Chapter Ten
“You should have seen it, man, I’ve never…” Riley shook his head, then chuckled. “Those dumb fucks didn’t know what hit them.”
“I guess they didn’t take into account that projectile vomiting could be used as a weapon,” Mars retorted, his tone wry. He clapped Mundo on the back and said, “Congratulations, Mundo. You’ve got a wicked mate on your hands.”
Mundo blinked, shaking his head at the fact that he had Christie back, and all thanks to her own ingenuity. Although, he guessed the projectile vomit had been more fortuitous than well planned. Either way, he wasn’t about to complain. She was here, safe and well, and back in his line of sight. The latter filled him with a bone deep satisfaction that he didn’t know how to handle.
Mundo didn’t feel like smiling, nor did he feel like weeping. He was just so damned grateful but didn’t know how to express that gratitude without waking up his mate.
They were at HQ back in Channelview, the clubhouse that housed the top ranks and the youngest cuts. The council was at his back, lounging in the hallway outside his new bedroom, discussing what had happened today, while he stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, and watching Christie sleep.
She’d been out for the count ever since Riley had returned her here. Travis had called Mars when they’d picked her up, running away from the cartel safe house in Greenspoint. They’d all headed back to HQ; Riley, Travis, and Christie thirty minutes behind them. Mundo had wanted to go and meet them, to catch sight of his mate so he could see with his own eyes that she was safe. But as he’d had to ride on the back of Mars’ bike—too weak to drive thanks to the bullet wound still healing on his chest—he’d had no say in the matter.
Christie had made it to the clubhouse, had held it together long enough to see him and tell him she’d kill him later, before she’d passed out.
She seemed to do that a lot around him.
He wondered if it was a mate thing, because the only one who hadn’t freaked out at the sight of her fainting was Mars. He had a mate of his own, so maybe Annette did it a lot too?
When she’d staggered through the door of the clubhouse, he’d felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. She’d been white, oh so white. Her beautiful olive skin was pasty, her clothes rumpled. She was nothing like the fresh-faced beauty he’d taken out for something to eat two hours previous.
How had everything changed in such a short space of time?
It didn’t make sense, and yet, that was his life, wasn’t it? It was the MC life.
He shuddered, feeling sick himself at how badly this entire situation could have turned out. Instead, his mate was back with him, in his bed, resting after the nightmare she’d just endured—a nightmare that could be quantified in minutes but was no less harrowing for it.
She’d fallen into his arms the second she’d seen him, cupped his chin, moved his jaw from side to side, whispered, “You’re alive until I get my hands on you later,” and then slumped into his embrace. He’d carried her out to his quarters—new ones because of his mated status—and laid her on the bed.
She’d been there ever since, and he’d stayed with her, watching her as she rested.
The forced inactivity had been driving him nuts, so he’d asked Mars and Kiko to get some of the guys to help transfer his shit from his old room to this one. Normally, they’d have told him to fuck off, to stop being a lazy motherfucker and do it himself. But this was different. His mate was unconscious. His mate had been abducted because of MC business and could have been… He couldn’t even think about what might have happened to her without wanting to kill someone.
For the past two hours, he’d been busy moving the shit the guys brought him, quietly unpacking and making sure to leave enough space for Christie’s stuff.
He knew without even having to think hard about it that she’d make a fuss about living here. Not that he could blame her either. Even in the mated quarters, the room wasn’t exactly big. At least they had a connecting bath and a king-sized bed, but that was it. The space was bland and contained the bare minimum of furniture, ready for the mated female to decorate it. It wasn’t exactly a dream home, but it would have to be their main seat until this threat had been averted.
He shuddered when he realized he’d have to be the one to break it to her, but he valued her life more than he valued his balls.
He could deal with her sulking with him, could even deal with her throwing shit at him—not that there was much to throw. What he couldn’t handle was her being injured or snatched again.
After the threat was dealt with, they could move back into her apartment. It was actually more convenient for him, as close to the garage as it was, and when it came time for ceremonies and the like, which always happened at the weekend, they could spend those days here.
Mundo hoped to pacify her with that compromise, but he didn’t hold out much hope.
Mars clapped him on the back again, jerking him out of his thoughts. “You’ve a mate to be proud of,” he told Mundo, a wide smile on his face.
He knew that already; he hadn’t needed today to confirm that. He just nodded and said, “Thanks for getting all my shit together.”
Kiko snorted. “I need more than a thanks. You can buy me a fucking beer.”
Mars chuckled. “He was the one who had to handle your clothes.”
“If I ever see your briefs again, I will burn them,” Kiko promised, the threat alive and kicking in his tone. “Only for her did I do it.” He pointed at Christie as if to underline his words.
“I know, and I’m grateful, Kiko. I really mean that.” He truly did, and he sensed Kiko realized how earnest he was because the glower on his face softened into concern.
“Are you okay, buddy?”
Mars looked at Kiko askance then studied Mundo. What he saw had him frowning. “Yeah, how are you doing?”
How could he answer that?
