I nod and kick off my shoes by the door, finally setting my backpack down. Finn takes this as his sign to charge his way into my space. His fingers grip my chin, and he tilts my head up. Our gazes clash, and I lose my breath for a second at the way he looks at me.
“Don’t give up on me, Win.” His voice is gritty and raw, his words vibrating through my body. “Please.”
My hands come up to wrap around the back of his neck, and I tug until he lowers his forehead to mine. I breathe him in, loving how he smells: leather, oil, his body wash, and a spiciness that is all him. I can’t form the words to make this better, so I do the only thing that feels right. A way I can communicate with Finn that I know he’ll understand. I lift onto my toes, and my lips crash into his. I kiss him hard, fiercely, and pour all the pent-up feelings of my soul into it. Finn’s hand slides from my chin into my hair, his hand winding into my braid, while his other arm bands around my waist, anchoring me to him. My lips part to suck in air, and he uses that to his advantage to slide his tongue inside. It's a battle of lips, teeth, and tongue, our hands gripping each other's skin, clothes, trying to get as close as possible.
A loud buzz in the empty space is the only thing that breaks us apart. Finn pulls away, breathing hard, his face flushed and his eyes a midnight blue when he looks down at me. I recognize that look, the one he gives me usually before he’s bending me over the nearest surface and plunging inside of me. My thighs clench with anticipation.
BUZZZ.
“Shit,” Finn groans and untangles his body from mine. “Fuck, it’s my phone.”
He leaves me pressed against the wall to grab his phone off the kitchen island. His frown deepens when he reads over whatever the message says. He blows out a breath and swears again.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, stepping toward him tentatively.
“No.” He shakes his head. “There were gunshots at the gentlemen's club. One of the girls and a few patrons were hurt. Jester thinks it's the Irish. I have to head back.”
I glance around the empty space that seems suddenly cold. “What about the furniture?”
Finn’s eyes snap around the room. “Fuck.”
“It’s fine?—”
“No.” He pulls out his wallet and grabs what looks like a receipt. “Here. This is the company and the guy. I’ll have one of the prospects out here to supervise. Tell the guys where you want everything. Seriously, make it how you want it. This is our home. Yours and mine.”
I take the receipt, feeling my heart deflate. “Okay.”
He leans in and kisses me quickly before scrambling to get his boots back on. “I mean it, Win. Whatever you want. And order some food. I bet you're hungry, and the groceries don’t arrive until tomorrow. Use my card.”
“Okay,” I respond again, feeling alone.
“Why don’t you see if Hope or some of the girl friends will come over to help?” He throws out the suggestion, and my stomach clenches. It's been a while since I’ve seen any of the girls from the club. With my schedule, it doesn’t leave me a lot of time to be social or hang out at the club as often. They’ve stopped asking me to come around, and I haven’t had the energy to reach out either.
“No, that's okay,” I shake my head and try to give him a supportive smile. “If things are going on where they need to be in the clubhouse, I probably shouldn’t trouble them.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” he mutters. “You have your defense class again tomorrow, right?” He’s halfway out the door but stops and turns to ask. There's concern laced in his words.
“Yeah. 6 p.m.”
He nods and goes to leave again. “I love you, Winnie.”
“I love you too,” I answer, feeling numb.
Finn leaves, and the door closes behind him with an echoing bang. The whole space feels like it's closing in around me. Theemptiness seems to amplify every noise and rattle of the wind against the windows. It's my new home, but I’ve never felt so unwelcome and lost. Fear slithers down my spine. Fear for Finn and the brothers. Fear for myself here, like a sitting duck, because I don’t have a patch that declares me as Finn’s property. I hate that I just have to wait. Hate that I’m by myself in our new apartment and that I’ll be spending the first night alone. Hate that another night with no sleep is in my future while I worry about everything that is happening outside these doors. So much for hoping to get some rest before my finals. I blame Finn for that, too.
Chapter 12
Finn, 1 year later
“You made the right decision,” Karma says low enough as he sits next to me at the back table, away from the crowd and prying ears. I reach for the bottle of Jack in front of me and take another pull right from the bottle. “If you hadn't pulled the trigger, it could have been Bullet’s life. It could have been Cleaver, me, or even the new prospect. You made a choice, and it was the right one.”
My eyes clamp closed when he says trigger, but then all I see in my mind is the man’s head flying backwards from my bullet and the spray of blood. I open them again and take another drink. Karma of all people is sitting here, coddling me over a kill, and I feel like a fucking baby about it. This man literally took lives on the battlefield during his military years, and he’s our current resident sharpshooter. I bet he never had to sink into a bottle of liquor just to escape because he killed to protect his brothers.
“Actually, I did. At first. Then I realized exactly what I’m telling you now, brother. If it wasn’t them, it was us. And I wasn’t going to let my friends or my family die when I could stop it.”
I realize then that I’m drunk enough that my thoughts are becoming words, and I groan. “Do the images go away? I can’t unsee it.”
Karma taps the bottle in my hand, and I take another drink, the liquid feeling less like a burn now and more like a delicate ache going down my throat. “Truth?”
