“Paxton, I need to get out of this house,” I explain.
I’ve been stuck inside of our home for the past two weeks. I’m not feeble. I can walk around, talk and even shower on my own now. But Paxton won’t let me out of the house or out of his sight. He stays in the bathroom while I shower, only giving me privacy to use the facilities throughout the day. It’s driving me insane.
“You’re not going,” he growls.
“It’s girl’s night at Mary-Anne’s. Nothing is going to happen to me there,” I say again.
It’s probably the fifth time I’ve tried to tell him that nothing is going to happen and that I’m going to be fine. I’m about two seconds away from getting on my knees and begging.
“Not tonight,” he murmurs as he walks over to me.
Wrapping his hand around my cheek, his thumb caresses my bottom lip and sends my body into overdrive. We haven’t been intimate, something that didn’t bother me until this exact moment. Suddenly, I feel as though I’m on fire for him. I whimper, unable to hold it in and he gives me a small lopsided grin.
“Pax,” I whisper.
“I’m not trying to be a dick or to keep you from your girls, but, sweetheart, not tonight?”
I nod when his phone rings, and I poke out my bottom lip in a pout when he steps away from me to take the call, but not too far. I shamelessly listen in on his conversation. I’m bored as hell.
“Tonight, thought we were doin’ that shit tomorrow?” he asks. “Yeah, I’m ready. I got all my supplies at least, just have to finish up a few things. Why didn’t I get more notice? Yeah, he arrived about an hour ago, he’ll be tired as fuck though. Yeah, see you soon.”
I hold my breath when he turns to me, his brows furrowed before he speaks.
“You’re goin’ to girl’s night,” he announces.
I don’t know what Paxton has to go do, and I don’t care enough to ask him. I’m way too excited about going over to Mary’s and seeing the rest of the girls. Our plans were to start planning Mary’s baby shower, along with cocktails and dinner.
“Okay,” I shrug as if I’m not completely and totally over the top excited.
“You gonna gloat?” he asks on a chuckle.
“No,” I say, shaking my head with wide eyes.
“When do you go back for your checkup?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Next week.”
“You gonna ask him when you can fuck your husband again?” he asks, closing in on me and wrapping his hand around my waist, pulling my chest into his.
“Pax,” I breathe, pressing my legs together.
“You do this night with your girls. You ask your doctor that, and next weekend—all weekend—we’re in bed. No interruptions, just you and me,” he whispers, his breath tickling my face.
“Yeah,” I exhale.
“Hmmm,” he breathes as his nose slides alongside mine and his lips press against my own in a gentle kiss. “Go get ready to leave.”
“I want you,” I admit.
“I’m not going to do anything that could hurt you, sweetheart. I know what you went through has nothing to do with that part of your body, but I don’t fuck soft and gentle, and I don’t want to damage your wounds,” he rumbles.
I grin, rising to my toes to press my lips to his before I walk back to our bedroom to get ready. I don’t have to look behind me to know that he’s right on my heels, my shadow for the past two weeks. I can’t deny that he’s a fabulous nursemaid. He’s followed the doctor’s orders to a T, but I still need to breathe a little.
“You need help getting dressed?” he asks while he thumbs through his own clothes, grabbing a black t-shirt and taking his white one off to replace it with the black.
“I’m just going to do this dress, I think,” I shrug, holding up a plain dark purple, cotton dress.
“Looks short,” he grunts as he walks toward me.
I suck in a breath as he helps me out of my shirt, then tugs my sweatpants off. I try not to look at the scar on my chest in the mirror. Paxton distracts me causing me to moan when his fingertips trace the swells of my breasts peeking out from my bra.
I close my eyes when his head leans down and his lips touch the top of each breast before he pulls my dress over my head. Silently, he helps me thread my arms through the long sleeves, then his hands wrap around my waist, his head tipped and his eyes focused on mine.
“I love you, Cleo,” he whispers.
Something has changed inside of him in the last few minutes. I can’t put my finger on what it could be, but his demeanor is different; and the look in his eyes is nothing short of somber.
“What’s happened?” I ask, cupping his cheek.
“Just got some shit goin’ down. I don’t like leaving you. Now that I have shit I gotta do, that hopefully won’t but could cause more war…” he shakes his head once before he settles his eyes back on mine. “Don’t want to be away from you, not for even a second.”
“I’ll be okay,” I murmur.
“Know you will, sweetheart. You’ll have four prospects and two brothers watching you. Doesn’t mean that I don’t worry.”
“I love you so much. How did I get so lucky to have you waltz back in my life?” I whisper as tears fill my eyes.
“Lucky? Look what bein’ with me has done to you. I don’t call that shit lucky,” he grunts.
“That doesn’t matter. Not really. I have a man that would kill for me, that loves me so much he tells me so often that I don’t think I could forget that love even for a second. I have a man that takes care of me, and looks at me as if he doesn’t deserve me at all. I’m so damn lucky,” I murmur.
