“Jesus Christ, brother, you okay?” my dad asks King, grabbing his hurt shoulder, making King chuckle and wince.
“Fucking great. Samantha fixed me up,” he says, shooting me a quick look. There’s something in his ocean blue eyes other than ice—it’s heat.
“So what the fuck happened?” my dad growls, sitting down next to King at the bar.
Standing a few feet away, I listen to King recount the story, my blood running cold. I want nothing more in this moment than to be in King’s arms, and I fucking hate that I can’t be. I want to be at home, in bed, with King.
Does my dad know about us? I’m not sure and I don’t want to know. He’s not a stupid man, but he also trusts his daughter, trusts his brothers, and if he did, I’m not sure King would be here right now.
“You okay, Princess?” he asks me, done listening to King.
“I’m fine.” He gets up and walks over to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side. He kisses my temple, nodding. “Good. King’ll keep ya safe.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“You gonna be able to ride like that?” Bish asks, walking around the bar, two beers in his hands.
“Gonna die tryin’,” King answers him, taking the offered beer and laughing.
Just hearing him say he’d die trying makes my stomach knot. King came close to dying tonight. Too close. And I hate how much it sickens me.
The guys start to bullshit, talking about how to handle the situation, and it’s too much for me. Just hearing King talk about it makes me ill. I lived it—I am living it. I don’t want to hear it too.
Leaving the bar, I walk outside, walk under the tin shed style roof and sit down on a camping chair near the fire pit. Propping my feet up, I exhale the exhausted breath I’ve been holding all night.
I’ve lived a crazy life living in this club, but nothing quite like this. This is too much for me.
“What are you doin’ out here?” King asks, walking up behind me. He doesn’t touch me and he doesn’t have to. He does something to me. Something no one else can, and I can’t explain it. I feel him without touching him.
“Watchin’ the fire.”
“You okay?” He sits down next to me in an empty chair and grabs my hand, pulling me onto him from my seat and onto his lap.
“Someone’s gonna to see us.”
“Fuck them.” It’s not that simple.
“What if it’s my dad?”
“Good,” he growls, lifting his hips, grinding into my ass. “Let him know I’m fucking his daughter.”
“King,” I groan, enjoying the friction, but hating his words.
“No one’s gonna know,” he tells me, pushing the hair off my shoulder and burying his face in my neck, his beard scratching at my sensitive skin, “that I spend hours deep inside your tight cunt. No one’s gonna know I’ve been inside of you for fucking years.”
Jesus. I melt into a puddle. “King, seriously.”
He chuckles, kissing me. “Relax, Princess. We’re good.”
“Are we?”
Wrapping a strong arm around me, he puts his hand on my hip, holding me tight against him. “Fuck yeah. Bullets aren’t gonna stop me.”
I feel like everything is catching up to us. This thing we’ve had going for years and this stalker. Everything is coming to a head and it scares me.
“Bullets? What about bats?” I joke, needing the lightness.
“Bullets. Bats. Knives. Handcuffs. Nothing’s stoppin’ me, baby.” I believe that. “We’re good,” he adds, kissing my neck.
“So good,” I agree, falling hard.