My eyelids flutter open when I feel soft lips touch my shoulder, kissing over to my spine and down my back. I arch when they reach the base of my spine and then let out a giggle when teeth nip my ass cheek.

“Sexy,” Prescott growls, his breath fanning my ass.

Shifting to my knees, I spread my thighs wide and reach my arms forward, arching as much as I can for him.

“Peaches,” he groans, moving behind me.

I can feel his breath against my wet pussy, closing my eyes I let out an exhale in anticipation of feeling his mouth on me.

Prescott doesn’t disappoint, not that he ever really does. His tongue licks me from ass to clit, swirling around my aching bud before he gently sucks on it.

I fist the sheets beneath me, pushing back against his face, silently begging for more. He chuckles against my pussy, but I don’t feel the least bit embarrassed.

“Pres, more,” I whine.

Without a word and without warning, he slams inside of me, his cock filling me and stretching me. “Shit,” I hiss, throwing my head back.

Prescott’s fingers grip my hips as he stays completely planted inside of me. He leans over and his chest presses against my back as his mouth goes to the shell of my ear.

“Are you going to come all over me, peaches? Soak and squeeze my cock?”

My thighs shake from his words. My eyes close as I imagine coming and squeezing him, trying to keep his dick inside of me for as long as possible, pulling his own climax from him as well.

Prescott lifts his chest from my back, sliding one of his hands from my hip to my spine. I shiver when his fingers dance up the center of my spine until they fist in the back of my hair, tugging my head backward.

He doesn’t pull out of me by much, maybe only an inch before he thrusts back inside. His hips slap against my ass, causing my entire body to shift forward.

His fingers in my hair grip tighter, as does his grasp on my hip as he holds my body still. Slipping one of my hands between myself and the mattress, I let a finger glide over my clit.

I’m so close, and I know that I won’t last much longer, especially if I touch myself, but I have to. I have to relieve this ache. I don’t stroke my clit hard or fast. Instead, I match my finger’s touch with Prescott’s rhythm. Every time he sinks inside of me, I gently stroke my clit.

Closing my eyes, I just feel. I let his body consume my own. My touch doesn’t feel like my own, it feels like him. He takes over every part of me and I relax my body, accepting everything that he is giving me.

“Fuck, so close,” he groans.

I’m close too. His movements speed up as do my own, and I can feel his cock growing as my climax rolls through me.

My pussy clamps down around him as he buries himself deep inside of me and roars with his own release. I know that people have probably heard, but I don’t care—I’m too satisfied to give a single shit how many, or who heard us.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants as his sweat soaked chest rests against my back.

His mouth presses against my shoulder. His tongue slips out and he tastes the tattoo on my neck. I’ll never get tired of him licking my neck, my tattoo, the brand that claims me as his to the world. His hand stays clenched in my hair, and his chest rises and falls against my back as he attempts to catch his breath.

“Is everything handled?” I ask on a whisper.

I’m afraid to speak the words too loudly, afraid that there is more shit coming our way, but I need to know.

He grunts, slipping from my body to lie down next to me on his back. Shifting to my side, I lay my head on his chest and wrap my arm around his muscular stomach. Prescott plays with the ends of my hair, his fingers gently touching it, as he breathes.

“It is, and it isn’t,” he says. I wait for him to elaborate. He sighs and slips his hand up my back to wrap his fingers around the back of my neck. “There are girls, Devils’ girls. Each one of those men has one at their home. Also, there’s a compound somewhere. A training facility for soldiers, but also a place where more women are kept. It’s going to be never-ending, never-fucking-ending,” he grinds out.

Lifting my head, I place my chin on his chest. “We always knew there were more,” I say.

He sighs, his other arm wrapping around my lower back as he holds me against his side. “I know,” he murmurs. “Fuck, I know,” he grunts.

“What are we going to do about them?” I ask.

Prescott snorts, dipping his chin to look down at me. “We, we aren’t doing a damn thing. You are going to take care of that baby growing inside of you and not stress the fuck out over this shit. I will do what I can.”

I want to tell him to get over himself, to let me help, but he’s not completely wrong. It would break my heart, searching for these women, and finding more like Hayden out there, more like me. I’m not sure I could handle it. At least, not right now.

“You’ll help them, all of them?” I ask.

“I’ll do what I can, and I’ll find their families, peaches.”

Placing my cheek back on his chest, I curl as close as I can to him and close my eyes. With his body heat beneath me, his strength surrounding me, I know that he’ll always protect me.

I don’t want to think about what these poor women have been through because I’ve been through quite a bit myself and it brings back bad memories, and nightmares of the past. However, I want to help them, and I want them to all find that happiness that they truly deserve.

“You helped save Crooner,” he grunts into the quiet room a few minutes later.