“I’m the lucky one,” he grins before he dips his face even lower and presses his lips to mine.
His tongue snakes out and tastes the seam of my lips. I gasp in surprise, and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue inside of my mouth, filling me, tasting me, and seducing me. I wrap my arms around his waist and press my chest against his, which causes him to moan. He doesn’t kiss me for long before he’s pulling away, his teeth nibbling my lips as he steps back from me slightly.
“Gotta head out, sweetheart,” he rasps as he drops his forehead against mine.
“Okay,” I sigh.
We arrive at Mary-Anne’s a few moments later. The house looks like it’s under heavy guard with the amount of bikes and men that surround it.
“What exactly is going on, Pax?” I ask as I look around.
He ignores my question as he helps me out of the car, and we walk up to the front porch together. Colleen opens the door before Paxton can ring the bell and greets us with a warm but concerned smile. She doesn’t say anything, just turns around and walks back into the house.
“That’s weird,” I mutter as I turn into Paxton’s arms.
“Not everyone reacts to being on semi-lockdown all that well, Clee,” he states.
“Semi-lockdown?” I ask in confusion.
“Lockdown is when all the women and children are brought to the club and literally locked-down. This is semi. You’re all together, the kids are all together in a different house, and you’re all under guard,” he explains.
“Why are we separated?” I ask.
“Don’t know. That, sweetheart, I was not privy to,” he says with a grin.
“I’m a little scared now,” I admit.
“Don’t be. You’ll be safe here. Now, go inside and have a good time. I’ll be here to pick you up later tonight,” he murmurs before his lips brush mine.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“Love you, sweetheart.”
I hurry inside of the house and close the door behind me. Turning around, I notice that all of the other women are feeling the same kind of melancholy and somberness that Colleen greeted me with. Mary-Anne gives me a wobbly smile, and I know that something is really, really wrong.
“Tell me,” I whisper.
“We don’t know exactly what’s going on,” she whispers. “But we’ve all pieced together conversations, and it seems like they’re going to do something to The Cartel tonight.” I blink at her words and find an empty chair to sit down in, feeling unnerved by her words.
“Everything’s going to be just fine,” Ivy says with a nod.
“Yeah, it will, for sure,” Teeny mumbles, nodding as well.
“Anyone heard from Genny?” Bobbie asks, changing the subject.
I’m thankful for the change of topic, but I can’t stop the thoughts I have from swirling around in my head. This is all my fault. Garcia found me, and he didn’t even know my connection to Paxton when he did; at least, I don’t think he did—not at first, anyway.
I can’t help but feel like whatever happens tonight, and whoever gets hurt because of it, that’s on me. My fault. Totally and completely my fault. If I had never come back here, if I hadn’t given in to Paxton and gotten back together with him, nobody would be in danger right now.
“Get that out of your head,” Mary-Anne says.
“Hmm?”
“None of this is your fault,” she states.
“How is it not?”
“You are not in control of other people’s actions, neither are you responsible for anybody’s reactions,” she shrugs.
I think about her words, letting them replace my thoughts of fear and guilt. I send a silent prayer that, by the end of tonight, everybody comes home safe to their families.
I stick my lip out in concentration as I combine the deadly ingredients that make up the bomb we’re going to use tonight. These fucking Cartel fucks think that they can target our friends, the Russian’s, and that they can target our women, they have another fuckin’ thing coming.
We are done fucking around.
Maybe this will bring on more war and bloodshed, but at this point, our hands are tied. I’m not going to do a shootout in fucking public like that shit they pulled in New York. This is not the wild west.
I’m going to do what I do best and help my brothers, and my family, plus get a little retribution for that piece of shit who tried to hurt my Cleo.
I’m in the room where we hold church and I’m building a fucking bomb. I thought that I was done with this shit years ago, but apparently, my skill set is still desired even after being out of the military. At least for today.
My job in the Air Force was Explosive Ordinance Disposal, finding bombs and destroying them properly. However, in order to understand how to do that, you have to know about the components of bombs, and also how they’re built.
“You ready?” MadDog asks.
“Almost. This shit is touchy. We have to be careful,” I explain.
“How careful?”
“It’s chemical, and it’s not stable,” I shrug as I back away.
“Torch,” MadDog rumbles.
“It’s going to get shit done, and you said that’s what you wanted—without being suspicious and fingers being pointed in our direction,” I clarify.
“Fuck, what is this shit?” he asks as his eyebrows furrow together.
“TATP. It’s not quite as strong as TNT, which was my original thought, but these components are easier to get ahold of under the radar. It’s been used a lot, recently in the Paris attacks last November,” I explain.
“Fucking hell, Torch. You’re gonna have the Feds swarming around us like piranha,” he grunts.
