“No, mo leannan. Not leaving, just moving around the bed. Didn’t wanna wake you.”
She smiles sleepily and releases my hand in order to flip back the comforter on my side, so I waste no more time standing around like an idiot and climb in next to her. I was right; it’s the softest fucking bed I’ve ever lain in. Even softer than the one she had when we were younger. We were both broke back then.
Frankie doesn’t even give me the chance to pull her against me, nuzzling her ass against my dick. As soon as she settles, my arms get wrapped around her and we both drift off.
The daylight barely peeked though the bedroom curtains when my eyes popped open. My thigh smarts having her leg, hand or whatever other part of her she pressed down on it last night while we were enjoying each other’s company. I rolled onto my side to face her, propping my head up on my bent arm watching her sleep.
She looks so peaceful sleeping. I take this time to get up and limp to the bathroom so I can take a few ibuprofen for the pain. While I’m up I check on the babes. Caity showed up with them when I got home yesterday. She told me about Frankie’s work emergency after I updated Duke on the Anguino Cartel situation. The lasses’re still off in dreamland. Good. It gives me more time with the woman I love before I have to be a da again.
Unfortunately, when I slide back under the covers, the movement wakes up Frankie. Fortunately, she turns her stunning brown eyes on me and smiles.
“Morning,” she says.
“Morning, mo leannan. How’re ya feeling?”
“Fine. Sore, if I’m honest. But the good kind—like after a good workout. I haven’t…um… been with a man since… well it had been years.”
She doesn’t have to tell me how many. I knew it last night it had been eight of ’em. “We gotta talk,” I whisper, staring at her laying beside me, in awe of the fact that she’s here. After all we’ve been through, life brought us together again. It’s a goddam miracle.
“I know,” she answers, solemnly.
“What had you so rattled last night?”
She sighs. “Rodrick.”
At his name my body goes taut. “Go on,” I urge.
“He stopped me. It was dark and we were alone. He said some really nasty things.” She emphasizes the word nasty and I can read every bit of her meaning in her eyes. Though, I don’t need to because she gives it to me straight. “He tried to drag me from my car but I held on to that door for dear life until I could get it locked. Rory, I was so scared he was going to rape me that I sped off—left the scene.”
The frown spreads over my face but I keep silent, attempting to rein in my temper.
“What if he comes after me, raids the compound—I’m so sorry I brought this on you.” Tears roll down her cheeks. I reach my thumb over to wipe them away.
“These’re the only tears ya cry, hear me? He didn’t call it in. That was a rogue cop doing bad, but even if he brought the fucking army down on us, you did nothing wrong.”
“But—” she tries to protest.
“You did nothing wrong.”
First, we make love in the bed and then I go down on her in the shower between washing up. And as much as I want to end that fucker Rodrick, I have to tread carefully. My family needs me. I already considered Frankie family, but when she said she loved me, that cemented she and I permanently in this relationship. No explaining away the time she and I spend together to Brighton. No more pretending it’s just for the wee ones. We’re officially an us and that’s forever. Fuck. I rub my hands over my eyes. I am so gone for this woman. So fucking, fucking gone.
I’m pretty proud of myself for keeping my cool, actually.
The babes wake up, Macie as vocal as always. Mollie coos and gurgles. Both their eyes lit up, seeing Frankie and me. Together we change and feed them as we pack for Bald Head. I made the decision as the head of the MacGregor family that from the moment we stepped from the shower, Rodrick was forgotten. We have plans. New memories to make. He doesn’t get to ruin them, so I’m not going to let him.
“I don’t have any swimsuits,” she complains. “I can’t leave from here.”
“It’s a beach; they’ll sell swimsuits there. I want us gone from here before that dickhead has the chance to throw a wrench in our plans.”
“We’re running from him?” she asks.
That just pisses me off. “Shite, no. We ain’t running. It’s called a strategic retreat. Out of sight, out of mind. Gives me a chance to figure out what to do with him.”
