“You fuckin’ better believe it, brother.”
His eyes dart around the parking lot before he asks, “Do you think he’ll try again?”
“I know he will. He’d have given up by now if he had a mind to. I don’t think the stupid fucker is gonna stop until we make him stop.”
He gives me a knowing smile. “That ain’t gonna be any kind of hardship for me.”
We head out, and by the time we hit the outskirts of Cedar Falls, dawn’s creeping up over the horizon. The prospects open the clubhouse gates when I flash my lights twice.
Chapter 8
Christina
Iwake up to the sound of engines outside the clubhouse. For a second, I think I’m dreaming. My drowsy mind misidentifies the sound as a train. Then I remember I’m in Cedar Falls, at the Sons of Rage clubhouse. Since the brothers like to get up early but are rarely on their bikes before breakfast, it’s likely Slate is coming back from his trip.
Katie is still asleep beside me. She has one hand wrapped around the corner of her pillowcase. Thankfully, the noise didn’t wake her. I’ve had to be vigilant since she came into the world. I can’t afford to fall into a deep, drowsy slumber. My mind won’t let me. I sleep light, alert for any sound that might indicate danger.
I quietly slide out of bed, go to the window, and pull the curtain aside. The yard below is full of movement. There’s a truck and a few men dismounting from their bikes. One of them is Slate. This man I never really stopped caring for is easy to spot, even from up here. He has the self-assured stride of a man who always knows where he’s going, one that takes charge and keeps things from careening off the rails. He makes me feel safe, even when I know danger is probably closing in on us.
I’ve been getting up early to help Tessa and the club girls with breakfast, so I grab a quick shower.
Once I’m in the shower, my thoughts go back to the time I shared with Slate. Back then I used to be a truly adventurous person. I thought nothing of chasing down leads, making fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants decisions, and had a reputation for being a bit of an adrenaline junkie.
Being caught in that bomb blast in Myanmar, ending up in a coma, and being trapped in a survival mindset for years destroyed any spirit for adventure I might have once had. Thankfully, all that’s behind me now that Slate has stepped up. For the first time in years I feel safe and secure enough to think about something other than staying alive. I guess that’s why I jumped at the chance to kiss him in his version of a wine cellar.
I’ve been thinking about that kiss a lot and wondering if I might find enough anonymity to start over at the Sons of Rage compound. No one knows I’m here. I can finally stop looking over my shoulder and enjoy the simple pleasure of hooking up with the one man I’ve never been able to forget.
I find my hand drifting down to do what I do when I’m naked, alone, and thinking about him. My mind plays a reel of all my favorite Slate memories as I pleasure myself. I remember how he looks with his shirt off and his dark hair down around his shoulders. He’s totally ripped, with colorful, precision-dropped ink. I can even remember what he looks like naked, with his thick cock hard and dripping just from watching me undress. Remembering the night before we left Kabul when he nailed me against the wall.
I close my eyes and imagine it’s Slate, as my hand moves down my stomach. My clit is throbbing in anticipation remembering how he’d make himself comfortable between my thighs and pleasure me. Stroking my swollen clit I bite down a moan. The water from the shower is running over my breasts and teasing my hard nipples. My hand strokes deeper, the heel of my palm rubbing my clit as my fingers part my folds. I’mwet already as I slip two inside me, but they’re no match for Slate’s thick cock. I can still remember how it felt to be stretched by him. There’s been no one since Slate. Partly because no one compared, but also because of the life I had to lead.
I work myself, my fingers dripping with my juices as I fuck them in and out. That last time with Slate is burned in my memory. My back was against the wall and my legs wrapped around his hips as he pounded into me. I feel my pussy start to spasm as my fingers move faster chasing the orgasm. Suddenly I come in an explosion, and my legs almost give way.
I lean against the shower wall for a minute to catch my breath. I know still being hung up on my ex is not okay, but the sad truth is that I am. And my body never forgot how it felt to be with him. Having him making me come all over his thick cock over and over again. I loved every single second of it. He’s the only man who ever truly got me and I’d love to recapture what we had back then.
By the time I grab a quick shower, get dressed, and make it downstairs, Tessa has the kitchen in motion. Club girls are making coffee, someone is folding clean towels, and the door to the meeting room is standing open. I walk over and peer inside, because I’m pretty sure this is where Slate took Rivera. They have him sitting in a big leather armchair with a man kneeling in front of him. He’s wearing gloves and has a first aid kit open on the floor beside him. Slate is standing nearby, staring at their medic who’s giving Rivera the once-over. His eyes catch sight of me in the doorway, and he jerks his chin.
“Christina, come in. Where’s Katie?”
Moving into the room, I go quickly to his side. “She was up late last night and is still sleeping. I didn’t want to wake her.”
“That was a good call,” he responds, wrapping one arm around me.
Rivera’s head lifts. His one good eye gazes up at me. He gives me a faint smile and immediately thinks better of it when his split lip cracks open and oozes a little drop of blood.
“Are you okay?” I ask, desperately trying to hang on to a shred of hope that this had nothing to do with me.
“Never better,” Rivera jokes. “Seriously, I always bounce back stronger after getting a beatdown. So, I frame it in my head as a good thing.”
The medic snorts a laugh but keeps right on pulling off crusted, bloody bandages from around his ribs.
I nod, not understanding why he’s trying to be positive when he’s clearly in so much pain. My eyes dart up to Slate for a second before going back to his friend. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
He hesitates, then says, “Yeah, I thought you were gonna ask that.”
“It was the stalker, wasn’t it?” I ask quietly.
“You’re good at the ‘guess who beat the shit out of me’ game. It was definitely the same guy that I saw following you in the parking lot that day.”