I nod once, not taking my head off of his chest, but instead closing my eyes. I try not to imagine all of the blood, or how pale and dead Crooner looked. I try, and I fail. “Proud of you, peaches,” he whispers.

My arm flexes around his center, holding him even closer to me. Proud of me, I don’t understand how he could be proud of me. I didn’t do anything, not really. I urged him to allow Orville into our lives, into his club, and he was the enemy. He was going to hurt me, and hurt Hayden.

“Whatever you’re thinking. Forget that shit,” Prescott grunts.

I don’t say anything, afraid to actually speak the words aloud. I won’t ever think that I did anything to make him proud of me, not when it came to helping the doctor save Crooner. I did what anybody would do, any Old Lady.

“Are we free now, no more lockdown?” I ask, changing the subject.

Prescott hums, but he doesn’t answer me right away. “Other than some looming threat of Lucifer, that I don’t even know is valid, I don’t see why not. I’m going to keep Free on you though until we get more information about Jones’ group. I don’t know if these guys from yesterday were the last wave coming here, or not. I don’t know much of anything about his crew, or their numbers,” he admits.

I open my mouth to respond, but a loud knock on the door causes me to jump. “Snake, we need you out here.” Free’s voice booms from the other side of the closed door.

Prescott slips from beneath my body and grabs his jeans from the floor quickly pulling them up his hips as he walks toward the locked door. Pulling the sheets over my naked body, I watch as it swings open and a red-faced Free is standing there.

“Caught that whore, Twinkie on the phone, giving out information about the club. She’s locked in the warehouse with those dead bodies, waiting for you.” Free grins and it looks almost evil.

“Fuck, okay. I’ll be right there,” Prescott says, closing the door. He doesn’t lock it, and I watch as he runs his hand through his hair.

Letting out an exhale. “Gracie had a bad feeling about Truly. I watched her yesterday, and she looked almost guilty when everyone was running around trying to save Crooner,” I say, recalling yesterday’s events and how nervous she seemed.

“That her name?” he asks, yanking a t-shirt and socks out of his dresser drawer.

“You didn’t even know her real name?” I ask, scrunching my nose up.

Prescott lets out a snort and shakes his head. His green eyes lift to mine as his lips curl into a smirk. “Peaches, girls like her, nobody needs to know their real names. They’re here for one thing, and one thing only,” he mutters.

“Yeah, I know why they’re here,” I say, rolling my eyes. “That doesn’t mean that they aren’t people, Pres.”

He snorts again as he yanks his shirt on over his head. “You want to come with me, question her?” he asks arching a brow.

Normally I would think that asking me to come would be a joke. However, it isn’t the first time he’s had me in on questioning. Looking into his eyes, I can tell that he’s serious.

I lift my chin and throw my legs over the bed. “Yeah, I think I will,” I announce.

“There are still dead bodies in that room from yesterday,” he warns.

I shrug, not wishing to see them and hoping that they don’t make me sick all at the same time, but I don’t want to show any kind of weakness. Not right now, at least.

Hurrying, I change into some jeans, a long sleeve shirt, throwing my hair up in a high ponytail before I pull on my boots.

Prescott holds my coat out for me and I happily slip my arms inside. He takes my hand, and together, we leave the safe comfort of our bedroom.

The common room looks like a ghost town, I imagine that most of the men are at the warehouse, and Gracie is keeping an eye on the kids.

Prescott’s grip on my hand is firm and together we walk out of the clubhouse and toward the large metal building where I know Truly and a pile of dead bodies are waiting for us.

Once we’re outside of the building, Prescott’s hand wraps around the handle of the door and he pauses, looking back at me.

“You don’t have to do this, I can take care of it. I’ll be fair, and I won’t judge,” he murmurs.

I nod, knowing that he’s telling me the truth, however, I want to see her with my own eyes. I want to know what she did, and why. “I know I don’t have to. I want to,” I announce.

Prescott searches my face with his eyes, and whatever he sees must convince him that I can join him, that I can be part of this without breaking. “Like last time, you leave when it’s too much,” he grunts.

I squeeze his hand in my own and give him a smile, then I lift my chin. He shakes his head once before he yanks the door open. We walk inside.

Truly is strapped to a chair in the center of the room, a row of dead men behind her. I try not to look at them, my focus staying on Truly. She doesn’t look as anxious, or nervous as she did when Crooner was shot, in fact, she looks a little cocky.

Twinkie’s eyes hone in on Ginger, and I watch as she smirks. This bitch is trouble—I can already tell. Twinkie hasn’t been important to me, none of the whores are. My focus is on my woman and my woman alone.

No other women really matter all that much to me. I only care if they’re doing what they are supposed to be doing, and they aren’t causing any fucking drama. Nothing more—nothing less.

“You have to believe me, they’re the ones lying,” she whimpers, switching her gaze from me to Ginger.