“You want it done? I’m handlin’ shit. You wanna pussyfoot around, then I guess I could sit and wait for them to actually succeed in taking one of our women, our children, or shoot us up like they did the Russian’s at a wedding at the fucking Plaza in New York.”
“Don’t get yourself killed,” he mutters as he walks away.
I won’t get myself killed. This isn’t my first rodeo.
“You ready?” I ask the seemingly empty room. I load up my bag, careful not to jumble around the explosives too much.
“Got my shit set up. Just us two?” he asks.
“Yup.”
“You really are a crazy fucker,” he grunts.
“Takes one to know one, Sniper,” I chuckle.
Together, alone, Sniper and I straddle our bikes, starting their engines before we head toward our first destination. I called Sniper yesterday and asked him for help. Sure, MadDog has his own guy who he uses as a sniper for attacks, but Sniper is my brother from home, and I know his work. We work well together, and I need to fully trust the man who is going to be with me tonight.
We park our bikes a few blocks away from the neighborhood we plan on igniting. The Cartel is really fuckin’ stupid. They buy entire neighborhoods and plant their highest men in them. I say as much to Kirill, who has driven from Los Angeles as added aid.
“We do it, too, sometimes,” he shrugs.
“If you’re spread out, it’s harder to attack all at once,” I explain.
“I can appreciate that tactic. More than one of our men have escape tunnels to adjoining houses or to a different location, sometimes a different house on the next street,” he explains. My brows rise in surprise.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he grins. “It’s come in handy more than once.”
“I bet it fuckin’ has,” I chuckle.
“What’s the plan?” he asks, all humor gone. Now, he’s in business mode.
“Sniper’s gonna stay up on the roof in case something happens, then I’m going to break in and drop the explosives,” I say.
“That’s your plan?” Kirill asks in surprise.
“Got somethin’ better?” I ask.
“It’s going to take you too long to break into every house. By the time the first explosion happens, the other guys will be out of bed,” he says. I nod. I didn’t want a bunch of men in on this, so my execution is pretty fucking bad.
“Let my men get the doors open, and we’ll all throw the shit at once,” he suggests.
“It’s unstable and dangerous,” I explain.
“This is not a one-man job. Us being us means that we’re dangerous and unstable. You tell us how to handle it, and we’ll handle it,” he offers.
“Goes for us, too,” MadDogs deep voice growls from behind us.
“The fuck?” I ask, turning to face him.
“You’re our brother. We don’t leave any man alone. Not like this,” he explains.
I shake my head as men start surrounding me, around thirty in total, between the Russian’s and my brothers. I let out a puff of air before I give them detailed instructions on how to handle the TATP. Then I watch as half of them walk along the shadows of the street and start to open the doors of the known Cartel members that are just waiting for instructions on when and how to attack us.
“They got women and kids in there?” I ask Kirill.
“You really want to know?”
“I’m not sure, but I feel like I should,” I say.
“Their families aren’t in there. They’re in wherever their permanent hidey-holes are. They’re living in these crash pads waiting for orders. That doesn’t mean they won’t possibly have a whore for the night; no way to know that shit for sure,” he shrugs.
“Okay then,” I mutter.
“Fireworks time,” he announces, looking down at his phone.
The men texted him each time a home was opened. Now it’s the Devil’s turn to blow some shit up. I look over to MadDog and he grins.
“Time for some fuckers to die,” he says.
“You’re ruthless, man,” I laugh.
Together, ten of us walk in the shadows, just like the Bratva men did, to get to our designated houses. The plan is to throw and run, then load on our bikes and head to a bar—a local bar where we’ll be noticed.
The Russian’s won’t be joining us, though. They’ll be headed back home to Los Angeles. My phone buzzes and I know it’s time. I take my small bag and I throw it, running as hard as I can, feeling the heat at my back, and hearing the loud explosion as I do.
As quickly as we can, we load onto our bikes and tear out of the neighborhood, hopeful that the explosions were enough distraction from our loud bikes cruising away from the hysteria.
“That was fucking crazy. You’re a genius,” Camo says breathlessly as we suck back pulls of our beers a few minutes later.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “I haven’t done anything like that in so long,” I grunt.
“Last time was when The Bastards were still around,” Sniper chuckles.
“You’re right,” I grin, reminiscing about the hand grenades I made to fuck up their clubhouse.
“How’re you doin’, brother?” Sniper asks after a few beers.
Most of the men are off flirting with women, playing pool, or throwing darts. Sniper and I both just observe.
“Good. Really fuckin’ good,” I practically whisper.
“Girls’ve been all worried about your ass. Promised Brent I’d check up with you while I was here,” he laughs.
“I’ll bring Cleo up for a visit soon. They can get to know her better, and see with their own eyes that I’m good,” I offer with a shrug.
“That works.”