“Stop,” Big, growls.

  And I do. Blinking rapidly to clear the fog, I glance over to him, a proud expression, mingling with his own pain, written across his blood-spattered face. Then I glance down at the woman who used to be Linda, who’s knocked out cold. Her nose and cheek are sunken in, and her chest is beginning to bruise. Her missing hair floats across the pavement with the gentle breeze. Blood is everywhere. Hers, mine, and Big’s. It’s impossible to know whose is whose.

  “You need a doctor,” I state as I stand up and move away from Linda. I feel no remorse for what I did. In my opinion, she’s lucky Big didn’t let me kill her in cold blood. I would have. I don’t think I could have stopped.

  “So do you.” Big’s eyes pin my knuckles and forearms. My knuckles are ripped to shreds. But I feel no pain. I feel nothing but pride for putting that whore in her place and fear for Big.

  I go to him, kneeling next to his uninjured side. My hand naturally runs through this matted hair and he looks at me. I mean really looks and our eyes lock and bolt together in a passing of electrifying emotions.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, “I need a kiss.”

  The world as I know it erupts into the most amazing moment of my entire existence when Big roughly grabs the back of my neck and smashes his warm succulent lips to mine. Electricity sparks, and I am sucked into a whirlwind of desire I never knew existed. Passionately, our lips intertwine in haste. Big’s thick tongue juts forward, claiming my mouth, and twirling fervently with mine. I lose all sense of time and thought. All I can do is feel him. The taste of his sweet mouth, melding with mine. The coarseness of his stubble brushing excitingly against my sensitive skin. The way he lightly growls in his chest each time I deepen our kiss and pull him closer, using my efforts to convey how much I need and want him.

  The clearing of someone’s throat breaks our monumental kiss way too soon. I’m left panting and willing to beg for more. To taste his lips. Tongue. Everything. I want it all.

  “You ready to get stitched up?” the doctor we have on payroll chides, kneeling next to Dallas and removing the towel that was being held to Big’s shoulder.

  Big hisses momentarily as the doctor peels the fabric away. I grab hold of his hand for support, and he accepts it with a sad smile.

  “Good news,” the doctor explains. “The bullet passed cleanly through.” Leaning in, the doctor examines the wound closer. “Bad news is you’ve been shot.”

  Now that provokes the entire group of tense bikers to laugh. Even Big and I join in. It doesn’t take but a minute or two for us, my hand still folded in Big’s, to be escorted back into the clubhouse and taken into the small surgical room. I stay with Big the entire time. Even when Gunz suggested I take the seat outside the operating room, I hissed at him. I refuse to leave Big’s side.

  Before any procedure starts the doctor uses local anesthetic to numb his shoulder. Attentively I observe the doctor’s methods of decontaminating the wound, his precise stitching technique, and Big’s reaction to each pass of the needle as it pierces through his tough flesh.

  Once his hole has been thoroughly stitched and bandaged on one side, Big is flipped onto his stomach. Upon the second pass of the needle through his bullet wound I see his body twitch.

  “You need to give him another shot,” I advise, standing next to the operating table.

  “Shut it, Bink,” Big grumbles, face down, hands gripping the edge of the operating table.

  “No, you big lug, I will not.” I pat his butt for him to keep quiet and let me take care of this. Thankfully, he takes the cue and shuts his pie hole.

  The doctor doesn’t argue with me, he nods, and sinks a small needle into Big’s shoulder. Then he waits thirty seconds, and resumes his decontamination and stitching of the wound.

  Twenty minutes later, the doctor is scrubbing out and tossing his used scrubs into the metal biohazard trashcan beside the door.

  “How ya feelin’?” I ask, now that we’re alone.

  “Like I’ve been shot.” Big tries to sound funny. Instead, it makes me frown. Linda could have killed him, and I would have killed her. I wouldn’t have had to; she would have probably already been dead if she’d inflicted more damage.

  Rubbing my hand along his arm, standing beside his bed, I open up a touchy subject. “What happened out there?”

