“I hate that I accepted it for so long. But my focus is on healing and letting go. This isn’t something I brought on myself; it’s something that happened to me, and I refuse to let it define me.”
“I’m proud of you. You know that? I still want to kill him, a huge part of me won’t be mad if someone here slits his throat.”
“Oh, that’s definitely a possibility with one of the women here.”
“Shut up. What did you get yourself into?”
“A real-life season ofSons of Anarchy, apparently.”
“No shit. At least you got your Charlie Hunnum.”
“God, Kira, he’s perfect for me. I’m so in love.”
“I could tell the moment you laid eyes on him, babe. I’m happy for you. Even if all this is weird as hell.”
Kiraand I return to the common room where Rhys is waiting for us. I take a seat in his lap, needing to be close to him after the emotional turmoil of the day. Kira settles in quickly with her surroundings, waltzing away to talk to people. She’s always been able to adapt, to talk to everyone around her.
“Jesus Christ, Bristol, your friend is a fucking knockout,” Wrath states from the other side of Rhys as he runs his hand over his jaw, eyes eating her up. The lights hit her flawless dark skin just right, making her glow ethereally. Her jumbo box braids hang down to her mid-back, framing her oval face perfectly. I agree, my best friend really is a fucking knockout. I couldn’t love that girl more.
“She is. But she’s taken, so hands off.”
“Shame. Would have loved to give her a ride tonight.”
“Thought the back of your motorcycle was sacred?” I ask, making Wrath cover his laugh with his hand.
“Not that kinda ride, baby,” Rhys whispers. My god. I bury my face into his neck, my cheeks flaming crimson. Duh. Of course that’s what he meant.
Kira plops down next to us with a beer in her hand, looking around the room. “I see the appeal of this gig. I get why so many romance authors write motorcycle club.”
“They write motorcycle club?” Wrath asks, intrigued, leaning forward to talk to her over Rhys and me.
“Oh, yeah, it’s a whole subgenre of romance. Club members get their happily ever after with unsuspecting women. There’ssuspense, danger, chemistry, passion, love, and sometimes if you’re lucky, a shit load of sex.”
“Jesus,” Wrath says under his breath, eyes going a little wild.
“I may write one.”
“You write romantic fantasy, my girl. Not motorcycle club,” I remind her.
“Yeah, but imagine fated mates with club members who have unique powers connected to their road name,” she suggests, thinking on it. “Yeah, I’m gonna write that next.”
Yeah, everything is going to be okay.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
RHYS
Two weeks have gone by since the shit with Blake went down, and everyone is finding a new normal. Bristol started therapy at my mom’s suggestion, even putting her in touch with someone she trusts and who has experience with trauma and domestic violence. She started a few days ago, and she feels like it’s something she’s going to benefit from. I’m more than supportive of it. Anything for her.
Tonight is the first clubhouse party since Rolo’s birthday, and while I wanted to keep Bristol in my room all night long, she wanted to come. There hasn’t been any discussion of her finding her own place, but I’m going to suggest she stay here until we move out into one of the houses on the property together. I hope like hell she wants that because even a night away from her would be painful.
Chaos and Saige walk into the common area, surveying everyone and coming to a hard stop.
“Sin. Why the fuck is there a dog in our clubhouse?”
Oh yeah. Bristol and I couldn’t leave Harvey at the shelter anymore, since we both have grown such an attachment to him. I stroke the soft fur of Mr. Bun-Buns, looking down at my dog next to my seat on the couch.
“Oh, that’s Harvey. He’s our pet now. Hell’s Heathens needed a hound, don’t you think?”
