A Kiss to Keep You (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 14) Page 11

  Then she was moving, that glorious slide of curves against his hard planes, and he used his muscles to good effect, positioning her where he wanted her. “Kiss me, Bexley.” Voice unrecognizable, jagged and harsh, he watched her pupils dilate in response as his mouth continued on, unbidden. “Make me believe this is real. Not gonna disappear. That you’re here. That I’m here, with you, in your bed.” Her head lowered, mouthing seeking his. “That you want me.” Lips fused together, she kissed him, tongue chasing his on a shuddering breath.

  He believed.

  Bexley

  “You don’t understand me, apparently.” Bexley felt her eyes widen. She’d never heard Brute sound like this before, and even though it wasn’t directed at her, the tone was still frightening. “You told me you had the guy. Told me your man took care of business in a way that the guy wasn’t gonna forget. You came through on the promises of getting rid of the bitch, too.” She heard the cupboard door open and close, the quiet clink of a coffee mug on the countertop, followed by the purring rumble of the coffeemaker.

  Peeking around the corner, she saw him standing with his back towards her, looking out the window. “Now you seem to be telling me that we’re not done. How’d you miss a second guy, Chief? Huh? Riddle me that.” The weight of scorn in his words made the air heavy, and she dodged back, determined to head back upstairs before he saw her and thought she’d been eavesdropping. It’s his house now, too, she thought, and he’s got every right to have whatever conversations he wants. She stumbled on the first stair, her hand going out, slapping the wall to halt her fall. Shit.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she found his gaze fixed on her. Then he gave her the truth of their relationship by not closing out the call, not changing the topic, not cutting back on what he was trying to communicate. His eyes stayed on her face as he lifted one arm, hand out, fingers curling invitingly towards his palm even as he continued the conversation. “I don’t give a fuck what you thought two weeks ago, Chief. At this point, I don’t care to point fingers or play the blame game. I just want Natty safe.”

  She sucked in a breath as she made her way across the kitchen, fitting her hand into his, letting him pull her close. Lifting her chin in what had become a natural movement, she offered him her mouth, and he took it, lips pressing to hers softly, lightly, then he nipped her bottom lip before giving her a final gentle kiss. These actions in direct contradiction to the severity of his tone were perplexing, and the comment about keeping Natalie safe concerning. Eyes to his face, trying to read his expressions, she let herself lean in to him.

  Focus back to the phone, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as he said, “You’re lucky, Chief.” A pause, then he snorted in amusement. “Yeah, lucky. I got a beautiful lady wrapped around me right now, makes me a nicer man. Still, do not mistake my nice at this moment with something that’ll happen all the time. You find me this guy, get me the info. Do not, and I’m not asking this but telling you, do not have your man take care of this one. If the other guy was the camera guy, that means this one is the rapist. You find him, and I get him. Got me?” A longer pause, then he grunted, his arm giving her a squeeze. “Yeah, she’s beautiful.” Another grunt, and it sounded amused. “Yeah, mine.” A final pause, then a snort. “Later.”

  His arm tightened around her neck as he disconnected the call, shoving the phone into his pocket.

  That one single word ricocheted around inside her head. Rapist. He’d been talking to someone about finding Natalie’s rapist. Finding and meting out his own judgment. And not for the first time, if she had understood the measure of the conversation to which she’d been privy. He had sounded hardened, dangerous. And it sat in his mouth like it lived there all the time.

  A memory of him riding his bike up her street flashed, her view of the other men with him revealing them to be equally as hard. Far from the manner of a man who’d carry someone home, spending himself to tend to an unconscious woman he didn’t even know. Giving nearly twenty-four hours of his time to make certain she was okay. He’s both men, she thought. Caring so deeply he would turn himself inside out to ensure those he loved were okay. Caring enough to take on whatever was needed to make sure that okay continued, moving on into better.

  Hugging his waist, she waited, and when he didn’t say anything, she asked, “Everything all right?”

  “Fuck no,” he responded immediately but stopped there.

