Rush: (Retribution MC Romance) (Carolina Bad Boys Book 5)

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Rush: (Retribution MC Romance) (Carolina Bad Boys Book 5) Page 7

by Rie Warren


  “Know what I always liked about you, Handsome? You never said much, but you always had a point when you did.” He lifted two fingers to Kinkaid and waited patiently for the delivery of two whiskeys. “And you never stirred up trouble, always had the time to take care of other folks.”

  My lips wrinkled into a sneer. “And that means I don’t need a come to Jesus talk now.”

  “You’re a solid man.”

  “I’m an asshole.”

  “Well, can’t argue about that given how you treated Shiloh last time she was here. But you also did a lot for her in the short time since she first turned up. Fixed her car. Helped her move. And I heard about the kiss too.” He took a swig of the mellow whiskey. “I know what it’s like to close yourself off, my man.”

  “Do we need to take this to the private table?” I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “Is that where this is going?” I said in my most disrespectful tone.

  “Boy. I can take you outside and beat the shit out of you if that’s the only thing that’ll get through that thick fucking skull of yours.” His hand clapped onto my shoulder again, that time with a helluva lot more force. “You ain’t that big yet.”

  Get into a fistfight with Boomer Steele? Where I was a solidly muscled one hundred and ninety pounds, he was a brick shithouse of at least two hundred-thirty.

  Then again, maybe he could just make me go lights-out a lot earlier tonight, with a lot fewer recriminations weighing on my mind.

  I took my first slow sip of whiskey. “Pass on the brawl, thanks.”

  “Good. I don’t get off hitting people I like.” Leaning an elbow on the bar, he glanced at me. “So listen. Brodie’s worried about you. Tail is worried about you. Tucker’s worried about you. Now, me? I don’t give a good shit about you.”

  I shook my head, a small smile forming.

  He grinned. “Either you talk to Shiloh on your own recognizance—”

  “Hey, you been brushing up on your word-of-the-day calendar, haven’t you?” Per usual, Brodie popped up like a freakin’ goateed gopher, slapping his hand on his brother’s back. “Buying you another one for next year.”

  “Fuck you, Brodie.” Without missing a beat, Boomer carried on. “Or you can get your ass in gear, man up, and do something about your fuck up, Handsome. Because it was pretty epic.”

  “I taught him that word.” Rayce sidled over, sliding her fingers up Boomer’s chest.

  The tiny woman only reached his shoulders—when he was sitting on a stool. But she had sass enough to take on big Boomer Steele and twist him right around her finger where her wedding ring sparkled. And—let’s just say she was well built to boot.

  Boomer would blind me and all the other dudes if he thought we noticed his new wife’s more than generous curves.

  Some things were better left unsaid. Especially if you wanted to live through the night.

  Boomer snatched his woman into a prolonged kiss that was hot enough to make me look away.

  Brodie had no such compunction.

  He waited for them to break their lip-lock then held out his fist to Rayce. “’Z’up, new sis?”

  “I was just wondering how much longer Boomer has to stick around here counseling you bunch of misfit halfwits before he can take me home.” She pinned me with her laser-like gaze. “Because I promised I’d suck him off twice tonight, and I’ve got an early morning at the garage tomorrow.”

  I almost spit out a mouthful of whiskey.

  Even Brodie’s eyes flipped wide.

  Rayce blinked prettily at Boomer who sat gaping at her for a moment. “That is, if you think you’re still up for a couple blowjobs, Old Man.”

  He growled, low and deep, grabbing her close to him. “I don’t think me getting it up has ever been a problem with you, princess.”

  They almost singed the steel top off the bar with the look that passed between the two of them.

  Then Boomer eased off his stool, threw a wave around, and grabbed his truck keys in one hand and Rayce’s ass in another.

  “So you’ll take care of shit with Shiloh? Because I’m . . .” His words trailed off when Rayce whispered something at his ear.

  I swore to fuck he blushed.

  “Yeah. Yeah. I got it. Don’t be a dick to Shy. On it,” I called to his retreating back.

