TEN
Lenny
I was not going to reach out.
No way in hell.
Not even if my body decided that three orgasms weren't satiating, but instead, created a hunger that no amount of working out or masturbating could ease.
Speaking of working out, the day after our last session, yeah, he hadn't been at the gym. I told myself I wasn't even going to notice such a thing as I drove over that morning, but for the first time since I joined up, I found my focus lacking, my gaze constantly seeking the corners of the room, thinking I would find him there, watching me, or pretending not to be watching me. Something. Anything.
But he wasn't there at all. And, I reminded myself as I got ready for work that night, I really shouldn't have been surprised by that anyway since Edison was not a staple at the gym. He, like Cyrus, and like Malcolm only did occasional classes when there were enough people to fill them. They had outside lives, outside jobs. I had never seen Edison before that morning in the gym when we met. And I was pretty sure, as focused as I was when I was there, that I would have noticed someone like him.
So it wasn't weird that he wasn't there.
His lessons with me were over.
I guess his group class was over as well.
I was being utterly egotistical to think he wasn't there because of me, because we'd had an argument.
Almost as a rule, I didn't have arguments with men.
Quite frankly, I never gave a shit enough to argue with one.
Had I occasionally told one to get the fuck out of my life? Yes. But coolly, calmly, collectedly.
Nothing like we had done the other night.
Maybe it was just all the frustration built up, and then the physical relief. It just made all that stuff that I would normally keep under control, burst out of me like a madwoman.
It was not, was completely not anything to do with the idea that maybe he was right, that maybe there was something more than sex between us. Because, well, that made no sense at all. We barely knew each other, save for the yammering I had done when I was drinking, which if I recalled correctly, was mostly about music and food and movies and travel, nothing deep.
It was weird that I was so emotional after sex, but, hey, I had a lot going on.
So, no.
It wasn't something more.
It was just the culmination of a really fucked up year with me, a bad decision in calling him over, and a brief lowering of my guard.
"Yo, Len," Meryl's voice shook me out of my endless loop of thoughts. "I'm used to you phoning it in, but you literally have a fucking line standing here," he said, the words brusque, but his tone was almost a bit worried.
Christ, if Meryl was worried about me, then I really needed to get a hold of myself. He wasn't exactly an intuitive man. He wasn't picking up on a subtle vibe. If he was sensing I was off, it was because I was genuinely off my game.
I shot him an eye-roll for good measure, then dealt with my line of people signing up to ruin their lungs.
"You feeling alright there, Len?" Niblet, whose real name was a mystery to all of us even though he had been a regular since long before my time, asked from where he was standing with Meryl, talking about some new brewery he heard was opening.
"Five by five over here," I said, parroting a phrase I had picked up from one of my mother's many men, this one a decent blue-collar man a little too obsessed with things like his ham radio who taught me that the phrase meant everything was coming in loud and clear, that everything was good.
"You sure, 'cause that little shit just commented on you being braless, and it being cold in here. And you not only let him leave here with his balls attached, but said you would catch him around."
Fuck.
I guess I did do that.
In my defense, I wasn't paying close enough attention to hear what he was saying to me.
"Len," Meryl cut in, voice even more concerned than a few minutes before. "Is this about—"
"No," I cut him off, voice actually shrill.
Meryl was the only person - aside from family and the people at the hospital - who knew about my sister. This was only because I had needed to take a few days off to be at the hospital for the breakdown of the situation, and the futile begging for something other than what they kept telling me about her condition. But I had made it clear the day I came back that I didn't want to talk about it, that it was an off-limits topic.
"How about you cut out a little early?" he suggested, despite it barely being one AM.
Before I could open my mouth to ask if he was okay because he never so much as thought to give me the night off even when I had sliced my palm wide open on a broken beer bottle that some idiot was brandishing like a weapon. His solution to that had been a somewhat clean rag soaked in vodka wrapped around the wound.
This was why I had a long, raised, four-inch scar there still.
"Lenny, angel," a mildly familiar voice called, making my head shoot to the side even as Meryl snorted at the idea of anyone calling me an angel.
And there was, well, Cyrus. Of all people.
"Is that a Henchmen cut?" Meryl asked, clearly having half a hard-on at the idea of more business from the group.
Cyrus gave him a nod, his usual, charming, lopsided smile in place. "We seem to be out of Johnnie Red and Vodka. I volunteered to run out."
"And you came here?" I asked suspiciously because, prior to the keg situation sending Edison in our direction, no Henchmen ever stepped foot in our little hellhole.
"Of course he came here!" Meryl said, way too false-cheery. "Supporting local businesses and all that. I bet your friend Edison had nothing but good things to say about us here."
Cyrus smiled in my direction, eyes dancing. "I definitely remember hearing some nice things about Lenny here."
"Lenny? Of course!" Meryl went on. "She's like the store mascot."
"And by that he means the store's guard dog who may or may not be battling a case of rabies," I supplied, making Cyrus chuckle as I watched Meryl shuffle off to find the Johnnie Red mentioned as well as some vodka that was decidedly top shelf for our crappy place, but would be considered mid-shelf anywhere else. "Why don't you stop by after your shift, Lenny?" Cyrus suggested as Meryl put two bottles of each liquor on the counter - equivalent to more liquor sales than we had had the whole day, seeing as most of our customers were going for shit like Natty Ice and Pabst to save money. "We're going to need at least two more bottles of vodka," Cy commented, not even glancing at the bottles. "They drink it like water. But yeah, come. I heard Pagan singing your praises yesterday."
"Why would I want to come to a biker compound?" I asked, going for light, but there was an edge to my voice that I was praying he didn't know me well enough to pick up on.
"Drinks? Pizza? A chance to bust the balls of a bunch of probies who have been getting off way too fucking light lately. Come on. I know I got you at that last bit. You know it."
"As much as I do so love to take a male ego down a notch or fifty, I don't think that will be happening," I said as I rang up his bottles, wanting to move this along, uncomfortable.
Cyrus handed me cash as Meryl moved in to load the bottles into an empty beer box.
"No?" he asked, and there was something in his tone that I didn't trust. "Well," he said, picking up the box, "okay then. I will just have to tell everyone you didn't want to come."
Everyone.
Everyone.
We both knew he didn't mean that.
He meant Edison.
This bastard set me up.
I had a feeling that they didn't have a pressing need for whiskey or vodka. Oh no. He came with the sole purpose of trying to trap me into a situation he damn well knew I didn't want to be a part of.