He’d dragged his mate, the most important person in his life, into danger. She’d been leading a regular life, doing ordinary shit and being a normal human female in normal human society. Then, he’d come along and dragged her into the eye of the storm.
Hell, it wasn’t just any old storm, either. It was a hurricane. A fucking twister.
The MC was close to all-out war with the Martinez cartel, and he’d just put his mate in the firing line.
So no, he didn’t feel okay. Everything didn’t smell of roses.
He didn’t say that though. He shrugged off their concern and mumbled, “I’ll be fine when she wakes up.” He pushed ahead, moving back into the bedroom to carefully take a seat on the side of the bed and then lay down beside her as gently as he could without moving the mattress. He turned on his side, smiling when she rolled into him, nuzzling her back against his chest. Only when she did that did he finally feel like he could breathe.
As he nuzzled his face into her hair, he heard the door close and knew they were alone.
He sucked in air like it was going to be rationed in the next few minutes, and each gulpful was loaded down with her scent. Only that calmed him. Her essence soothed the shuddering of earthquake-like proportions that was going on in his soul.
For the first time since he was a boy, Mundo wept. He finally let the tears that had been choking him since his shift back at the workshop fall and allowed himself to be comforted by the purity of his mate’s scent.
He fell asleep, only he didn’t realize it until he was being pushed over the side of the bed and falling onto the floor. A pillow hovered over the side as his mate scrambled toward him, and he braced himself for what was about to happen. He deserved it, but he knew with her new speed, her wallops would make a dent.
She bashed him with the pillow, hitting him with as much force as he sensed she could, and he just lay there, covering his face from some of the nastier hits—punches that came with a warning of her sucking in a single sharp breath as she gathered momentum. He wasn’t sure how long the one-sided pillow fight took, but it ended with her sobbing. The cushion fell to the ground as she sat precariously close to the edge of the mattress, bowed over, hands covering her face as she cried out her hurt, fear, and anger.
His heart hurt at the sight of her, and he ached with the need to hold her, to try to make this all better even though he knew it was impossible.
Mundo was cautious as he moved himself from the floor to the bed. Slowly, he let his arm come around her, and the instant she felt him, Christie stiffened, which made him tense up too. About to brace himself for more hits with the cushion, she stunned him by flinging herself into his arms, curling up on his knees, and huddling into his chest like a baby.
A shaky sigh escaped him as he held her close, rocking her slightly, embracing her as tightly as he could. He was so goddamn grateful that she was there in his arms, safe and relatively sound, that he felt his soul start to weep in gratitude.
He didn’t realize he was crying again until a soft, gentle hand cupped his face. He blinked at the touch and then focused on Christie’s sore, red eyes. She was staring at him in fascination, her gaze tracking the wetness trailing down his cheeks. With a finger, she scooped up a tear and studied the glistening drop for a second.
“You’re sorry,” she whispered.
“You have no idea how sorry I am, baby. I’d kill to make this right. I’d do anything to take your fear away.”
She gulped then shook her head—a move that he sensed was more to shake off her thoughts than to deny what he was saying. “Big boys do cry,” she murmured softly, wiping away the tear tracks with those silky fingers of hers. “Thank you, Mundo.”
He blinked again. “You’re thanking me? For what?”
Her lips twitched at his astonishment. “For crying, of course. It means a lot.”
He frowned. “It does?”
Christie nodded and reached up to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. “I’m sorry about hitting you with a pillow,” she mumbled against his lips. “I just…” He felt her quiver. “I was so scared, Mundo. And I—”
He hugged her tighter. “You what, baby?”
She pulled back, only to nuzzle her face into his throat. “I did something… something bad, Mundo.”
“What, Christie? I’m sure we can make it right.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “The man who took me, the one who dragged me into the back of the van. He covered my head with a hood, but when he tried to tie my hands together I fought him off. He was going to hit me with his gun, so I knocked his arm out of the way. It was instinct,” she cried. “I didn’t even realize I’d be able to stop him from hitting me. But I did, and I think, because of this new speed thing I’ve got going on, when I smacked him, I did so with force.”
“So, you knocked him out. That’s great,” Mundo whispered, proud of her despite the seriousness of the situation.
She gulped. “No. I didn’t. I… Oh, God, I killed him.”
Feeling himself freeze, Mundo made a concerted effort to relax. She was shuddering on his lap, and he held her close, trying to reassure her, to imbue her with the love he felt for her. This news changed nothing—not what he felt for her or anything like that. Truth was, he was prouder of her. One less scum-sucking cartel foot soldier was roaming around, and if he’d been trying to hit Mundo’s mate, then the bastard deserved to die. He was just disappointed he hadn’t been the one to make him pay.
Her sobs grew louder until he ached at their sound. He didn’t know what to do, how to make this right, so he just let her burn herself out. He’d let her cry and cry until hopefully, the act would cleanse her. She was a good person, had a beautiful soul, and she was a dentist. It was in her to heal, not to maim or do harm. This would eat her up for a long time to come, and maybe she’d never get over it, never be able to forgive herself for what she’d done. But he’d spend every day trying to make it up to her. He silently made her that vow, knowing she wasn’t ready to hear that from him.