  Didn’t think he heard a single word because he almost broke the front door off its hinges, hustling Rayce from the building.

  “And apologize to your lady.” Brodie knocked his shoulder against mine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Reckoning

  I PARKED OUTSIDE SHY’S garage the next night. She’d have to code me in so I could enter, and I wasn’t one bit sure she’d agree to see me again.

  She’d probably rather shoot me on sight. Couldn’t blame her. I’d been a complete jackhole.

  So surprise didn’t even cover it when she heard my voice then immediately opened the door to the garage. The elevator was waiting for me, and I hurried to it.

  Fucking weird being deposited straight into her condo. When the doors slid apart, I braced an arm against them to keep them open just in case Shy decided to shuttle me straight back down without letting me inside.

  She stood there, waiting. Her lips slick and slightly parted. Wearing a tight tank top and baggy sweats rolled loosely around her ankles. Barefoot and bare of makeup and never prettier.

  “Yes?” She asked, an imperious lilt to her voice, a challenging thrust to her pretty pointed chin.

  “Peace offering.” I lifted the brown paper bag crushed inside the tight grip of my hand.

  She didn’t take it. “What is it?”

  “An apology?” I shook the bottle inside the ABC store packaging. “Remember that crappy liquor we used to sneak at our families’ parties? When I was too much of a rebel son to drink the good stuff from the Rush Distillery?”

  “Popov Vodka!” A smile threatened her lips. “Do I dare let you in with your cheap peace offering?”

  “Bring something better next time?” I lifted a shoulder.

  “Will there be a next time?”

  “I hope so, Shy.”

  Stepping back, she accepted the bottle and allowed me inside.

  I looped my arms around her waist to stop her from turning away from me. “Before we get to the real apology thing I need to do this first.”

  She only had time to gasp before I hauled her into a bruising, almost brutal, kiss. The kind that was all tongues searching, hands seeking, lips wetting, and that fucking bottle of vodka bouncing against my back when Shy’s hands moved from my shoulders lower.

  I broke free, greedily running my thumb back and forth across her generous bottom lip.

  With my fingers cradling her face, I pecked a kiss once more at her upraised lips. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  Her eyes were the palest gray, shining like polished silver, caressing my face.

  “I was a shithead,” I said.

  “I won’t disagree.”

  My lips moved to her cheek. “You mean so much to me and . . . fuck. This all took me by surprise. Not proud of myself or the way I treated you, Shy.”

  “I can be a little too much.” She shrugged, pulling away.

  I grabbed her right back. “Bullshit. Not too much.” I cupped her head in my hands and sampled her plush lips again.

  The drumming desire in my groin reared up—the taste and feel of her quickly tightening into corkscrews centered deep down where the heat grew.

  I pulled my hips away from her body, my hard-on from her pelvis, my mouth from hers.

  Laughing roughly, I reached for her hand and laid it on my pounding chest. “If we’re gonna do this thing, though, you need to tell me everything. I know you’re hiding something.”

  Shy disengaged from me immediately. “How?”

  “The prescriptions in your bathroom.”

  “You ransacked my medicine cabinet?”

  “The door opened when I was wiping off the mirror. Bottles fell out, Shy.”
>
  “How much do you know?”

  I pressed my fists to my lips, really fucking worried about her. “I know what some of the prescriptions do, but other than that, not a lot except something’s going on. And I want to know so I can be here for you.”

  “Drink first.”

  Taking the bottle of vodka from her, I tossed the bag onto the long kitchen counter and uncapped it.

  I poured two shots, and I was pretty sure both our noses pinched at the thought of Popov burning down our throats.

  “Old time’s sake?” I clinked my glass to hers.

  “Here’s hoping we live through this.” She nodded. “Down the hatch.”

  Taking the shot, I swallowed fast. Seasoned drinker and all, my eyes watered, my tongue felt like it was on fire, my throat—yup—burned. “You’re right to question this.”

  “Fuck!” Swiping her mouth, she squinted. “Still gross.”