  Unsure of her place in the overheard conversation, this all seemed shifting ground under her feet, so she waited another minute, then let him know, “If you need to talk to me, you can.” Muscles in his back shifted, and his arm tightened, squeezing and then relaxing again. “Is that coffee for me?”

  Brute

  As he handed Bexley the mug already prepared, Brute considered her. She didn’t seem the smallest bit concerned by what she’d overheard, the conversation she’d walked into—tried to avoid, if he read things right, betrayed by a stumble. That lack of concern was troubling. He’d been open, not trying to hide the topic and marked each flinch and tiny sound she’d given as indicators to her comprehension. She understood as clearly as Chief what he intended to do to the man once he was found and secured.

  I’ll kill him.

  The thought didn’t give him pause, didn’t lift even the barest ripple of remorse in his head. Watching Natalie struggle, knowing the reason was the action of a sadist wearing a mask of his own, it was the only acceptable response. It made him sick to imagine the rapist strolling through society as if he weren’t an animal. Stalking past innocents on the street. Brute knew this was a predator who wouldn’t stop with one. Brute believed in his gut that Natty wasn’t the guy’s first. Her story showed he’d put a great deal of thought into the when and how, which meant practice. If that were true, if the bastard had a taste for it, then no way in hell she’d be his last. First, last, somewhere in the fucking middle—none of it mattered. The man’s family wouldn’t factor. His profession not a concern. His potential gifts to humanity were not to be balanced against Natalie. Dead, he would offer value, and Brute would gladly plant the corpse where its decomposition would do the most good.

  But he’d lived with this knowledge for a while now. Lived with men’s death on his hands for years. Just causes didn’t matter whether sanctioned or not.

  Bexley had learned this side of him two minutes ago and then followed it with an offer to chat and a request for coffee. That didn’t settle him, in fact, it moved him to the unsettled side of things.

  So he considered her. No tenseness, her eyes weren’t wide or frightened. Nothing that would give any indication that he’d been talking about anything more stressful than the weather. Not even that, simply a topic that needed no further discussion. Moving on.

  He’d met Brice, had dinner with her brother and nephew twice now. Dunk had been a good buffer that first day they’d shown up before school, walking in side-by-side with Brute to demonstrate to his dad how comfortable he could be around a man with a monster’s face. Dinner had been just as easy, Brice and Bexley working in tandem to make it that way. Even if she’d been clear that while her brother’s opinion mattered in most things, where Brute was concerned, she wasn’t seeking approval. And Brice went along with that.

  Brice, whose sister had been brutally raped, didn’t have a single hard inquiry for the biker outlaw his sister had hooked up with. Didn’t question anything. No interrogation. No reservation. Brice just went along with it, and not on the surface, but in an all-in way. Brute hadn’t thought about it except to give a sigh of relief that the meet the family part was behind him. The parents weren’t a consideration. Bex had talked about how they’d moved on even before their kids were out of the house. So as long as Brice and Duncan liked him, he was in like Flynn.

  “You ever tell Brice what happened, Bex?”

  He got his answer when her flinch nearly took her out of his arms.

  “Why, sweetheart?” Ignoring the hot coffee trailing down his chest, he tightened his arms. Some
thing she’d said during their first call surfaced, and he asked, “You don’t think Brice would understand, do you.” Not a question, but her head nodded all the same. “Gonna take away the chance for him to redeem mankind?” She jerked again, and he unwrapped one arm to retrieve the mug, setting it aside. “He wouldn’t believe you, is that it? Damn, and I liked him.”

  “Of course not.” As he knew she would, Bex hotly defended her brother. “Brice knows me. He knows I’d never lie about something like that.” She dropped her chin down, avoiding his eyes.

  “Is he one of those guys who’d think it was always the chick’s fault? Fuck.” Brute shook his head. “You think he’s teaching Dunk that shit?”

  “Brute.” Her voice was soft. “I know what you’re doing.” Her arms moved, palms sliding up his back, pressing in to hold tightly. “It’s not that.”