  He sighs, “She came to the compound just like she threatened she would. White Boy put himself between her and entrance, but she pulled the little handgun on him. It didn’t work; he didn’t back down. That’s when you probably heard the first shot go off. She shot into the air a few times as a warning. Eventually I got tired of her being a bitch, and I dealt with her face-to-face by letting her in through the gate. That’s why I didn’t want you coming up. I didn’t want her shootin’ you. That’s what she wanted. She wasn’t looking for me. She was drunk, frustrated, and hell-bent on hurtin’ someone.”

  Big’s hand wraps around mine. “Help me up? So I can finish tellin’ you. ”

  Knowing damn well my own arms need a thorough cleansing, and the quick washing my knuckles didn’t fix them. Plus, my body is hurting basically everywhere. Between Gunz’s asinine tackle and me beating the hell out of Linda, I am physically spent, which means there is zero way I can help a six foot eight, nearly three hundred pound man off an operating table.

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial Tripper and Dallas to come and assist. It takes them less than a minute, and they’re in the room, helping a nearly naked Big Dick off the table. The doctor cut off his shirt for better access to his wounds and I suggested doing his jeans too. Since I was pretty sure they would be considered unsanitary. They too were deposited into the biohazard bin.

  “Let’s go to my room,” Big painfully groans, gritting his teeth.

  I don’t argue with him. I follow behind the brothers as they shuffle him out of the O.R. and down the hall to his room. The walls are lined with brothers, showing their President the utmost respect.

  “Bink!” I turn to look over my shoulder and see my four Sacred Sisters headed straight for me.

  I stop, torn. Do I go to my friends? Or do I tend to Big in his time of need?

  I don’t get a chance to decide because Big collapses onto the floor with the assistance if two brother and passes out cold. Running to his side, I drop to my knees on the tiled floor.

  “Big.” I slap his cheek. No response.

  The brothers surrounding us scramble, yelling for the doctor.

  Dropping my head to Big’s chest, I keenly listen, and I press my fingers to his carotid. His pulse is rapid, lungs functioning consistently.

  “No, just help me get him up,” I order the group of frantic men.

  “What?” Tripper is the first to ask, kneeling beside Big.

  “He’s exhausted,” my fingers lovingly run through Big’s hair. “And he just underwent surgery, with a local anesthetic. His body needs time to recover. Big just passed out. It’s normal. Now get him off the floor and into bed. I need a med kit for myself and the blood pressure monitor brought into his room. And some of the morphine we have in the safe, just in case he needs it when he wakes up.” I rattle off and step back, allowing four brothers to carefully lift their unconscious President and carry him into his room. I stay right on their tails, keeping a keen eye on the way they maneuver his limp body. Exhibiting my own version of Big’s protective and ever appraising persona as I move through the room, making sure everything is in place and he is left unharmed.

  Pixie slides into the room. Her petite body is seemingly more tiny with so many big bikers crammed into such a tight space.

  “Here.” Pixie hands me the med bag that I just used yesterday. How so much violence can ensue in just a matter of two days would be incomprehensible to an everyday Joe. In our neck of the woods, it’s common practice. Ever heard of the saying, ‘When it rains, it pours’? Well…that’s sort of how the club’s incidences occur. Instead of a tiny downpour, we get the monsoon.

  “Watch him.” I direct my stare over to Big, who’s being situated in his bed. I take the bag into the bathroom, to debris, disinfect, and pop a painkiller before I coat my abrasions with triple antibiotic ointment. By the time I am finished, the brothers have filtered out and Pixie, along with the three other Sacred Sisters who are resting their backs against one wall, patiently waiting.

  “What happened to Linda?” I break the uncomfortable silence.

  “She was taken by ambulance to the local hospital,” Debbie explains.

  “What about the cops? She was badly beaten,” I add.

  “I saw…” Debbie smirks, and turns her head to the side, trying to hide her amusement. “The cops didn’t come into the compound, but they did talk to Tripper and Blimp outside of the front gates. I don’t know what was said, but I saw some kind of handshakes being exchanged and then they followed the ambulance down the road. No sirens.”