“Okay, I can see that.”
“Plus, it gives me a chance to fuck ya on a beach,” I say, and I laugh when she punches my shoulder.
After a quick pack, because anything we’ve forgotten we can buy once we’re on the road, Frankie hooks Mollie into her seat and I do the same with Macie and we head out to the truck. Duke already gave me the time off because I was injured doing club work and he knows the situation with Frankie.
We take the Interstate, driving until we decide to stop to stretch our legs in Ashville, North Carolina. We walk around, pop inside some of the shops. The lassies are glad to be out of their seats for a while, I think.
Ready for a late lunch, we take our seats inside an eclectic café with white Christmas lights strung artfully on the walls alongside antiques. There’re two creepy-as-hell ventriloquist dummies seated in child-sized wooden chairs secured to one wall playing poker at a child-sized table. I swear their fucking eyes follow us around the whole room. The menu boasts of the best She-Crab bisque in the state and fried green tomatoes so good, they’ll “make you smack your mama.” Lucky for her, my ma is back Glasgow because Frankie and I both order their specialties and end the meal with peach cobbler because when in North Carolina…
It’s not easy to spoon up bisque and fork up tomatoes and cobbler one handed with a baby on yar lap, but the babes need to stretch as long as possible. And the smile on Frankie’s face, the way her eyes twinkle as Mollie latches on to Frankie’s lip with her little fingers while Frankie tries to take a bite… the way she laughs and kisses Mollie’s hand instead of eating… I wouldn’t trade one fucking minute of it.
From the restaurant it’s a fill-up for the truck and we’re back on the road. The sun shines bright enough through the cab of the car that it heats us to the point I have to turn on the air. Stark difference from the chilly weather back home. Frankie and I fill the time with listening to music, talking about the last few weeks we were apart—pointedly omitting any discussion of Rodrick or for me, the cartel—and reliving fun stories from the last time she and I headed to Bald Head together.
Several more hours of driving go by until we finally reach Southport. I park at the marina and we each grab a bag and a carrier. I use one hand to shake open the stroller, locking the lasses down in the stroller seats, then we take a shuttle to the front dock, where we purchase our tickets for the ferry. The wind blows Frankie’s hair, framing her face, and the way the light hits it brings out dark, coppery highlights.
She must feel me staring because she turns to me, laughing uncomfortably. “What?” she asks.
“Have I told ya how beautiful ya are?”
In a bout of shyness, she lowers her lashes. “No.”
“Shame on me, then. Because a more beautiful woman has yet to be born. Have I reminded ya of how much I love ya?”
“Not today,” she answers, and the smile she shoots me turns coy rather than shy.
“Then you should know that, too.” I set the bag on the sidewalk and, shifting the stroller out of the way but still keeping a hand on the handle, I wrap my free arm around Frankie’s waist to draw her closer. I whisper, “Love ya” right before I kiss her.
The line to board the ferry begins to move, which means I have to end things sooner than I want to, though we’ll have more time for everything once we’ve checked into our hotel on the island. Although we’d both love to sit on the top deck to get the full ferry experience—that rush of wind and ocean spray hitting yar face—with the wee ones, we
opt for the first deck inside but close to the windows so we can look out.
Twenty minutes of unbelievable views and conversation and we dock at Bald Head. No cars are allowed on the island, other than emergency vehicles. For the rest of us, it’s golf carts, bikes—of the cycling variety—and walking. Since we have both girls and luggage, once we’ve made it off the boat, I flag down a golf cart to drive us to our hotel. It’s situated on the waterfront, opposite end of the island from the dock.