If you had told me when I was training with him that he had the potential to be a devious little jackass, I would have said not a chance in hell.
Apparently, I didn't know him at all.
"You're a real shit, do you know that, Cy?" I asked, staring daggers at him.
"See? There's that spunk we need."
"Did you ever stop to consider that conning a woman into coming to your compound full of untraceable guns was maybe not the best idea?"
He gave me a wink, pushing his back into the front door to press it open
"I'll wait by the gates for ya. The guys are gonna love you."
Since when did men start trying to play matchmaker?
Didn't these bikers have like clubwhores to fuck and drunken target practice to conduct?
What, just because word got back that we'd hit the sheets, suddenly they needed to make it something more than that?
"Looks like you have an exciting evening planned," Niblet said, nodding his head, likely at the idea of one lone woman at a biker club late at night, and all the filthy things that that could entail.
"Sorry to burst your bubble here, Niblet, but no one is running a train on me tonight. Get that fucking pervy ass look off your face."
I could just not go.
No one was twisting my arm, not really.
So what if he went back and told Edison that he had invited me, and I didn't want to come?
Maybe I had somewhere to be in the morning.
Maybe I had a different man to take to my bed later.
Maybe I just didn't want to fucking come.
What did it matter what Edison thought?
Why did I care that he would know that the reason I turned it down was mostly because of him?
He was just a fuck, damnit.
His opinion of me shouldn't have mattered.
Why did it, then?
Because there was no denying that it did, not as I climbed in my car and drove off in the direction of the industrial part of town instead of toward my much closer home.
It fucking mattered to me that he didn't think I was a chickenshit, that he didn't think he got the upper hand, that he didn't think I was so weak as not to be able to spend one night in his presence.
Maybe I just wanted to prove that my guards were still perfectly in place.
Or maybe, a little voice whispered as I climbed out of the car parked in front of their compound, Cyrus waiting at the gate as promised, just maybe... I simply wanted to see him again.
The compound was about what you would expect except that it was relatively clean considering how many men lived there. There was a bar, a pool table, a seating area with a scuffed coffee table from kicked-up boots, and a TV so big that you could very likely see it from half a freaking football field away. I pulled at the sides of my motorcycle jacket, a somewhat self-conscious gesture, the likes of which I wasn't exactly known for.
My eyes drifted over the men gathered in the common area. Of all of them, I recognized Pagan who sent me a brow raise, like he knew what was going on, knew I was only there to save face. I couldn't quite tell if he approved of that or not.
All the others were new faces to me.
There were two equally tall men, one with dark hair, gray eyes, and some really nice bone structure. The other was dark-skinned, brown-eyed, and had some arm muscles that were begging for freedom from their sleeves.
"Hey mami," another one said, a tall, almost off-puttingly good-looking Puerto Rican guy with an easy smile.
No Edison.
What the hell?
Wasn't that supposed to be the whole point?
"Everyone, this is... Cash, the fuck are you doing?" Cyrus cut off as Cash - who I had seen around the gym several times, but hadn't said more than a hi to before - walked out of what seemed to be the kitchen with another man beside him. He was tall and a lean kind of strong with European features, gray eyes, and dark hair pulled up. And, well, his hands cuffed down in the front. The hands, I feel the need to add, were currently holding a sandwich.
"If you had to hear him bitching about needing to make his own food for the past hour, you'd be doing the same thing," Cash said, raking a hand up the shaved portion of his head a bit frustratedly.
"Well look at ya," the man in cuffs said, smirk a bit wicked, eyes on me. "Yer a gorgeous thing, ain't ya? And ya got that 'can burn a man's pubic hair off with one stare' look to ya too. Nice."
"Right," I said, shaking my head a little. "I really needed a compliment from a prisoner in a biker compound."
"Duchess, just think of the fun we could have with these cuffs," he suggested, smirk sly enough to make the damn devil jealous.
"Easy," Cash warned.
"What? She one of yours?"
There was a collective, shared look, everyone thinking they had the answer to that, but knowing that I had never agreed to it.
"I'm not a dog. I don't belong to anyone."
"No?" he asked, the smirk going even more sinister. "So you don't come when ya are told to?"
Sensing eyes on me, knowing I would lose all respect if I backed down from going there, I lifted my chin, sending him a smirk of my own. "I come when, where, and however many times I want to."
To that, the cuffed man let out a low chuckle, appreciating my balls. "Seriously though, which one of ya unworthy fucks gets a girl like this?"
"Think this is a good time to shove that sandwich in your trap, Adler," Cash suggested, clearly frustrated by the man who was able to complain about a sandwich for an hour. "Oh thank fuck," Cash said, seeing the liquor Cyrus was putting on the bar, making a bee-line for it, pouring almost half a cup of the whiskey.
"What can I get you, Lenny?" he asked, waving at the stocked back bar.
"Tequila," a deep, familiar voice growled from my side, sending an unwanted shiver through my insides, remembering how hot that voice sounded when he was inside of me.
I didn't want to look.
I knew that seeing him was going to make the chaos already starting to rage between my thighs only go into overdrive, but there was also no way I couldn't look either.
So I forced my head to turn, finding him standing in a doorway next to the bar that, I figured, led back into the bedrooms.
All in black, hair up, I couldn't help but wish he had nothing on again, had his hair around his shoulders, tickling my inner thighs, spread over my pillows.
Ugh.
That was not a good place for my thoughts to go.
I gave him eye contact, just enough for him to know I knew he was there, then turned back to correct him.
"Gin," I said, with a nod. "No way am I drinking tequila around a bunch of bikers."
"What's the matter?" Adler asked, having somehow hoovered his sandwich and moved over toward me at the bar, seemingly completely unfazed by the presence of the cuffs on his wrists, leading me to wonder how many times he might have had cause to be in them before. "Afraid that after a couple rounds of Jose, one of us might innocently suggest the idea of strip Poker that your tequila-soaked brain will think is a fantastic idea?" he asked, knowing the situation too well. "I mean we all know the booze just makes you vocal about the things you want. If you want to see me naked, just ask," he suggested, raising his cuffed wrists, "I am a little indisposed, but you are free to cut me free of my clothes. Then we can discuss that coming thing."
"What coming thing?" Edison's voice cracked through the air, low, lethal.