  “Then what, Bex? He loves you, seen that with my own eyes. That love shining when he watches you or talks to you or talks about you. Why would you deny him the chance to help you?” Palms to her ass, he lifted, and she gave a hop, settling her legs around his hips. He turned, putting her on the counter, staying close. “Use all the tools you have to hand, honey. Before me, who did you call in the middle of the night when you had a bad dream?” In the weeks since he’d been seeing her, she had not hesitated at picking up the phone whenever she needed him, having no qualms about exposing her fears. She stayed silent, which was what he expected. “You didn’t have anyone, did you? Made it through on your own.”

  Fingers curled under her chin, he ran his thumb across her bottom lip, pressing and toying with the plump flesh, slowly caressing with each side-to-side stroke. “Makes it even more precious that you talked to me, honey. Even more amazing that you trust me to keep you safe, trust me with your thoughts, with your uncertainty.”

  Bright blue eyes ringed with wet-clumped lashes, she stared at him. Without speaking, she said everything he needed to hear, because that steady look was filled with trust and love. “When Natty came to me, I took the burden of telling her folks from her. Talked it through with them, let them get the pain out of the way, so she didn’t have to bear that along with her own. I knew their hurt would rip at her, but knew they had to know because there was no way she could keep that big a secret from them forever. For a time, sure, but not forever. That’s too big a secret to navigate around for long. Made it so when she talked to them, it was all about support and love. Gave them a space to get their self-recrimination out of the way, so she didn’t have to tell them what they already knew. She didn’t blame them. Why would she, they weren’t even there. But they blamed themselves because their baby girl needed them, and they weren’t even there.”

  He paused, catching one of the tears that had trailed its way to her upper lip, using his thumb to stop it in its tracks. “Let me do the same for you, sweetheart. Let me take that on.” Her lashes fluttered, and a torrent of wet covered his hand and wrist, tiny droplets of salty self-loathing, because she hadn’t felt strong enough to tell her brother. “You don’t have to do anything alone anymore, Bex.” Leaning in, he brushed his lips against hers, and then took a chance at telling her how important this was, because by giving him this, she would be taking something from him, too. “And neither do I.”

  Brute

  He watched Brice stand at the window, looking out to the yard where Bexley was paired against Duncan in a game of toss that would go on for another half an hour at least. Brute had timed things so Brice would have enough space to get himself under control before the two people he loved most in the world came back inside. Blue eyes so very like Bexley’s had stared at him unblinking once he got past the introduction to the topic. No natural lead-in for this, and if the uneasy swallows Brice struggled with were any indication, it meant a match to the nausea and anger Brute had felt were welling in this man, too.

  Still wordless at the end, Brice had stood and stalked on stiff legs to the window, taking up watch. Another ten minutes passed, and Brute let the silence remain, not knowing Brice well enough to predict what was going through his head, what he needed to process the information. Soon enough, Brice cleared his throat and asked, “She’s seeing a doctor?”

  “Yes.” Bexley had given him permission to respond to any questions truthfully if he knew the answer.

  “A good one?” Lifting one hand, Brice flattened his palm against the wall, and Brute watched as his fingers curled in of their own accord.

  “Yes.” That hand was now a fist, and Brute expected the next question, had been waiting for it.

  “She tell you who it was?”

  “Not a name, no. But it was a boyfriend.” Cords ridged the back of Brice’s fist, knuckles standing out in prominence. “In Oregon. Her senior year.”

  “Joshua Harpe.” Thank you, Brute thought, filing away the name of a dead man. Taking a deep breath, Brice blew it out in a controlled stream, not turning away from the window. “I should have taken her with me when I left.” He shook his head. “Should have been there.” His clenched fist thudded against the wall. “She never said anything. I knew…when I went back for her graduation…but she’d been working and going to school, like always. Just trying to keep things together. Our parents were worthless.” Another thud, stronger, heavier, the meaty smack echoing in the room. “If she’d told me…”

  “You know now.” Time to derail the anger before Brice unthinkingly turned it the wrong direction. “Question for you, Brice. And this matters, man. I love your sister. I like you, love Dunk. But she’s my reason for breathing.” At his words, Brice swung from the window, staring at Brute as if he were committing a social faux pas, bringing the topic of their discussion away from Brice’s anger and focused instead on Brute’s emotions for Bexley. “You thinking of blaming her for any part of this?”

