CHAPTER TWENTY
“What if we were married?”
Her words punch me in the gut, and any anger I was feeling a minute ago vanishes. “You think about that?”
A deep flush stains her cheeks, and she starts squirming away from me.
Oh, hell, no.
Launching myself on top of her, I pin her underneath me. “Tell me. Do you think about us that way?”
She struggles and won’t meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you don’t want—”
I love her, but obviously, my girl knows jack about what I want. There’s a fuck ton of things I want from Hope.
The words property patch spring to mind. I need to have that conversation with her soon. It’s way more important to me than a wedding ring. I realize it’s going to take a lengthy discussion for her to understand and not be offended.
But damn, I want—no, I need—her so fucking bad. In so many ways.
Leaning down, I take her lips in a soft, teasing kiss. “I want all sorts of things from you, baby doll.”
Her forehead wrinkles with a bunch of unasked questions, so I continue.
“I want you to move in here for one thing.” Fuck, it feels good to finally say that to her face.
“You do?” she asks with such surprise my heart clenches.
“Yes, baby doll. I hate every night we spend apart.”
She looks so uncertain that I’m taken aback. Before I lose my shit, it occurs to me there could be another reason for her hesitance.
“Baby, you not ready to let your house go?”
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and nods. “I haven’t even been able to pack his things up yet. Selling our house? I don’t know.”
I shift my weight off her and sit back. A brick to the face would have hit me with less force. She still considers it “their” house.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
It takes me a second to remember how to work my mouth. “Don’t be. I get it.” I want to understand, anyway.
We’re interrupted from this painful circle of a conversation by someone banging on the back door.
“Fuck.” It better be life or death, or I swear to Buddha someone is going to ground.
Hope twists and checks out the clock. “I should go—”
“No. I want you close today.” Actually, after her revelation, spending the day with her is going to be a challenge, but since I’m still worried about her safety, I’ll have to suck it up.
She opens her mouth to protest.
“I’m not fucking around, Hope. You got work shit to do, I’ll take you.” I’m telling her all of this as I jump into a pair of jeans and throw on a T-shirt so I can go slap the shit out of whoever keeps banging on the door downstairs.
She goes to protest again, and I try that honesty thing she wants so much. “Hope, please. Give me this.”
Begging works. She nods. “Okay.”
Leaning over, I dip down and press a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you.”
Downstairs, I find Z at the back door.
“Why didn’t you just come in?” I snap.
“Got it locked down tight, brother. Forgot my key.”
After leading him into the kitchen, I get some coffee going. I want to get breakfast started for Hope, but I doubt she’ll come downstairs if she thinks this is club business. Which, by the way, I would like to find out myself, so I can get in the right frame of mind.
“What’s up?”
“Wrath sent me. Said some shit went down, wanted to know what you need.”
I snort and shake my head. I’d only spoken to Wrath briefly last night. I hadn’t told either prospect what went down, yet somehow, he got some details. Even when he’s down, brother is on top of things.
I give Z a brief outline of the attack, completely leaving out the Tony Cain portion of the afternoon. It’s not relevant.
Z cracks his knuckles multiple times throughout my rundown. “Where is this motherfucker now?”
“Don’t you dare.” Hope’s voice comes from just outside the kitchen entryway before she comes into view.
T-shirt hanging to her thighs, bare legs, mussed hair, she’s fuckin’ beautiful. Z runs his gaze over her a little too long for my taste, so I give him a slap.
He shakes it off and glares at me. “What?”
Hope narrows her eyes at me and comes around the corner to grab some coffee. As she stretches up to grab a couple mugs, the hem of her shirt rises, exposing the bruising all over the front of her thighs.
Beside me, Z sucks in a breath. “Holy fuck, Hope.” His gaze darts to me, and it’s full of murderous intent. “He do that to her?”
“I sure as fuck didn’t.”
Hope pads over and squeezes Z’s shoulder while giving him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for worrying about me, but I’m really okay.”
I allow this because she initiated it, and my brother keeps his hands to himself. Although he does stare at her ass a little too long as she walks away, so this time, I punch him in the arm.
“Fuck, prez,” he grumbles, rubbing his arm.
“Rock,” Hope warns.
“You staying for breakfast?” I ask Z.
His face says he’s surprised I asked. Am I really that much of a dick? Maybe I want the distraction of another person around, so Hope and I don’t have to go back to the conversation we were having before he got here.
“Sure, thanks.” He slips off his jacket and takes a seat next to Hope.
“You hurt anywhere else, sweetheart?” he asks while I start digging stuff out of the fridge. The question makes me pause as the image of that fuck forcing her over the desk assaults my memory. I can’t even think about what could have happened if I hadn’t been there, or I really will go track that scumfucker down and kill him.
Between fixing breakfast and fantasizing about gutting Greybell, I didn’t hear Hope’s answer. I do hear Z trying to pry some info out of her, though. He thinks he’s being subtle, but he hasn’t dealt with a woman like Hope before.
“Knock it off, Z. I’m not giving you information so you can go track him down and hurt him. I think he’s mentally unstable. Hopefully he’ll get some treatment in jail or something.”
At that, I glance over at the two of them. Z’s slack-jawed expression is pretty damn funny.
Her innocent—clueless, as Wrath likes to put it—outlook on the situation doesn’t annoy Z the way it would Wrath. Z pats her hand and responds in a gentle tone. “Darlin’, what I had in mind would be a lot kinder than the treatment he’s going to get in jail.”