"Oh, this woman right here claims that she don't come on command," Adler supplied, clearly not reading the situation. Or, maybe more likely, reading it, but being the kind of man who liked to stir shit up.
Edison leaned back against the wall, head tipped to the side a bit, eyes on me, lips tipped up so slightly that you wouldn't notice if you didn't know exactly what he was thinking - that I did come when he demanded it. "Is that what she claimed?" he asked, eyes heated.
Adler's lips twitched. "She did. Figured I could prove to her that she's been wrong all her life."
"Well, this is sufficiently fucking awkward," Cash declared, moving to go sit down with the rest of the men who weren't even trying to pretend they weren't watching the interaction.
I turned back to the bar, seeing my gin poured. As desperately as I needed a drink, I wasn't even going to complain about it being warm.
The part of me that knew the best way to get under someone's - especially a man's - skin was telling me to keep entertaining Adler's flirtation, to ignore Edison completely.
The other part of me, however, was begging for me not to play games, not to be a bitch, not to keep pushing people - him - away.
"Yeah, can ya believe that?" Adler asked, just poke poke poking away at the sleeping bear. "Me and her, we got a bit of chemistry. Duchess," he said, leaning in close, and well, you had to admit - the man definitely had more than his fair share of charisma, "wanna see if I can make you come on command? Bet I could even do it with just my fingers."
"Aren't you supposed to be locked the fuck up?" Edison demanded, voice a bit of a roar in the rather quiet space.
"What?" Adler asked, all false innocence, knowing damn well exactly what was going on, "and deprive you all of my sparkling fucking personality?"
"Reign said he had to stay cuffed and watched," Cash supplied. "And if I had to listen to him pound on that fucking door for one more minute, I was going to go in there and kill the fuck myself before we even got any answers."
Hmm.
Answers about what?
Why was Adler in cuffs?
Why was Adler not freaked out about being in cuffs in a notoriously violent - when it was necessary - biker gang?
And, well, why the hell was I, an outsider, allowed to see a prisoner cuffed in an outlaw biker gang compound?
Maybe they figured I wasn't stupid enough to say shit about it.
"I must not have had enough of this yet," I told him when his eyes went back to me. "I'm not seeing the sparkle."
"No?" he asked, eyes mock-worried as I raised my cup to take a sip. His hand moved out, tipping up the bottom, forcing me to chug, or spill half the contents down a shirt that earlier this evening had already proved was not hiding much even without it being soaking wet. He didn't stop until the cup was empty, giving me a sly look as I shot daggers at him. "I have a feeling that now the fun begins," he declared, moving off toward the seating area, taking the spot next to Cash who was keeping an eye on him, leaving just one open spot.
And both Edison and me needed a place to sit. My eyes scanned around, knowing Cash and Cyrus both had women, not wanting to fuck with biker old ladies. So I moved instead over toward the gray-eyed biker who seemed to scream single, and rested my ass on the arm of his chair.
There was a pause, then a brow raise before he spoke. "I'm Sugar," he supplied, dropping off the end sound, reminding me of a mix of Staten Island, Jersey, and the Bronx, a mix I somehow found comforting. Maybe because I had lived in all those places. "And this is Virgin," he went on, introducing the friend seated beside him, who nodded his head at me.
"Interesting road names," I observed. "I'm Lenny."
"And that's short for?" And that's shawt fawh?
This one little clubhouse had a lot of interesting accents.
I had always been a sucker for them.
I shook my head at that, a little too aware of Edison finally dropping down in the open chair. "Lenore," I supplied, curling my lip.
"As in The rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore?" Cy asked.
Every set of eyes shot to him at that, brows raised, smirks teasing.
"What?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "So Reese read me some Poe shit and I liked it. Fuck off."
"My fucking eighth-grade teacher made us memorize that shit," Pagan said, shaking his head. "Know how much fucking alcohol I've had to drink to try to kill the braincells that remembered that crap? Now you're bringing it up in conversation at a biker compound where I was damn near fucking certain I would never have to worry about having goddamn classic American poetry recited at me again? I'm not drunk enough for this shit," he ribbed Cyrus, moving to go get himself a drink. "Lenny, refill?"
"Sure."
"So, Lenny," Cyrus spoke again, clearly trying to move the conversation away from his apparent enjoyment of macabre poetry. "Are you from around here?"
I snorted a little at that. "I'm from everywhere," I said, watching as his brow raised in a way that was inviting an explanation. And that was not information I generally shared. Maybe bits and pieces came out of me here and there on occasion, but not when I was mostly sober, and in front of a guy I had fucked. "My mom was - is - a serial dater. And wife. And every time a man wanted to get shot of her - which was often - we all picked up, and moved somewhere new."
"All?" I heard called from behind me. Well, no. Not called. Growled.
I half-turned to him, shrugging. I didn't plan to say it.
But it came out anyway.
"My mom, me, and my little sister."
"Little sister," Adler picked up on right away, voice teasing again.
"No," I snapped, voice a bit too forceful, because I could feel a lot of unspoken communication going on among the men around me.
"Got it," Adler agreed, this time his voice held none of the teasing, just responding seriously to the demand I shot at him. "More interested in learning about ya anyway, duchess. What pays your bills?"
"Cigarette and cheap beer slinging."
His lips quirked back up at that. "But you do it for the love of the work, right? All that ass-grabbing and tit-grazing from sleazebags with bad comb-overs."
"So you've been to my place!" I said with a teasing smile as Pagan handed me my refill, this time with some ice, thankfully.
"With all the traveling, what the fuck would make you settle down in Navesink Bank?"
"Family," I hedged, not wanting to go into detail about that.
"How long you been here?" Cyrus asked, keeping conversation going.
"Since I was about eighteen."
"And we've never crossed paths?" Cyrus went on, looking confused at the prospect.
"You strike me as the social type," I observed. "Do I seem like that?"
His smirk wasn't unkind. "No. Not at all."
"So unless you were slumming it with the crackwhores down in my hood at Meryl's, then we weren't likely to run into each other."
"So how did Cy get you to come hang with us then?" Pagan asked, clearly wanting to make things even more uncomfortable.
Luckily, it was right that moment that some older, bearded, man seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Pizza is here," he answered the question in his brother's eyes.
So then everyone hopped up to get pizza. Someone flicked on the TV to some gory as fuck horror movie. Drinks were refilled.
I was making my way back over to the arm of Sugar's chair when I felt my belt loop snagged and yanked, making me turn to find Edison watching me, finger digging in even harder.