Ginger doesn’t do anything but tip her head to the side, her hand squeezing mine. “What did they say you did?” she asks, her tone even and calm.

Twinkie’s bottom lip trembles. “They thought I was telling someone where everybody was, giving them some kind of rundown of the club and who was there. That wasn’t it at all, it was a misunderstanding,” she pleads.

Motorhead snorts, but I continue to keep my eyes on the whore in front of me.

“Who were you talking to?” Ginger asks.

It’s sexy as fuck the way she’s taken control, and I should stop this entire thing right now, but I’m enjoying it too fucking much.

Twinkie’s lips press together and her eyes widen before they look over to me. She looks almost pleadingly at me, but all I can do is shrug. Apparently, my woman has taken control of this question and answer portion of this morning.

“Nobody,” Twinkie whispers.

Ginger clucks her tongue and shakes her head once. I watch as her ponytail moves from side-to-side out of my peripheral vision. “Oh, I don’t believe that for a second, Truly,” she announces.

Free takes a step forward leaning down slightly and growls. “Answer Ginger’s questions or I start mutilating,” he growls.

Ginger gasps, not loud, just enough for me to hear and I give her hand a gentle squeeze. Free won’t mutilate Twinkie in front of her, he’ll wait until I escort Ginger out before he gets down to business.

“Heard a man’s voice on the other end, cunt. Listened long enough to get the gist of your conversation. Giving him our whereabouts and making sure he knew exactly who was where in the clubhouse, and who was sleeping where. You better start talking, you stupid whore,” Motorhead shouts.

His face is starting to turn red and Ginger whimpers next to me. She’s probably never seen the man pissed off before, which is a good thing because Motorhead can be fucking scary.

Twinkie lifts her chin, narrowing her eyes at Motorhead. “All you men are the same,” she spits. We don’t say a word, waiting for her to finish. “You take and take and take, but you never give anything back. Us whores are nothing but holes to you, but I want more,” she announces.

“This person you were talking to offered you… more?” Ginger asks.

Twinkie snorts. “He offered me everything and he’s ready to give it to me too. A brand. I’ll be one of his Old Ladies, legitimate,” she announces.

“One?” Ginger whispers, turning her head to look up at me. I shake my head once, no clue as to what Twinkie means.

“He wants his first Old Lady back, and then he said he’d brand me too. The three of us would be together, as long as I didn’t mind sharing him. Who am I to beg? I’ve been sharing men with other bitches my entire adult life,” she shrugs.

My stomach churns. I think I know who she was talking to and it makes me sick.

“Lucifer,” Free growls, beating me to it.

“So, you were giving him information on the men and on Hayden. Is he who shot Crooner?” Ginger practically screams.

I tug her toward me so that her back crashes against my front and I hold her still, afraid she’s going to go after this cunt and hurt herself in the process.

“Nobody was supposed to get hurt. He was supposed to come in, take her, and I was going to follow,” she whispers.

Ginger’s body jerks in my hands, and I wrap one arm around her chest to keep her in place. “You really thought he would get in here, take Hayden, and nobody would get hurt? What’s he planning now?” I growl.

Twinkie’s eyes meet mine and gone is the anxious woman from earlier. Her false bravado is back in place and she’s attempting to look and act like she’s fearless. It’s all bullshit. My woman is fearless, Hayden is fearless, this cunt is nothing but a fraud.

“He’s going to burn your club, and you, to the ground. He wants what’s his, and he doesn’t give a fuck how he gets it,” she sneers.

I’m unable to control myself, my laughter takes over and I shake my head. “Do you know who Hayden is to him?” I ask after I’ve calmed down.

She jerks her head. “His Old Lady,” she shrugs.

Clearing my throat, I nod. “Yeah, she’s branded as his Old Lady, as his property, sure. She’s also his blood daughter,” I murmur. Ginger freezes in front of me, her back ramrod straight. Twinkie’s eyes widen and she has the decency to look disgusted. “You’re a stupid bitch. Boys, do with her what you want,” I announce.

Taking Ginger’s hand, I tug her behind me and we leave the warehouse. As soon as the door closes behind us, I hear Twinkie’s scream. Ginger shivers in my grasp and I walk us farther away as quickly as I can without dragging her behind me.

“I knew it was something perverted and disgusting like that. I had hoped it wasn’t, but I knew it was,” Ginger whispers when we’re far enough away that we can’t hear Twinkie scream anymore.

Turning around, I wrap my arms around my woman and pull her as close as I can for a hug. “I didn’t want you to ever know,” I mutter, pressing my lips against the top of her head.

“Poor Hayden,” she whispers.

I grunt in agreement, holding her against me, feeling her close to me. This shit is definitely not over. The fact that we didn’t even get a goddamn breather is pissing me off more than anything. I trust my guys, they’ll handle Lucifer, but goddamn, a week of quiet would have been fucking nice.