When her sobs quietened, he murmured, “I love you.”
She froze. “How can you? I’m a murderer.”
“You take that back, Christie,” he snarled. “You’re no murderer. You protected yourself from a man who had just abducted you, dammit. You didn’t know what he was going to do to you because all you knew was that he was capable of snatching you and taking you away from me. You did what you had to do, and even then, it was an accident.”
“We have to go to the police,” she cried. “I have to tell them… to confess…” She shuddered. “Oh God, what if they send me to prison? I-I can’t do it, Mundo, I hate working there. I don’t want to be there for years and years—”
Because she could continue, he tilted up her chin and pressed a finger to her lips. “Sweetheart, there will be no police report.” He sighed. “That isn’t the way this world works. No one knows you were abducted, no one knows I was shot, and no one knows that guy is dead. The last I can guarantee as well as I can the first two.”
“That’s terrible,” she breathed.
He could see her disgust at the way his world worked, but he shook his head to stave off her complaints. “Sweetheart, it’s more than just being part of an MC. We’re Shifters. Look at me, Christie. I was shot, close to point blank in the chest this afternoon. Grab the neck of my shirt and look at my chest.” When she stayed still, he shook her a little. “Christie, look at my chest.”
She bit her lip but tugged at the shirt’s neckline and peered down at his pecs. She gulped. “It’s red and I can tell something happened, but it’s not bleeding.”
“It’s not even a wound anymore, Christie. How the hell could I explain that to a hospital? To any kind of authority?” He sighed. “I know it’s not what you’re used to, and I’m sorry for it, but we police ourselves. We tend to ourselves. That’s the way it has to work.”
“No, it doesn’t. You’re Shifters, not aliens. It’s not like people don’t know you exist and wouldn’t let you use the hospitals!”
“Bullshit,” he snapped, angered by her inability to see the truth in his words. No Shifter wanted to live under the radar, even the ones who ran on the wrong side of the law as the MC had a habit of doing. And yet, every Shifter did it, even the stiffs who worked nine-to-five jobs in the human world. They had no choice. “We maintain a low profile for a reason. Just because you know about us doesn’t meant we want you to. Look what happened the minute the government knew what we could do. We were shipped off to war. Our numbers were decimated. We’re lucky we’re still around in the numbers we have.” He shook his head. “It’s not about being a patch in an MC. It’s not about hiding from the law. It’s about what I am, and what that is has to be kept a secret—for my own protection, as well as for my brothers and their families.”
Her brow puckered, and her eyes began to water again. “Why is this so complicated? Why does it have to be so hard?”
He sucked in a breath. “I know, and I’m so sorry, darlin’. I’d do anything to make this right. Anything.”
“Anything but let me go to the police,” she whispered bitterly then raised a hand and covered her eyes. “I killed a man, Mundo. I need to be punished.”
A snarl escaped him. “The last thing you need is to be punished, Christie. It was all self-defense. Even if you told the cops everything, they’d dismiss it as self-defense. You know that. You’re just being irrational.”
“Gee, I wonder why,” she bit off and started to scramble off his lap. “I watched my mate being shot, got abducted, killed a guy, and had to run as bullets flew past me… I think I’m entitled to be a little bit irrational, goddammit!”
“Of course you are. I’m not saying you can’t be as irrational as you fucking want to be. I’m just saying that when you think about this, when you sleep some more on it, you’ll realize going to the cops won’t solve anything.”
She scrambled off the bed and began to pace the tight confines of the room. He stayed there, legs crossed in a loose lotus position, and watched her. She needed to work off the nervous energy that was flooding her. Christie was right; she’d been through a hell of a lot, and processing it all was going to take time.
“What do you mean you police yourselves?”
The question came out of the blue. She’d been pacing for a good five minutes, and Mundo had zoned, watching her and taking comfort in her presence—even if she was mad as hell. The answer to her query seemed rather obvious to him, but Mundo patiently explained, “I think you know what it means. We’ll deal with this in-house.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “You think I haven’t watched Sons of Anarchy?” Her voice turned into a high squeak. “You think I don’t know that this means some kind of gang war?”
“There’s no need for you to worry about it,” he tried to tell her, to calm her down, but the words seemed to inflame her more.
Christie stormed over to the bed, put one knee on the mattress, and leaned over. Prodding him in the chest, right where the bullet had gone in and where it was still tender—a fact he felt sure she was aware of—she hissed, “You get involved in any kind of gang war, James Aston, and I will go to the police. Do you hear me? I will confess about everything. I will not have you going off and getting yourself killed over this.”
Mundo gritted his teeth. “I have to do what’s right.”
“And you think it’s right to ride off on your hog, fully armed, and what? Do a drive by shooting on their house? On their places of business?” She let out a shriek, one that was loaded with her exasperation as well as her panic. “Are you insane?” She shook her head, the motion definitive. “I won’t have it, Mundo. I can forgive you for what happened today. I really can. We can get past this. But if you go ahead with this, if you get involved with anything that puts your life in danger, I will never forgive you, and I will never live with you again. Do you understand me?”