Almost, well, possessive.
He said nothing.
But in his eyes, I saw it.
The challenge.
Daring me to say something, to pull away.
When I didn't, he yanked a little harder until my ass hit the arm of his chair instead.
Not wanting to make a scene, to make it any more glaringly obvious what was going on in the room, I stayed there as I ate, as Pagan handed me another drink that started to make my head swim. As a woman almost reached freedom before being dragged back and into the killer's lair where she was suffocated to death. As the credits rolled and the movie switched to a less gruesome psychological thriller.
It was then that the coiled, uncertain knot in my belly at being so close to him, yet so completely far and removed, was relieved.
His arm went behind my hips, curling, then pulling me downward until I had no choice but to slide onto his lap.
Though, if I were being honest, I didn't want the choice.
All I had truly wanted to do since he walked in was to go to him, to feel his hands on me again.
And maybe for the first time in my life, it wasn't just the sexual frustration, the need to get off.
There was that.
But I just wanted to be close to him.
As bizarre as that was.
So when I settled onto his lap, and the arm around my hip slid upward until it was near my waist, urging my upper body to lean into him, to rest on his shoulder, there was a strong sensation of relief inside, of comfort.
And in that moment, up against his warm chest, his arm firmly around me, I was choosing not to think about it, not to analyze it, not to ruin it.
It had been so damn long since I felt a thing even akin to relief or comfort. My battered soul needed the reprieve.
So I was just going to let it happen.
I was going to give myself the break I clearly needed.
Slowly but surely, the guys started heading out to do 'rounds' or in Roan's case, go 'on the roof.'
It left me, Edison, Cash, and Adler in the space, watching the credits roll.
"Well, can't say I ain't disappointed," Adler announced and when I turned my head, he was looking at me.
"Right," Cash said, shaking his head. "Because you stood such a chance with your chained hands and dubious past."
"Want to talk about dubious pasts..."
"No," Cash cut him off, and it was the first bit of tension I had seen in him. "I think you've had enough of a chance to run your mouth today. Back into the cage with you," he demanded, standing, and waiting for Adler to do so as well.
He did, shrugging a shoulder. "Have a good night, duchess. Hope to see ya around again."
With that, Cash led him away. "Goodnight guys," he called, making it clear he didn't plan to reappear.
It should have made me uncomfortable, the insinuation that we needed to be alone.
But, well, I guess maybe we did.
There was a long silence, Edison's fingers starting to stroke up my hip, then down my thigh slightly, making my belly go liquid at the undeniable sweetness of it.
"I didn't call or text," I clarified.
"I know, love," he agreed tilting his head down slightly, his beard rubbing against my forehead as he placed a kiss there.
"Cyrus conned me into showing up," I went on.
"He's a nosy fuck," Edison agreed.
"You told them we slept together."
There was a pause, Edison taking a deep breath. "They assumed. And we didn't sleep together," he clarified. "We had sex. I would have slept there with you if you hadn't picked a useless fight."
There was no arguing with the useless comment. With some space between the incident and now, well, it did sort of seem like it could have been avoided. You know, had I not worn my damage right there on my sleeve.
"I don't let men sleep over."
"I figured," he agreed, the side of his face pressed against the top of mine.
"And I don't sleep over at a man's house either."
"Hey, you know," he started after a moment. "I sleep here. But this isn't exactly my house."
My lips curved at that, a part of me liking that he wanted me to stay enough to find a loophole to try to make it happen.
The part of my brain that didn't want to change managed to make my lips speak first. "How about we stop doing all this talking, and start doing a lot of... not talking."
"Lenny..." his voice tried to, well, whatever the manly version of 'pleading' was.
"Maybe we can talk more after," I suggested, moving to plant my legs on either side of his hips, pressing my breasts into his chest, wrapping my arms around his neck.
"Holding you to that," he promised right before his lips sealed to mine, his hands moving, one at the back of my neck, the other wrapped around my lower back as his teeth bit, tongue explored, as he stoked a desire that had been simmering just under the surface all night. And, if I were being honest, since he had walked out of my apartment a few nights before.
His body curled forward, then he moved to take his feet, holding my body to his, allowing my legs to wrap around his back to anchor me to him as his lips held mine prisoner the whole walk through the compound, down a hall, then finally to a door he slammed me up against for a long moment as his beard burned over the soft skin of my neck, as his lips and tongue traced over the flesh until I was writhing against him.
The door slammed behind us, and Edison didn't even reach for the light, just kept moving forward until something stopped him. His hands slid down my sides, then sank them into my hips, yanking my body from his, sending me free-falling for a second before I bounced onto the center of his massive bed, letting out a surprised gasp, followed by a laugh before I saw the towering shadow of Edison as he stood at the foot of the bed. I could make out his arms raising, then a precious little sliver of skin thanks to what seemed to be some kind of nightlight in the bathroom adjoining the bedroom. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. I wanted to see him. I wanted to watch his muscles twitch when I ran my hands over them. I wanted to see his eyes as he came.
But I realized as I heard the whoosh of his jeans hitting the floor that he had no intentions of going across the room to flick on the light, that we were going to do it in utter darkness.
Somehow, that made another thrill move through me.
"Edison," my voice called as he seemed to still loom there, naked though I couldn't see, staring down at me like maybe he could.
"Yeah, love?" he asked, his fingers finding my ankle. Even through the material of my jeans, I felt another wave of desire move through me.
"Come here," I demanded, hearing the pleading in my voice, and not caring at all that he could hear it too.
"Soon," he promised, the bed indenting slightly as his knees moved up onto it.
He didn't move over me though.
His hands slid up my legs, knees, thighs, over my hipbones, in across my stomach, snagging my button and zip, then undoing them with practiced fingers. My hips lifted without me even being aware of telling them to do so. Then the material of my jeans and panties were moving down my thighs, knees, calves, then off my ankles.
The bed shifted again as he moved further up, reaching to free each arm of my jacket, tossing it, then sliding my tee up my belly, over my breasts, then off as well, leaving us both completely naked, and not touching at all.
It seemed like forever to my starved body, but was likely only a few long seconds before his hand drifted across my clavicle, then down between the center of my breasts, turning at the last possible second to move over my breast, his thumb stroking the hardened nipple in a slow circle before I lost the contact again.
His fingertips grazed my ribs, my belly, the outside of my thigh, calf, ankle, then slowly back upward, moving in, gliding up the inside of my thigh, softly demanding access.