  “Got any vino?”

  “In the wine fridge.”

  I poured another two drinks, that time of the good stuff, and carried the long-stemmed glasses to Shy who’d relocated to the couch.

  She nervously bit her lip, patted the cushion next to her, kept her feet planted on the floor.

  “This is really hard to talk about, Max.” Her eyes flashed to mine. “Should I call you Handsome?”

  Setting my wine down, I rolled an arm around her shoulders. “Call me what you want. Bastard would probably be pretty fucking spot-on after the last conversation we had.”

  She shifted away, looking out the window. “I’m not a whole woman.”

  I curled closer to her. Personal space be damned. “I’m not a whole man either. Haven’t been for a long time just never had enough guts to admit it.” I grasped her chin, tugging her around to me. “Tell me.”

  Shy pulled free and, with her lips trembling, she lifted her left leg to my lap.

  I peered down at the bare foot resting across my thighs. To the skin that looked perfect, unblemished.

  Too perfect?

  My hand hovered above her ankle.

  Those times she’d tripped.

  The long dresses she wore.

  The meds.

  It wasn’t completely adding up.

  “Touch it.” She dragged in a deep breath, her eyes shutting. “Touch me.”

  I looked at her face with my hand just inches above her leg in my lap. Tears formed at the corners of her lids. Two fat drops fell, and her lips quivered before she inhaled again.

  “Please touch me, Max.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered in a rush.

  “You won’t.” A sad smile curved her mouth. “I can’t feel anything down there anymore.”

  I sought her bare foot, her ankle, her calf. I’d held her and touched her and kissed her. Shy was vital, heated, woman, but this was . . . she was smooth and cool as glass down there.

  My hands kneaded higher, roaming beneath her sweats. The shock of artificial flesh gave way to a bit of jersey-like fabric and finally warm comfort at her knee, and I curled my fingers around the living skin beneath my fingers.

  Scooting back, I bent low. I kissed that unfamiliar ankle, caressed up the length of her lower leg. “What is it? What happened to you, baby?”

  “I’m an amputee.” A deep breath gusted from her, and she turned her head aside. “It’s a prosthetic. Very expensive.” Her gaze slipped to mine—the silver-rich color tarnished by sadness. “I have bone cancer. But I’m beating it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Truth Hurts

  THE QUEEN OF THE soccer field in high school.

  The track star. The surfer girl . . .

  An amputee?

  My hands convulsed on her. “Bone cancer?”

  “Osteosarcoma. You know it’d be nice for a change if the names for cancer didn’t sound like death knells in and of themselves.” She reached for her wine and took a slow swallow.

  My hands still gripped her.

  I loosened my hold only to stroke her leg back and forth up under her sweats where I knew she felt me.

  My heart was a wrecking ball in my chest.

  “Cancer? When? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Pain tore through me.

  Pain for what she’d gone through.

  For one heart-stopping moment I realized she could’ve died without me ever knowing she was sick in the first place.

  “Over a year and a half ago.” One single tear slipped down her cheek.

  “But you said you’d been travelling in Europe . . . studying . . .”

  “I was. Until I had to come home for treatment.”

  “How are you doing?” I was still in shock.

  Shy looked so healthy, so vibrant, how the hell could she have cancer?

  “Max, I don’t want you to worry about me.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, sending me a small smile.

  “Too fucking late for that.” I frowned before sliding my hands toward hers, lacing our fingers together.

  Leaning closer, I kissed her slowly on the lips.

  Her breath sped against my mouth when I pulled back the slightest amount.

  “How are you doing?” I repeated.

  Untangling her fingers, she cupped my jaw, holding me close. “Well, remission won’t happen until I’m five years cancer-free. But I don’t want to get into it all. Not with you.”

  “Too damn bad. Because I wanna know.” My jaw tensed, and I willed myself to be gentle with her.

  She imbibed another long swallow of wine. “Finished my last round of chemo five months ago.”

  I stared at her intently, hardly breathing as my heart twisted in my chest.

