emily, in her arms. Asher had his arms around her, his other hand cradling his daughter’s head.
I blew her a kiss.
Luke claimed me, back to his front.
And I fit. Perfectly.
Funnily enough, so did he.
“Cade is talking to Luke and not shooting him. I’m impressed,” Lizzie said, sitting down after giving up on chasing her children around to try and stop them getting into trouble.
They were with Rocko, so trouble was inevitable.
I sipped my beer, watching Cade’s mouth move, saying something to Luke that didn’t resemble a death threat.
“Yeah, I’m as surprised as you,” I told her. I looked around at all the people who made me who I was, then to Luke. “Do you think they hate me?” I whispered, letting out my last insecurity to one of my oldest friends, one of the club’s first old ladies, apart from Evie.
Lizzie’s beautiful face screwed up. “You’ve been fighting for all of these people your entire life,” she said, gaze going around the bustling outdoor area, touching fondly on her husband and her daughter for a moment. “Fighting tooth and nail.” She focused her attention back on me. “Taking every inch of pain away whenever you could, absorbing it yourself. You’re the central nervous system of this club, babe.” She looked around again, finding Gwen, squealing with laughter as her husband yanked her backward into his embrace. “You were there for Gwen when she arrived in this town, despite her catching the eye of the man you loved.”
I couldn’t hide my flinch at Lizzie’s observation, her offhand comment betraying her knowledge of a secret I’d guarded with ferocity my whole life. She said it like it was nothing. Not that it didn’t mean something, but that my very emotion toward Luke wasn’t some kind of betrayal.
She didn’t stop to let me mull on it.
“You accepted her into your family. Took care of her when this life threatened everything she’d built. Took care of your brother when she left a gaping hole in his heart when she left. Welcomed your niece with a love that spread through the whole town when she came back, all the while standing with Steg and Evie throughout his recovery.” She moved her gaze to Amy, who was staring so hard at her husband cradling my adorable nephew, Kingston, in his large arms that she spilled her entire cocktail onto the yellowing grass and didn’t even notice. “You gave Amy everything she needed when she was going through the grief of losing the man she loved and the guilt of loving Brock more than that. Fuck, you even almost died with her driving to get booze.”
I rose my brow. “Booze is important, even though Amy has forgotten that.” She’d now discarded her empty glass and was going to sink into her husband’s embrace. He kissed her red hair first, then her mouth, like he wasn’t holding a two-year-old kid. Then again, I was sure Kingston had already seen his parents’ PDA.
Lizzie smiled. She didn’t stay on them for long; instead she found Mia, chasing around Rocko, who seemed to have some form of weapon in his chubby toddler hands. I smiled myself. That kid was going to be crazier than both Lucky and Gage combined when he grew up. Shit, he was crazier than them now.
He let out a little scream of joy when his normally stoic father scooped him up with smiling eyes, kissing his son’s head and shaking his own at the same time when he saw what was in his small hands. Mia put her hands on her hips, scowling at her husband with a glare filled with love.
“You helped a single mom understand that the man she loved was broken almost beyond repair, and you helped her figure out how to fix him,” Lizzie said softly. Her eyes glimmered. “Even though seeing him with someone else who wasn’t your best friend hurt every part of you. You were finally saying goodbye, realizing she was finally gone.” Her words were thick with emotion, true to the core, as if she’d plucked my grief from my mind.
Laurie was part of her life too. A big part. Which meant even now, years later, we both felt the wind whistling through that empty piece of us.
I leaned over to squeeze her hand. She smiled, the expression full of melancholy, then squeezed back. She sucked in a painful gulp of air, then moved her gaze once more. It found Lily, sitting slightly removed from the chaos, pushing a stroller with that absent rhythm a mother has, almost without thinking. Her eyes were far away, focusing on the horizon. Then they weren’t. Then they focused on her husband, lighting with love and happiness so genuine and beautiful it was almost hard to look at. He returned the gaze tenfold. Seeing them apart, you would never guess the shy, beautiful woman would fit with the large, muscled biker. He reached her, gently removing her hand from the stroller, though not before checking inside with that same love glowing in his eye, visible even from across the party. It’d be visible from the moon.
Satisfied his daughter was safely slumbering, he yanked his wife into his body, kissing her fully and not at all chastely on the mouth.
And there it was. They fit.
I was still staring when a voice punctured the quiet beauty of the moment.
“Gabriel, you asshole! Put me the fuck down,” a voice demanded.
Lizzie and I focused our attention on the source of the yell, both of us already grinning. We couldn’t see Bex’s midnight cropped hair, just the top of her ass cheek that rested on top of Lucky’s cut as he carted her inside over his shoulder.
He caught my eye and winked at the exact same moment he landed a firm slap on Bex’s ass.
That resulted in another string of curses. Lucky’s grin widened. As did mine.
“You took in a beautiful and immensely broken girl,” Lizzie whispered. “Took her into your home, took care of her when she couldn’t take care of herself. Protected her the best you could from her own demons, even if it meant living with your own.” She paused. “You pulled the trigger on a man who deserved to die, even though you didn’t deserve the nightmares that came from taking his life.”
Her words, her tone, were as gentle as the touch of a feather, but the memories they carried weighed on me like a stone.
“You did that, even if it meant putting a bullet wound in your own happily ever after. Without a second of hesitation.”
Lizzie’s hands squeezed mine, and I blinked away the grim reaper that beckoned me as a comrade. A friend.
I focused on her midnight-blue eyes as they crossed the party once more, meeting Ranger’s as he wrestled with a toddler to try and clean ice cream off his face.
“Little help, babe,” he bellowed across the party.
Lizzie grinned. “You’re a big bad biker. I think you can handle it,” she teased.
“I’ll handle you,” he growled, eyes glowing with erotic promise.
Lizzie’s cheeks reddened as she giggled like a schoolgirl, even almost a decade into her marriage. She was still madly in love with her husband. Like a teenager. And even though he was wrestling a toddler much like a man might wrangle with an alligator, his gaze never left her for long, as if he was afraid if he didn’t glance at her enough, she might slip away. The way a man might look at the stars to make sure he didn’t get lost forever in dark and lonely woods.