My legs fell open wide on the mattress, needing his touch there like I needed my next breath, a breath that felt strangled under a weight in my chest that I had no name for, but somehow knew it was significant, whatever it was.
His fingertips played with the crease where my thigh met my sex, making my hips buck restlessly, begging for more.
Just when I thought I wouldn't be able to take it anymore, his touch moved inward, stroking over my outer lips with the gentlest of caresses before just as softly circling my clit.
Once there, his touch was constant, relentless, driving me steadily upward until I felt the deep tightening, threatening beautiful oblivion.
And it was just then that I lost his touch.
"No," I whimpered, grabbing for his hand, managing to snag his wrist, trying to pull it back downward.
"Soon," he promised, moving to rest down on the bed beside me.
"Now," I countered, rolling onto my side facing him, my leg draping over his hip, feeling his hardness press into my thigh, moving until I could feel the head stroke up my slit to press into my clit.
My head slammed down into the center of his chest, my hands digging into his shoulders. "Like that," I moaned, moving my hips, letting the feeling wash through me again.
Edison's answer was that deep, rumbling sound in his chest that always shivered through my insides deliciously.
"I need you inside me," I demanded, rocking again. He didn't make a move to throw me on my back, to find a condom, to surge inside me to end the torment. "Edison, please," I begged.
His body curled toward me, reaching beyond me to dig inside the nightstand drawer. I could feel the edge of a condom wrapper slide over my hip before he reached between us to slide it on.
One hand stayed between us, stroking his cock back up to my clit for a second before dragging it down between my lips to press hard against the entrance, before releasing to slide his hand over my hip then back toward my ass, coaxing me inward, making me take him inside inch by thick inch.
Once he was as deep as the position would allow, my restless body moved against him, rocking his cock in and out slightly.
My nails bit into his skin as I tried to move faster, harder, get to oblivion as quickly as possible.
On a frustrated whimper, I grabbed his arms harder, pulling him with me as I rolled onto my back, wrapping my legs around him, raking my hands up his back to settle on his shoulders as my hips rose up to grind against him, begging for movement.
Edison's body pressed harder into mine as he went down on his elbows, his hands sliding under then curling into my shoulders, anchoring me in place just a second before his perfect control seemed to snap.
Then there was no mistaking what he did, what was going on between us. There was no deeper meaning to suss out, no emotions uncovered.
He fucked me. Each time his powerful body pulled backward then thrust forward, the bed slammed back against the unyielding wall.
His cock thrust deeper than I even knew was possible, my body greedy, making my hips raise up to meet him as his fingers dug in hard enough to bruise.
Even in the dark, just inches away, I couldn't make out his face, but could still feel his eyes somehow boring into me as his body got tighter, coiled, ready to burst.
The pressure on my lower stomach felt oppressive, my walls around his cock so tight that it was nearly painful.
"Lenny, come," Edison demanded.
And just like that, he proved all my comments from earlier false.
Because with his command, I came.
Nearly screaming out his name with the intensity of pleasure that started at the base of my spine and exploded outward until it seemed to overtake me completely.
I was vaguely aware of Edison's growl as my walls started pulsating around him, but he kept thrusting, kept fucking me until every last wave was done crashing through me before he slammed deep, and came with my name on his lips.
His face buried in my neck after, taking deep breaths to try to bring himself back down.
A similar battle was waging in my system as well, making my skin feel shaky, literally shaking, gently but unnervingly, making my arms hold him tighter, a little uncertain what the heck was going on.
"Let me up," Edison demanded, as softly as his voice could manage. Some strange whimpering sound escaped me at that, making him press up to run his lips gently over mine. "I'll be right back," he promised, pulling against my hold, then moving off the bed toward the bathroom.
In his absence, I forced my lazy limbs up the bed then under the covers, figuring maybe I was just cold.
Edison came back less than a minute later, flicking on one soft light somewhere near the door so I could finally see his gorgeous body as he moved to the side of the bed, then climbed under the covers.
As soon as he was settled, he reached for me, pulling me against his chest, squeezing.
"Aftershocks," he rumbled, his fingers drifting up my spine to toy with my hair as I took a deep breath, feeling it start to settle the odd shaking.
Aftershocks.
What an appropriate term.
"Hear the best way to get rid of them is to stay exactly where you are, and then sleep," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. "Then, just to make sure they're gone, you need to get up and have pancakes with me."
"Pancakes, huh?" I asked, feeling my lips curving up, a motion that was so unfamiliar that the muscles actually hurt.
"Afraid they are the only way to ensure you won't randomly have a resurgence," Edison went on, pleading his case.
"Well," I heard myself conceding. "I mean, if chocolate chip pancakes are the cure, I guess I can suffer through it."
"Chocolate chips, huh?" he asked, reaching to drag the blankets up higher over my suddenly chilled skin.
"The only kind of pancakes worth having," I agreed. "Topped with some whipped cream instead of syrup? With a side of breakfast potatoes and a huge coffee? Oh yeah."
"Skip the gym just once," he half-asked, half-demanded. "I'll get you your food, and coffee, and maybe we can just hang out some more."
"For what purpose?" I heard myself ask, knee-jerk, then winced, not wanting to kill what was a nice moment.
"Purpose?" he asked, and I could feel his beard brushing my hair as he shook his head. "Because you'd like it," he went with. "You can try to convince me - and even yourself - that you have no interest, but deep down we both know that isn't the case. You fight me on it because you want it too much, you think, for it being so soon."
"It's nothing to do with how soon it is," I objected, though there was likely at least a bit of that.
"What do you think is gonna happen if you let me in, Lenny?"
That was a good question.
I didn't have a good answer.
I couldn't exactly tell you why I was the way I was other than it being a cocktail of negative experiences with men, and male and female relationships thanks to my mother.
"How about, just this once, instead of just thinking it, you tell me."
He made it sound so easy.
To open up.
It wasn't.
It was so fucking hard to trust.
But just this once, just this night, with this man, for a short period of time, maybe I could try.
What did I think would happen if I let him in?
"I think I will come to get used to you being in."
There. It was out there.
"And that would be so bad because?"
Oh, here was the kicker.
"Because you never stay."
"You, who?"
I took a deep breath, holding it for a second, then releasing it.
"Men."
There was so long of a pause before his arm squeezed me that I felt my stomach swirling ominously.