  “That was after a first round of treatment. Then the amputation.”

  My hand fell to her leg, skimming up to her thigh.

  “More chemo after that,” she whispered. “The cancer was aggressive. They couldn’t salvage all of my leg. The drugs you found, they’re for what came after. There’s been a lot to get used to.”

  Her irises brightened with a sheen of tears when she looked at me.

  I was choking on my own breath. “I never would’ve guessed. Goddamn, baby.” My face crumpled.

  “I’m getting used to the prosthetics. They’re very fancy, you know?”

  “Jesus, Shy.” I dragged her into my arms. “I thought you never . . .”

  “Never what? Felt pain?”

  “I’m sorry.” I dropped my cheek against her silky hair, guilt and shame pouring through me.

  “Don’t be. We both grew up in the same world. Privileged.”

  “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

  “Seeing me like this is bad enough,” she whispered so low I barely heard her, but when I did, I reared back to stare at her.

  Her eyes were downcast, her lips downturned.

  I nudged her chin up beneath my fingers. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re beautiful. You always have been. Inside and out.”

  “You don’t know about this.” She ruffled her fingers through her hair, her voice even quieter than before. “It’s a wig. I lost all my hair. It’s so babyish now. I hate it.”

  My heart hurt for her. Not enough to lose her leg, but her hair, too?

  Peering down at her, I quirked a grin. “What’s a little hair? It’ll grow back, right? Let me tell you, Brodie brought this little boy to the MC last winter. He’d met him at Bike Week during the fundraising ride. Cutest little dude named Wyatt. Leukemia. And he was so excited to show Brodie his hair had started coming back. He’s a damn cool kid.”

  Shy’s eyes misted over. “Oh, that just breaks my heart, hearing about the little ones.”

  “You are too good, y’know that?” I picked her up in my arms and cuddled her in my lap.

  “Don’t make me cry.” She gave a tiny sniffle. “I’ve already done all my crying. And I’m not that good. I’ve done my shouting and being angry at the unfairness of it all too.”

  I held her against me, stroking up and down her back.

&
nbsp; Amputation.

  Chemo.

  Cancer.

  The words kept spinning around my head.

  I wouldn’t let myself be anything but strong for her.

  Shy.

  Strength.

  Beauty.

  Her lush breasts pressed against my chest, and something deeper, hotter, smoldering stirred between us, especially when her fingertips began coasting up and down the ink scattered all over my forearms.

  Her touched raised the hair on my arms and at the back of my neck.

  Her nipples hardened.

  Her breath came out faster.

  “What do you want Shy?” I asked, my voice suddenly deeper.

  Something shifted. My whole perception of Shiloh.

  Who was I kidding? She’d made me see her differently, as a woman, the first time she stepped into Retribution.

  This was totally new territory.

  Wanting someone this much.

  She didn’t answer, but her hands slowly roved to my chest, and her lips were moist against the cords of my neck.

  “Anything you want, Shy.” My fingers funneled beneath her hair, teasing small circles against the soft nape of her neck.

  I was hard everywhere for her, ragged breaths digging into the bottom of my chest. My cock had surged full mast, but I wouldn’t rush her.

  Her lips brushed my neck again, and her words were almost a moan. “I want you. I want to feel. I want to be alive with you.”

  The hot need to have her beneath me, begging for my cock, pounded through me.

  I tilted her head back.

  “What else?” I licked her neck from her collarbone to her ear. “Tell me.”

  “Fuck me, Max.”

  I shuddered all over before scooping her up. She latched her arms around my neck as I stood from the sofa. Then I turned in a circle, forgetting which door led to her bedroom.

  A low laugh rumbled from my chest. “Um. Which room again?”

  “It’s not that big.” She shook her head against me, a smile in her voice.

  “Well, something else sure is.” I nipped her shoulder, wondering what she’d do if I fucked her against the newly painted wall of the living room. “And it’s sucking all the blood from my body and sending it south.”

  She gasped, and her eyes darkened with desire. “Really?”

 

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