Check-in goes quick. Our room is on the second floor with the balcony facing the ocean and marshlands. There’s a wooden slat boardwalk leading to the sand. It’s a great view, but my mind is on other things. I’ve not had sex yet while the babes were awake and I don’t know how else to proceed other than leaving them securely in their crib that Frankie was smart enough to request when she booked the room, and pick her up to carry into the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” she asks, giggling as I kick the door shut. But she knows exactly what I’m doing, especially when my mouth finds hers hard and I impatiently undress her. Then there are no more words between us for some time when she wraps her legs around my waist and I take her against the sink basin.
10.
Frankie
Growing up in Thornbriar, I always thought of the Lords and bikers in general as scary outlaws because they lived their lives like scary outlaws. But there’s nothing remotely scary about the men I’ve come to know or the man I love. We take the girls out shopping and to the beach. People stop us, wanting to see the girls. Some people get a little flustered when they see Rory’s backpiece. It’s huge. All the brothers get one when they patch in. It’s the club’s flaming devil’s head with the words Live. Ride. Brotherhood. And of course, there are his very visible scars from the bullet wounds on his torso. Plus, a fresh pink one on his thigh that he hasn’t discussed with me yet and truthfully, I’m afraid to ask him about it.
Shoot, I’m a bad girlfriend. I was so preoccupied with what had happened with Rodrick and then with everything that followed the next day, leading into last night. And if I’m being honest, this morning, too… I failed to notice a pink, puckering scar on my man.
My mood sours a little, but as the umpteenth person stops us to say “What a beautiful family you have” I let that settle me and go about enjoying my beautiful family, even if they aren’t actually mine.
The days are hot here, a good ten degrees warmer than back home. The nights are hotter. Once I’d let him inside, that was it. Now Rory’s on a mission to make up for all the years of sex we missed out on together. Every night. Every position he can think of—mostly in the bathroom or in the shower. Only when he’s actually making love to me do we do it in the bed. We’re quieter when making love so we don’t disturb the girls. It’s a wonder I can walk. This reprieve from regular life has been exactly what we needed.
On our last night on the island, we’re lying in bed. My head is resting on his chest after receiving my third orgasm of the night; he’s twisting the hair at the nape of my neck gently around a finger and rubbing up and down the length of my arm with his other hand. We’re both content and sated, but now I have to know about the newest addition to his bullet wound collection.
“What aren’t you telling me about your trip to Texas?” I ask.
His finger in my hair stills, but his hand continues to rub my arm and he sighs.
“Come on, Rory,” I say. “Why do you have a new scar on your thigh? If we’re going to be together, to make this work, I deserve to know what the hell is going on.”
“That ya do,” he says. “Mind ya, Frankie, any club business we talk about has to stay between us. Ya can’t even tell Brighton. The other old ladies will know and understand. Ya need to talk, ya talk with them.”
“So it’s bad?” I ask, laughing humorlessly. “I honestly thought the Lords were different now.”
“We are. No peddling drugs, guns, or women. We own and work legitimate businesses, but we ain’t pussies, lass.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means when there’s a problem to be handled, we handle it,” he answers sternly, but with a hint of pride.
“And handling it sometimes means with guns?”
“Aye. Handling it sometimes means with guns. Another club has been trying to get out of the game, but their old president signed a contract with a cartel and we were brought in to negotiate the reversion of rights and separation. Things got a little heated with a group the cartel had brought in who were a bunch of backstabbers.”
“You got shot.”
“Hurt like a son of a bitch, too. But I also got a marker from the head of one of the largest cartels in Mexico because the bullet was meant for him. Since not everyone likes that we got out of the game, sometimes they try to pull us back in. Having that marker was good business.”
“The biggest dick, the man in the linen suit?” I ask.
He kisses the top of my head instead of answering.
“What if something happens to you, Rory? What am I supposed to do?”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“It already did. You were shot.” My eyes begin to prickle with tears as my nose begins to run.
“Fine. I’ve got life insurance. It’s one of the first things I did after wrapping my head around the fact that Mollie and Macie are actually mine and will be living with me forever. I’ve already added ya. Did it before I left on business. Frankie, all of ya will be taken care of. Promise.”