"Love, you're not your mother."
There was a long silence again, allowing his words to sink in. I knew I wasn't my mother. But there was always a fear that with one stupid move, I could be like her. I could allow my life to revolve around a man and whether he favored me that week or not.
"And I'm not the men who dicked her - and you - over."
"To be fair, they weren't all bad," I admitted. "Some were genuinely good men who got duped into being with her."
"Good men, huh? And yet you can't trust one goddamn man, Lenny. Something tells me your view of what makes a man good or not is warped."
I shrugged a shoulder "They were decent. Even showed a little interest in me sometimes. But—"
"No, we're gonna go right back to that one," Edison cut me off. "A good fucking man doesn't 'show a little interest sometimes' in the child of a woman he is dating. Sorry, but if you're involved with a woman who has a kid, you're either all in, or you need to get the fuck out."
"It's not like they were all engaged to her, Edison."
"How many of these men did you live with growing up?" My silence at that was all the answer he needed. "Exactly. If he opened his house up to you, but didn't start treating you like you mattered just as much as your mom did, Lenny, he's part of the problem."
"You can't blame the men for my mother dragging me around like luggage."
"No, but that is something different. We're talking about the men that you lived with for weeks? Months? Years? And they never even attempted to try to gain your trust? Sorry, love, but that is not a good man. Does your sister have trust issues too?"
Ugh.
Knife, gut.
But he didn't know how much that hurt.
"Letha, unlike me, had a father that loved and fought like hell to be in her life. Even when my mother made it illegal, he and I made it work so he could be there for her."
"For her."
"Yeah."
"How old is your sister?"
"Twenty-four."
"And you're, what? Thirty?"
"Two."
"How old were you when you stopped living with him?"
Okay.
He was making a good point.
"Twelve."
"You spent four years of your childhood with this man. And yet you say she had a man to lean on, she had someone who fought to stay in her life. What the fuck about you, Lenny?"
"I wasn't his."
"You lived with him for four fucking years, Lenny. You might as well have been his."
"Jake was a good man, Edison. As a whole. He hated my mother. He saw me as an extension of her. But he treated Letha like she was the reason the sun rose in the morning. And he will always have my respect for that. She deserved that."
Edison's arm gave me another, tighter, squeeze. "You deserved it too, Lenny."
"Not every girl gets to be that lucky, Edison. That's not how the world works."
"No, it's not," He agreed. "And every man like the ones you have known who drops the ball with these little girls makes a generation of women who aren't able to tell another one of them from the ones who are happy to pick up the ball. So you don't even bother trying to tell us apart. "
"It's easier to never get romantic ideas in your head like that, Edison. If there's one thing I have seen over and over in my life, it's that you should never put your trust in someone else. They'll drop it. They drop it every single time."
His free hand moved, reaching for mine, sliding his palm against mine. It was so much bigger, his fingers inches longer, his palm another half a hand bigger than mine. The skin was calloused in spots too, the pads under his fingers and down on the lower right side.
And as I was marveling at these little things, his fingers shifted, moving between mine, then curling, holding on tight. Almost too tight.
"I've got a good grip, Lenny."
Those were the last words he spoke before slowly drifting off to sleep, still holding my hand.
And they were words that kept me awake for at least another hour, rolling over and over, until letters I had known since I was four suddenly looked like hieroglyphics, until the sounds I had rolled off my tongue countless times sounded a lot like a foreign language.
I rolled them around until they became something else entirely.
Because the words kept at face value, with the vehemence in which he said them, well, I almost could let myself believe he meant it.
—
I woke up to something tickling my nose.
And it took me an unfathomably long time to realize that that was unusual.
I was a heavy sleeper and hard-waker so even as I swatted at the thing doing the tickling, and something attached to the thing made a low, rumbling chuckle noise at my sleepy growl, it didn't quite click that someone was tickling my nose, and that no one should have been tickling my nose because no one was ever in my place.
In fact, I didn't actually start to genuinely be awake until the fingers drifted from my nose to trace my lips, and that very sweet, very chaste contact sent a surge of desire between my legs.
Then I became acutely aware of the fact that I was somehow naked, though I never slept that way, the sheets bunched up around my waist, my bare breasts exposed to the cool air, nipples hard.
"What..." I hissed, completely awake in a blink, shooting up in the bed on an inward gasp.
"Easy," Edison's voice called, soothing, but also amused. When my head whipped in his direction, he was sitting at the very edge of the mattress, showered, judging by his damp hair, and redressed in his usual all black. "Been trying to wake you up for five minutes," he informed me, clearly amused by that fact. "Figure you're not used to waking up in a strange place, so I'll let it slide this once. But the next time, I am waking you up in a fuckuva more fun way."
Even just the idea of that made my walls tighten. "Nuh-uh," he said, seeming to pick up on my reaction. "Not this morning. This morning, I have chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream, potatoes, and coffee to buy you."
Lips curving up as I scooted closer, reaching out to run my hand up his thigh, I countered, "I can do without pancakes. Come back to bed..."
He was shaking his head even before I finished speaking. "Nope." My hand shifted inward, gliding over the crotch of his jeans. "Fuck," he growled, and I thought I had him. But then his hand closed over mine, his fingers lacing inward. "I got a promise to keep," he told me, shrugging.
I felt my brows drawing together. "You're going to turn down sex for a promise?"
"Can fuck you another time, Lenny. But I only got one chance to keep my first promise to you."
"It's a silly-" I started, but he cut me off.
"It's not silly. It's fucking important because it proves that if I am this dedicated to a minor promise, that I will move mountains to keep the big ones."
There was a tightening sensation in my chest that I didn't have a name for, but it felt important.
Sensing a shift, and maybe not wanting me to overthink it, he gave my hand a squeeze, and when my eyes met his again, they were dancing. "If you eat fast, I'll take you back to your place... and eat you slow."
There was no stopping the smile that pulled at my lips at that. "Well, I think I can make that happen."
"Alright, get dressed," he said, giving my hand a squeeze before releasing it to point to a folded pile of my clothes.
I reached for them, finding a dryer sheet between my pants and shirt. "Did you wash them?"
"I get up early," was the only explanation I got as he moved toward the door that led to the hall. "I gotta go talk to the prez for a few. Just come on out when you're ready."
