Seeing PD this way—bruised and battered—created a turbulent mixture of emotions inside me. I was caught between being furious enough to drive back to Uhlig’s and punch his annoyingly handsome face and being sad for PD.
Oh, and don’t forget, angry at myself.
I hated seeing his shiner and the bruises that marred the left side of his jaw and cheek, and I wished I could make it all go away. If I’d been with him, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
“Stop it.” He sent me a glare as he guided me into our bathroom, his fingers clutched in mine. “I can tell what you’re thinking and fuck that. It ain’t your fault. It’s Uhlig’s and his merry band of dumbasses. Seriously, though. Does that guy have a condition about being hot to join his crew? Did you notice?”
“You think he’s hot?” My stomach roiled, a spike of irritation striking me through the chest. What would King think if I went back and stabbed Uhlig a few times? No. I couldn’t. For one, I wouldn’t get in the same room as him. The only time anyone got near Uhlig was when he allowed it.
PD laughed as he let go of my hand and slowly began to pull his cut off. I quickly helped him slide the leather from his shoulders, noting the wince from him as the piece of clothing dropped to the floor. “He’s all right. His buddy, though? He’s not bad, either.”
I rolled my eyes, assuming he meant Colt. “The guys think he looks like me.”
PD frowned. “He doesn’t.”
“They say he does.” I shrugged before I reached out to grasp the bottom hem of his shirt. I tugged the fabric up, and he let me raise it over his head. There were a few snickers as we knocked his hat off. What I saw made me pause in surprise and fury. A smattering of bruises spread across his chest and abs, and one in particular had the shape of a boot print on the left side of his ribs. They blended with the Latin words inked across his chest and the tattoo of a cross with half a face within it in the center of his sternum—a reminder, he’d once told me, of the hell others had put him through.
PD glanced down at himself and sighed. “They don’t really hurt. This shit happens.”
I knew it did. Being in a motorcycle club that broke the law meant we got involved with shady people, and getting hurt was inevitable, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. “I’m imagining ripping his dick off and feeding it to him.”
He chuckled and brushed his palm over the boot-shaped bruise. “Maybe another day. Right now, we need to wash up and get back out there to find that cash. You’re right, we could use it, and if I heard right while they had me tied up, there was five mil in that truck, which means our take would be five hundred thousand after we pay our dues to the club. Imagine what we could do with half a mil. We could set you up with your artwork, maybe open a shop for you. How does that sound?”
The thought sent a shiver of excitement through me. It’d be a fresh start, something I’d needed since my crash, but half of the five hundred would be enough for that.
“Yeah. A studio.”
PD grinned and curled a hand around the back of my neck, dragging me forward, and I crashed my lips against his in a desperate, relieved kiss.
He was fine and he was here in front of me. We’d gotten him back from Uhlig. I had this sudden urge to never let him out of my sight again.
He cupped my face, and I moaned against his mouth, licking the cut on his bottom lip and stealing the coppery taste of his dried blood. It was a sharp reminder that he was injured, and I pulled back, ignoring the growl of dissatisfaction from him.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered against his mouth.
He snorted. “How the tables have turned.”
I flushed, my cheeks burning. Well, fuck. Maybe I understood what he’d been going through now. “Shut up.”
He chuckled and slid his hands under the shoulders of my cut, shoving it down my arms so it fell onto the floor near the mess of his clothes. My shirt went next, and he paused, eyes widening.
I frowned and glanced down, my gaze catching on the tattoo with the thin layer of film over the top. Damn, I’d forgotten about that.
“Property of Paris Deiters,” PD read out loud, his mouth parting in surprise. “Damn.”
I shrugged a shoulder, a wave of stupid embarrassment washing through me. My insides turned hot and it took every inch of my willpower not to turn away from him. “I love you, and you stick around even when I’m a prick. I don’t deserve you, but I fucking love you. I belong to you in every way.”
He exhaled loudly through his nose and brushed his palm over my jaw, staring into my eyes. “I love you, too. Fucking hell, I love this. I was so jealous that you chose Jake to tattoo you. I thought you were so angry at me that you didn’t want me to do it.”
“Fuck that.” I pressed my forehead against his and clenched my eyes shut, breathing him in. “Should’ve known he’d tell you. I wanted to surprise you. It’s an apology, but also how much I want to be with you.Fuck.Sometimes my brain just goes and does things, you know? I can’t control my actions. It’s like standing outside my body and watching myself do something stupid and not being able to stop it. And then, after it’s all over, I regret everything. I don’t mean to argue with you, and I hate it when I get angry, but I can’t stop.”
Telling him the truth felt a lot like cracking open my rib cage and showing him my insides. I hated the doubt that came with the confession. Was I weak?
He kissed the tip of my nose. “You don’t need to apologize. I might not understand all of what you’re going through, but I love you, Will. And I want you to talk to me. Tell me this shit. We can work it out together, right? That’s what partners do.”
I rested my hands on his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I hate that I have no control over my emotions. My head spins faster than a whirlpool and sometimes I can’t string together two thoughts.”
“The doctor said you’d have good days and bad,” PD whispered, his voice sending calm through me.