“I don’t want your money, you stupid Scot, I want you. Alive. Fully functioning. This whole thing scares me.”
“Scares ya? So are ya walking away then? I need to know where yar head is at.”
I swat his chest. “No, I’m not walking away. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved and those girls own my heart now, too. I’m here, but I’m allowed to be scared.”
“Yar allowed to be scared, but it’ll all work out. I plan on giving ya the MacGregor name as soon as I can convince ya of it.”
“What? Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Not asking. It’ll happen soon enough.”
Uh—soon enough? We only just got back together. That’s a conversation for a different night, though he’s given me a lot to think about. Where do I want this relationship to go? Do I want to be connected to the Lords, given their extracurriculars get people shot? My head is a straight-up mess. Instead of replying, I tilt my head up, try to forget his life scares me as much as it does, and kiss him. We lay quiet for a while until we both drift off to sleep.
Bright and early the next morning, Mollie and Macie are ready for diaper changes and breakfast. Who needs a wakeup call when you’ve got twin almost-five-month-olds in the room with you? Since we don’t want to anger the other rooms who do require a wakeup call, that gets us up and moving pretty darn quick. We bring them in the shower with us to clean up, get them bottles of yummy formula, pack our bags—we’re leaving with a brand-new extra bag full of souvenirs—and make our way down to the dining room for the continental breakfast.
They offer all my favorites from biscuits and gravy to scrambled eggs to grits. We sit through two cups of coffee each, enjoying our last views of the ocean until we can get back here again, then we check out and grab a golf cart back to the dock. It’s sad saying goodbye to the island. I wish we could just move here, but our lives are back in Thornbriar.
After ten hours of highway driving, a couple of pitstops and a lunch break included in that time, we roll back onto club property. It’s Saturday and members with old ladies riding on the backs of Harleys rumble past the truck.
“Party tonight,” Rory tells me. “Let’s go.”
“It’s okay. You go. I’ll stay with the girls. I doubt a club party is the place for babies.”
“I want ya there as my old lady. Make it official with the club.”
What are we doing with the girls then? And really, making it official with the club? I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I love R
ory. I want to be with him, but at the same time, he got shot and has markers owed to him by a leader of a cartel. That’s big. I should probably not be with a man who knows cartels, but it’s Rory. And if I walk away this time, there’ll never be another chance.
“What’s that face, Frankie?” he asks.
I didn’t realize I was making a face. “I just—”
“Ya’re backing out, right?” His face guts me, a combination of pissed and sadness.
“I’m not.” It’s sort of a lie because I don’t actually know what the hell I’m doing.
“Then what?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what to do with the girls. Maybe if she’s home, Brighton will watch them.”
He smiles at me and pulls my head close to kiss my temple. My stomach pitches in a way that I know I’m going to that party as his old lady because Rory. That’s it. Because freaking Rory MacGregor. “Take the girls in, get them changed. I’ll try Brighton.”
I pull my phone out from my purse to call my best friend. “Hey, babe,” she answers first ring. I can always count on Brighton. “How was Bald Head?”
“He wants me to go to this Lords party as his old lady—that’s how it was.”
She stays silent for a moment. “Frankie, you sleep at his place like every night. The Lords still scare the shit out of me, but that doesn’t negate the fact that even I know you’re his old lady.”
Right. If my best friend who is scared shitless of the biker life admits I’m a biker’s old lady, then I should probably admit it too. “You going out tonight?” I ask.
“Need me to sit for those precious little doll-babies?”
“Not if you’re going out,” I hedge, half-hoping that she’s got plans.
“Nope. I’m home tonight.”
“Brighton Lee, why the hell are you sitting home on a Saturday night? You never go out. If there’s something you haven’t told me, like you’re attracted to women or hell… maybe you don’t feel attraction at all, you can tell me. No shame in any of those games, babe.”
Scotch: Unraveled (Brimstone Lords MC Book 4) Page 11