  “What? No.” The headshake and words came simultaneously, and Brute nodded. “Why would you…?” Chest and shoulders lifting in a heavy sigh, Brice’s head tipped forwards, and he directed his gaze at the floor. “No blame for anything. I’m just mad she didn’t think she could tell me herself. Mad she’s kept silent all these years. When my wife died, and I called, I did it knowing that Bex would be here as soon as she could. And she was.” He lifted his head, unashamed to show Brute his emotions, tears trickling down his cheeks. “Hurts. Feels like I failed her because she didn’t believe I’d do the same.”

  “That’s not it, man. She didn’t tell you because she couldn’t. It wasn’t anything to do with you at all. She couldn’t bear being the one to cause pain.” Brute shook his head, pushing up from the armchair. He crossed the floor to where Brice stood and reached up, gripping his shoulder. “She needed me to tell you. I’m just glad I was here to do this, man.”

  “Me, too.” A shout from outside had both their heads swinging to the window where they saw Bexley on her back, hands up cupping one eye. Both men were moving to the door when a running-scared Dunk got close, and Brute saw her reach up, her trick working on her nephew, pulling him near enough to tackle. Brice stopped and snorted a laugh. “Some things never change. She used to pull that one on me, too.” He looked at Brute. “I’m glad you’re here. She seems…comfortable with you.” Narrowing his eyes, Brice asked, “You really love her?”

  “I do. I’m a lucky man.” Brute stared outside as Bexley struggled to her knees only to be pulled down by a determined Dunk who then started a campaign of tickles all his own, leaving Bexley’s face flushed. Her kissable mouth grinned widely as she looked up to see them watching out the window. Lifting a hand to wave, her lips made an “O” of surprise as Dunk pulled her backwards, tickling now turning to wrestling.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Brute

  “Hey, Brute!” The shout came from across the backyard of the clubhouse and Brute straightened from checking the gas gauge on the grill. Today was the club’s annual family barbeque and he’d shown up early to help with set up. Squinting against the glare of the sun, he tried to make out individual faces in the
group of people coming out the back door. Red hair glinted in the bright light of late afternoon, and he grinned at Ruby as she made her way towards him.

  “Hey yourself, Ruby. How you doin’, honey?” He slipped one arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick sideways hug.

  “Hands off my woman, motherfucker,” Slate yelled, wrestling a cooler out the door and letting it drop with a thud to the ground. Brute stared at him without responding and tightened his arm again, hugging her close. “Fuck me,” Slate yelled, shoving the cooler with a foot, pushing it to one side of the path. Brute felt Ruby shaking with laughter and he looked down to see her grinning at her old man. “No fuckin’ respect.”

  “Full respect, Prez,” Brute called, stepping away from Ruby. Bending to the grill again, he asked her, “Bex inside yet?”

  “Thought she was coming with you?” As if they were strings on a marionette, Ruby’s quiet words pulled him upright, and he turned to look down at her again, slowly shaking his head side to side. “Shit.” She was already digging in her pocket when Brute rested a palm on her shoulder. “Brute?” He shook his head again.

  “She needs me, she’ll call.” I trust her. She knows how much I want this. He did. Wanted her to be comfortable around the men who had started him down the path of living again. Wanted her to blend with his family, like he’d done with hers. “Natty’s coming with her, so they’re probably just runnin’ late.”

  Natalie had started classes at the local business college. She was settling in, making herself a home in Fort Wayne and this made Brute happy. Not only did he get to keep his goddaughter close, but it meant his friends would be visiting often and he looked forwards to introducing Dylan and his wife to Bexley and her brother. And his brothers. Tonight would be the first time Bex would meet any of the men from the club. She hadn’t seemed nervous about the idea when he left the cottage after dropping off a chattering Natty, but nerves could have struck either of the women at any point. He was still being careful with Natty, working to ease things for her as much as possible.