  A faint knock raps at the door as it slowly opens. Gunz enters, a solemn expression stricken across his face. First, he glances at the bed where Big is resting comfortably. Then he turns his gaze upon me, and I look away. The tension in the air between us is so thick I nearly choke on it.

  “Can we talk?” he speaks to me in the gentlest of tones.

  It’s hard to be in the same room with a man you know has hurt you. I’ve loved Gunz since I was a little child; he’s always been like a fun uncle or another father figure to me. The sad thing is neither Big nor my own daddy would have done what he did. They wouldn’t have physically attacked me. Big Dick has done a shit load of things that piss me the hell off. But in hindsight, it’s always been in my best interest. Or for the most part, that is.

  “I have nothing to say,” I mutter, blankly staring at the wall. My arms hanging loosely at my sides, stance limp, steeped with melancholy.

  “But I need to apologize,” he weakly explains.

  “Nothing to apologize for.” I brush him off and turn fully around, my back to him. “Now please leave me alone and stay away. I will take care of him. It’s my job. I don’t need or want you here.” Glancing down at my arms, it forces my heart to crack. I will be scarred from this night, both emotionally and physically for the rest of my life. There is no way that the skin that has been torn into and rubbed raw will ever be pretty again. Both of my forearms to my hands, just above my wrists onto my palms are the worst kind of road rash I’ve seen in years. Small areas, where bigger rocks were lodged in my skin will leave more abrasive scars. If I am lucky, my knuckles will return to some semblance of normal. But my ivory skin mars so easily. I’m screwed.

  “Are you hurt?” Gunz whispers.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Again, Bink, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you be. But you need to know I never meant to hurt you. I knew Linda was at the front. That’s why I came to the house to relieve Axel. I knew once you’d heard the shots you’d want to get involved. You’re a crack shot. We all know this. But you didn’t need to be a part of that. Big didn’t want that. That fucked up relationship him and Linda have had goin’ for the past ten years is finally comin’ to a head. She knows this and doesn’t want to let him go. She loves him, has for years. Even though he’s never felt a damn thing for her. I know it, he knows it, and hell, the whole club knows it. That dumb bitch doesn’t seem to get that she’s never been anything to him but a wet pussy and a pair of tits. I get it. Women have a hard time separating sex from emotions, even though he was clear with her from day one that he wanted nothin’ but a good fuck. Linda, being the idiot she is, thought she could change him. Men don’t change. You and I both know this. But that woman was living in her own little motorcycle club fantasy that could never become a reality.”

  Gunz sighs and continues, “What you did to her was nothing less than what she deserved for shootin’ our Prez. She’s lucky we didn’t put her in the ground. Heard the brothers had pulled guns on her. Big is the one who ordered them to stand down.” I hear the door move.

  “You’re a good woman, Bink. Better than any of us brothers deserved to help take care of us and put up with our shit for all these years. Especially me. I love ya, baby doll. Get at me, if you ever decide to forgive my fuck up.”

  Tears well in my eyes, and I hear the door begin to shut. Turning on my heel, I sprint to Gunz just before the door comes to a close.

  “Wait,” I cry, tears streaking down my cheeks. Gunz hauls me into his protective arms, enveloping me in a massive hug.

  “Love ya, baby doll.” He holds me. My tears turn into a waterfall, as I bawl like a little child in his arms. “It’s okay.” Gunz’s hand runs the length of my back, soothing me.

  “It’s going to be alright. You’re going to be okay.”

  “Big almost died,” I sob, my tough façade shattering into tiny pieces.

  “No, he didn’t. She didn’t want to kill him, or she would have. Linda is heartbroken and trust me, men and women alike do some crazy shit in the name of love.”

  I know that’s the truth—people do stupid things to those they love. But to have someone I care about shot. To be that close to death. It hurts. Maybe if I had gotten there sooner, or if I had helped in some way. A man that’s been a part of me my entire life wouldn’t have a bullet wound in his shoulder. The worst part is knowing, deep down, it was to get back at me, in some sadistic, selfish way.