I waited for him to close the door fully then hopped up, making my way to the bathroom where I found an extra towel, and a toothbrush still in the wrapping. I decided against the shower, brushed my teeth, finger-combed my hair, then got into my clothes that were still slightly warm from the dryer. I made my way out into the hall, hearing a chorus of male voices, some of which I recognized from the night before. Most prominently, I could hear Adler's distinctive accent, likely saying something characteristically sarcastic. I could hear Edison as well, talking to someone with a deep, smooth voice.
"Couple hours."
"And I told you I needed you here."
Uh-oh.
He was in trouble.
"Reign, everyone else is—"
"Doing what they're supposed to."
Maybe he wanted to keep his promise, but I didn't want him to get into trouble with an outlaw biker president to make it happen.
"Hey," I called, making all the heads in the room - several more than were there the night before - turn to me. "It's okay. You can get me pancakes some other morning," I said, and found that I actually meant it. I was willing to do more overnights with him.
The man Edison had been talking to - Reign - turned to me, his light green eyes assessing. Even if I didn't know he was the president, I would have guessed it. It was in the laid-back ease with which he carried himself mixed with a seemingly unshakable confidence, and more than a pinch of danger.
"He's supposed to be buying you pancakes?" he asked, the phrase seeming ridiculous coming from a man such as him. But he still seemed to be able to do so without losing any of his edge.
"Chocolate chip," I agreed. "With whipped cream," I added, not sure why I did so. I wasn't one for embellishing. I usually kept things as short and sour as possible.
"Don't mind me picturing you licking that whipped cream off a finger," Adler commented, still in cuffs, but looking just as relaxed about it as he had been the night before.
Reign considered me for another second, then looked back at Edison. "You get your woman her fuckin' pancakes, then you get your ass back here."
"Got it," Edison agreed, holding out an arm that I found myself walking into, despite the crowd, despite the fact that I had never walked with a man whose arm was around my shoulders, despite me knowing deep down that this was never going to last.
"You shouldn't get yourself into trouble because of me," I told him as he led me over to his bike.
"It's fine. Reign is just on high alert."
Right.
Because a couple years ago, it was all over the papers.
Dozens of men slain.
Right there in their own clubhouse.
It was non-stop bar room talk at Meryl's for six months after.
"Is there something going on that..."
"Everything is fine," he assured me, handing me a helmet, then climbing on his bike.
That being that, I climbed on as well.
And Edison brought me to a brunch place that was all pink and white, making him in all his manly glory stand out all the more.
"Thought you wanted chocolate chip pancakes," he said, leaning back in the booth, smiling over his mug of coffee as I reached across the table to snag another bite of his Nutella ones. I had eaten more than he had at this point.
"That was because I didn't know Nutella pancakes existed," I told him as I snagged some of his hashbrowns as well.
"How long has it been since you've been to a breakfast place?"
I shrugged at that, reaching for my orange juice. "Six months, give or take."
Letha had wanted to treat me.
She had been unusually detached, slow to smile.
I should have known, damnit.
I should have fucking said something.
But I thought it was just the week.
Jake had died the year before.
We had been closing in on the anniversary.
I couldn't have known.
"That's a dark mood, love," Edison observed, uncomfortably good at reading me.
"Bad memory," I admitted, wanting to be honest, but also make it clear that I didn't want to talk about it.
Of course I didn't.
No one wanted to think about the last time they saw their sister conscious, breathing on her own, talking, walking.
Before she threw herself off a three-story building.
And everything, everything changed.
"Someday, maybe you'll tell me."
"Someday, maybe I will," I allowed, it being as close as I could get to saying that maybe I even wanted that, to tell someone, to lessen the burden slightly.
"So," he said, putting his cup down, spreading his arms down on the table top.
"So?" I parroted, finally putting my fork down, admiring that while my eyes and tongue wanted more, my stomach was threatening to pop the button of my jeans.
"You done fighting me?"
"Fighting you on what?"
"This," he said, waving a hand between us.
"Edison," I started.
"Oh, I know that voice. That is your 'I'm about to say something about not being the kind of woman who gets involved in any permanent capacity' voice."
"Oh, wow, it has its whole own voice?" I asked, smirking because I was uncomfortable with how accurate he was.
"I'm not asking you to change who you are, Lenny. I like what I have gotten to see so far. All I am asking is that you let me see more. And, well, keep fucking you," he added, wholly unconcerned with people at the other tables overhearing.
"I'm definitely down with the fucking," I agreed, voice much lower than his had been. I might have had a mouth like a sailor, but the woman one table over had a little blonde girl in a tutu that reminded me so much of Letha at her age that I instinctively had that urge to protect her innocent ears like I had been with my own sister.
"I can compromise. Fucking with overnights."
"What, exactly, do you think you will accomplish by sleeping over?"
"Well, there's the obvious benefit of being able to fuck you at night and in the morning."
"Clearly," I agreed, lips curving upward slightly.
"And you might get used to having me around. Maybe if you get used to having me around, you can open up more." When I didn't immediately answer, taking my coffee to drink as the waitress cleared the table, he leaned slightly forward on the table. "I'm just asking that you give it a try, love. That's it."
"I guess I can give it a shot."
And from then on, I did.
I tried.
As much as I knew how to.
Sometimes it was easy.
Like when we got back to my apartment, and he slammed me back against the inside of my door, dragged down my pants and panties just enough to give him access, then feasted on me like breakfast just didn't quite hit the spot.
Other times, it felt forced, felt a bit like what it was - trying.
The next three nights, coming home after my shift then getting a text or call asking me to come over.
It was so foreign to me. Not necessarily the booty-call aspect, since I had had a fuck-buddy situation or two in my life, but because I knew if I went there, he was going to have me stay.
The first night, I'd refused.
One overnight was enough, I felt, for a two-day period.
I had gotten out of the shower to my phone screaming on my bed.
When I sat down to answer, Edison's voice was a low, sexy growl. "Slide your hand down and touch your pussy," he demanded, and I could hear the barely-contained desire in his voice. The image of him across town with his cock in his hand was enough to send desire flooding through me in an instant.
Then I did something I never did.
I did what a man told me to do.
Afterward, the conversation somehow ended up on movies, and I learned that prior to ten years ago, Edison knew nothing about American movies. He'd never seen the classics like Die Hard, Rocky, or even The Breakfast Club, and had never known the disgusting childhood delicacies like Hi C, Lunchables, or French Toast Crunch.
"Why not just have real French toast?" he'd asked, sounding confused.
