“Tell me what I want to hear, my love.”
“I love you!” I yell, arching my back into him.
“I love you,” he whispers against my shoulder. His mouth kisses up my neck, murmuring as he goes, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
My orgasm slams into me, my body shaking in his arms as he holds me tight. I grab his face with my palms, guiding him to my lips as he steals my breath away with the force of my orgasm. It rolls through me, wave after blissful wave.
Rhys is right there behind me, groaning against my lips as his hips stutter, thrusting one last time inside me and spilling his cum into the condom. God, with the amount of sex we’ve beenhaving in the last twelve hours alone, I’ve never been more thankful for condoms. The last thing either of us wants right now is a surprise pregnancy, even if the idea of carrying his child makes me go a little crazy. I know it’s something I want, and something I want withhim. But there is so much to figure out first, namely the shitshow with my ex, and how a child is raised when their father is a vice president of a motorcycle club.
Rhys sets me down, making sure I’m stable on my feet as he pulls his length from my body. He guides me carefully to the bathroom, where he disposes of the condom and takes his time to clean between my legs with a warm washcloth.
Once he’s given me the privacy to pee, throw some water on my face, and dress, I join him in the bedroom. He’s dressed, sitting on the edge of his bed with his forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped between his legs.
“This looks ominous,” I say, pulling my sweatshirt over my head.
“It doesn’t need to be, my love, we just have some things we need to talk about, and not a lot of time to discuss them.”
“It’s hard not feel immediate anxiety.”
“I know, but I gotta make sure you know what’s going on so there’s no miscommunication.” He reaches for me, and I take his hand. He pulls me onto the bed, letting me get situated in front of him. But his hands never leave my body. “Last year, there was a club that came for us, The Widowmakers.”
“Okay . . .”
“They aren’t a threat anymore. But we couldn’t quite peg why they were so different from the other clubs we’ve dealt with.Let’s just say we met someone who was working their books, someone lower level, working directly for the Widowmakers. He gave us the account information that had massive amounts of money in it. Clubs don’t bring in huge money. Not unless they’re working in drugs, arms, or human trafficking. From there, we traced more accounts, based on the money in and money out, and then more, until it became an elaborate web. We’ve been actively trying to hunt down the person at the top because we have reason to believe this money is coming from human trafficking. Something we can’t look away from now that we’ve found it.”
“Jesus Christ, Rhys.”
“Here’s where it gets a little dicier. From time to time, we need the help of a friend of ours. He’s a private investigator and can find just about anything on anyone. I asked him to look into Blake because something just didn’t feel right about him, and I wanted to make sure you were safe. The guy has been stumped on where the web ends, and last night he hit a pretty big clue. The mastermind behind the insane financial web that’s making it possible for these guys to do business? It’s Blake.”
For a moment, I don’t think I hear him correctly, and the room is going slightly fuzzy at the edges, my limbs feeling heavy. My gut reaction is to argue with him; to deny there’s any possible way Blake would be involved in anything like this. But then it all comes rushing in, and it makes complete logical sense.
I jump up from my spot on the bed, rushing to Rhys’ en suite, barely making it to the toilet before the contents of my breakfast purge from my body. Rhys is right behind me, curling around my back, pulling my hair into his fist while his other rubs up anddown my back.
“Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t easy. You’re okay, I’ve got you.” Rhys continues to whisper words of affirmation and reassurance to me while he rubs his strong hand up and down my spine. When I’m confident there’s nothing left for my body to expel, I sit back, Rhys right there to pull me into his lap as we sit on the bathroom floor, his arms wrapped tightly around me.
“I can’t believe I was going to marry him. I can’t believe I missed it. It all makes sense. His boss? The reason I felt so off about him. His name was Sheldon Evercrest.”
“Shit.Evercrest Holdings? That’s one of the larger accounts we’ve been tracking. It’s all connected, and Blake is our answer to bringing these people down. I’ll make sure he’s kept alive, but I need you to know that I can’t stop the club from bringing him in for questioning.”
Understanding washes over me. I’ve watched enough movies to understand that much at least, questioning usually means some form of torture if they don’t give up the information right away. My heart lurches. Blake knew. He wasn’t just a highly skilled accountant; he told me the people he works for are very powerful and already want Rhys’ club gone. He knew. He knew all along he was protecting evil, vile people. Which makes him complicit.
Rhys’ phone blares from his pocket at the same time loud, heavy bangs rattle at his door. We both look at each other, our eyes speaking without words.
Something bad just happened.
Chapter Thirty-Two
RHYS
Bristol looks scared shitless, and I know there’s nothing I can do to fix this for her right now. I run to my closet, grab my leather jacket, and throw it over her shoulders. “We have to take my bike; this will protect you some and keep you warm.” She nods, slipping her arms into the sleeves. It’s huge on her, but it’ll work until I can get her a property jacket, just as soon as I find time to explain the privilege and what it means to me for her to wear it.
As soon as she’s done slipping on her shoes, I’m reaching for her hand, sweeping us out of the room. The common room is pandemonium, and I know that can only mean one thing. There’s been another attack.
I find Wrath first, pulling Bristol along with me as I rush toward him. “What’s happened?”
“Hell’s Asylum is on fire.”
His words stun the shit out of me. Our club? We’ve owned thatplace for twenty years. It’s one of our biggest revenue sources and a place for the people of Amberwood to let loose safely.