  I rest in Gunz’s arms for what feels like hours. In reality, it’s only five to ten minutes. My tears dry up, and suddenly I am beyond exhausted from the long day. Sleep beckons me.

  I pull away from Gunz, and he kisses my cheek before he heads off.

  “You need to rest. You’ve had one helluva night,” Candy Cane says, once I rejoin them. I couldn’t agree more.

  “Thanks for always being there for me. I know it’s kind of crazy right now. But I promise it isn’t always like this,” I explain, mainly to Jezebel and Pixie.

  “We know,” Pixie replies.

  “Debbie filled us in,” Jezebel adds.

  With a sisterly wave, the group of old ladies part ways and head back to Big’s house. Shutting and locking the door, I flick off the light, strip naked, and lay my gun on the floor next to the bed before climbing over Big’s still body and curling up next to him, allowing his comforting warmth to seep into my soul but keeping a safe distance from his injury and failing at finding a comfortable position with mine.

  For hours, I contently watch him sleep in peace, his chest rising and falling with each consistent breath. The blood pressure machine operates once every hour on the hour. I don’t know how or when but the sandman pays me a visit, and I finally drift off to dreamland.

  Chapter Seven

  Tuesday, September 10, 2013

  “What the… Oh…fu…ck…son…of…a…bi…tch…”

  The sounds of a grumbling man and jerky movements in bed awaken me. Opening my eyes, I catch Big, yanking off his blood pressure cuff, and throwing it on the floor, while attempting to sit up, quite unsuccessfully in bed.

  “My… Goddammm…” he huffs, shuffling his body upward only to fall back onto the mattress with a pain-laden groan and muffled curses, fists pounding onto the bed on either side of him in frustration.

  “Morning, sunshine,” I tease, smirking at him, through heavy lidded eyes, rubbing the sleep from them.

  Big glances at me, lookin’ rather rough, with his heavily unshaven face and dirt speckled skin. He needs a shower. “Are you naked under those covers?” He grins, his single sexy dimple making my heart skip a beat.

  What in the hell is up with my heart?

  “Is that all you think about old man?” I stick my tongue out.

  “Hell if it ain’t. Two days in a week I wake up with you in my bed. I musta done something good.”

  I ignore his obvious idiocy. The man hasn’t per se lucked out. It’s been a screwed up week. One in which I was forced to sleep in his bed handcuffed. Perhaps he forgot that little part. You know, gunshot wound and all.

  Carefully, to avoid any more pressure on my arms than needed, I turn onto my stomach and push myself up to sit in bed. The blanket falls away from my large breasts. Big erotically groans, lusciously licking his lips, openly drinking in the sight of them. Not a gentleman in the least.

  “Fuck,” he growls. “Put those things away.”

  “What?” I shrug, indifferently. “You’ve seen my pussy. Are tits really that big of a deal?” I honestly didn’t even fathom sleeping naked as being an issue. I was dirty and didn’t want to find a shirt that would undoubtedly painfully rub my injured forearms. So I slept in my birthday suit, next to a man who had fainted from a gunshot wound. Maybe I should have worn clothes. But there’s no need for the shoulda, coulda, woulda shit now. It is what it is.

  “Yours are.” His heated gaze rakes the length of my exposed body, forcing a shiver of delight to roll down my spine, pooling warmly between my thighs. I can’t explain why, but I love the way his eyes devour me with a single pool of carnal lust. I know I shouldn’t relish in it. But I do. I love it.

  “I’m already fuckin’ hard, Sugar Tits. Now put them away,” he harshly demands. His eyes are glued to my body.

  I yank the blanket up to cover them. Why do my tits hanging out matters? It doesn’t make a lick of sense to me. Not when I can have my pussy out all of the damn time. But my tits are a no go? Whatever.

  “How are you going to shower without my help? Seems as though you need one. And I’ll be topless when I do,” I comment, figuring this is a good as time as ever to get this out of the way.