"Because I was eight and not allowed to use the stove yet," I told him with an eye roll even though he couldn't see. "Besides, it doesn't actually taste like French toast. Kind of like how Cookie Crisp doesn't actually taste like cookies."
"Never had that either," he admitted.
"You've been deprived. Or, you know, had a mother who actually gave a shit about you," I said, meaning to keep it light, but he took the topic of conversation and picked it up, telling me about his mother who sounded like she did, of course, love him a hell of a lot more than my mother loved me. Though she'd died when he was young, and his voice went uncommonly guarded around that part, which, well, was something I understood too much to push, even if maybe I wanted to.
The following night, twenty bucks of a "finder's fee" in my pocket from Meryl because yet another trip had been made from a Henchmen to the store, this time to load up on beer, and not Pabst or Natty Ice, but actually the stuff that didn't taste like piss in a can, and therefore cost more, I made my way to the food store, then over to the compound where Edison met me inside the door, and I held out dinner.
A box of French Toast Crunch and a box of Cookie Crisp, along with a gallon of milk.
And the laugh he let out, and the light in his eyes at my idea made a strange, tingly sensation spread across my chest.
And I figured maybe trying wasn't so bad after all. He'd fucked me in the shower that night from behind, whispering something low and filthy-sounding in Romanian, something that sent shivers through my belly - and lower - until a screaming orgasm crashed through me, echoing off the tiles in the shower. He kept thrusting too, repeating something over and over that I couldn't understand but for some reason sounded a lot like praise as he found his own orgasm, then pulled me back against his chest until my newfound aftershocks subsided.
The next morning, knowing he was an early riser, and not wanting to have to answer questions about where I was heading, I got up early.
But already, his side of the bed was empty.
I rushed to get ready, trying to limit the amount of time he would have to answer questions.
But when he walked in with egg and cheese bagels with coffee from She's Bean Around - a luxury I only allowed myself on holidays or my birthday - and found me looking ready to bolt, a darkness came over his eyes that looked a lot like disappointment.
And, maybe for the first time with a man, I really, really didn't like seeing it there.
"I have an... appointment today, but I have a little bit," I told him, forcing a small smile that seemed to take a little of the tension out of his shoulders.
He wanted me to try.
And I was.
But this was maybe the first time I got to see that he too was trying.
I wasn't delusional.
He was an outlaw biker.
He had a voice that liquified panties within a mile around.
He had a dark and dangerous and sexy as all fuck vibe to him.
He could have, and likely had, enjoyed way more than his fair share of women. Casually. Because that was the lifestyle he lived in. Guns, money, drinking, danger, and chicks.
That didn't bother me.
Every woman in his past was part of the reason he was who he was; they had to be alright with me.
Because I was really starting to appreciate who he was.
But because I knew what his lifestyle was like, I knew that this - whatever this thing was between us - was as new to him as it was to me.
We were both clumsy pioneers, exploring, trying to find our footing in a new landscape.
Edison, well, he was much more sure-footed than I was.
And, sure, maybe he came more prepared for the task, maybe his bag was full of provisions and safety nets and a compass navigating his way.
I was not so lucky, and I felt like I was constantly tripping, falling on my face.
But Edison?
Yeah, he was pulling both our weights.
And since I knew this was as new to him as it was to me, that said he was really trying.
And he needed to know I wasn't shoving that in his face.
"Thanks for this," I told him, meaning it, as I took a long, sip of the best coffee in town, moving to sit on the bed, and he joined me, spreading out the food, holding up the ketchup packet with a question in his eye.
"Duh," I said with an eye roll, snatching it away from him, nipping the corner, and spreading it on my food, then reaching for the salt as well. "Stop silently judging me," I commanded, feeling his eyes on me as he simply bit into his as-is.
"Watched you put ketchup on breakfast potatoes, love. I don't think anything is going to shock me now."
"No? Wait til you see what I put on mac & cheese," I said, smiling as I lifted my sandwich. "Hint, it is a red condiment."
"Lenny, that's just wrong," he declared, shaking his head at me.
And it was light.
It was easy.
It took no effort to enjoy breakfast with him, to small talk, to just be a normal fucking human being for a little bit.
I liked it.
I liked it more than I should have, more than was likely healthy so soon.
But I wasn't going to over-think it and spoil it.
In fact, I was excited to finally tell my sister about him.
At first, I thought it was weird to talk to her unconscious body. Aside from just begging her to wake up, that is. It felt awkward even when the nurses insisted many patients woke up and could remember hearing the voices of loved ones. And after overhearing nearly every other patient in the ward get talked to like they were awake by close family members, I started doing it too.
I told her about the crazy shit the men at Meryl's said.
I told her about the gym, about the instructors I had.
I bitched about the news.
Anything really.
Just pretending like it was one of our coffee dates and we were just catching up.
So far, I hadn't told her about Edison. Not even about taking a class with him. I actually wasn't sure why I didn't. Maybe because it was such huge thing. It felt weird to tell her when her eyes couldn't go huge, when she couldn't reach across the table, slam her hand on my shoulder and demand Shut up!
I guess because this was such a big thing for me, I selfishly wanted to have her reaction.
But, at the same time, I was bursting with the need of someone to talk to, to tell about the situation.
So I was giddy inside as the elevator doors opened and I moved down the hall.
Where I froze.
Because my mother was standing in front of the nurse's station.
She was a shadow of her former self, plastic surgery somehow managing to make her age worse than if she just let nature take its course, making her skin too tight in some places, too saggy in others. Her hair was dyed almost white-blonde, making her tan skin look ridiculous.
Normally, I would just roll my eyes at her outfit choices, but seeing as we were in a hospital, her skintight pink dress and sky-high stilettos were especially absurd.
Ugh.
Way to kill a good mood.
Thankfully, she had avoided coming to visit often, only doing so right after Letha was brought in and then on her birthday.
I was pretty sure I couldn't handle more than that.
"Mother," I said, voice chilly as I sent a head-shake at the nurses.
"Lenore," she said, eyes dipping over my outfit distastefully.
"What are you doing here?"
Her chin lifted at that, her eyes steely.
"You were never going to make the decision."
No.
"I agreed to six months. It came and went."
Nononono.
My eyes went from her to the nurse, eyes pleading.
And her words came out, stealing the air from my lungs.
"Letha was taken off life support. She died at seven-twenty this morning."
And just like that, my entire world collapsed around me.