“She’s not in my bed. I’m goin’ to hers.” We aren’t sleeping apart. Drunk or not, I’ve made it to bed every single night since we rescued her from the warehouse. I don’t plan on changing that ritual anytime soon.

  “No, brother.” Big’s shoulders lift as he inhales a bottomless, chest-expanding patience-imbuing breath. On his exhale, the man expels a dramatic, long-suffering sigh. “The sisters are with her, Gunz. She’s safe. What is your plan? Bang on her door in the middle of the night, professing your love, beggin’ her to take ya back?”

  That’s not how I’d do things.

  “No.” I haven’t thought that far yet, but that’s none of his business, either.

  “I didn’t think so,” Big cocks off.

  Unlatching the screen door to get this over with, Big grabs the steel frame and swings it wide open. I step back to give him space to lumber his giant ass into my house. He claims a seat at the small dining room table. In Kit’s spot. I wanna order him to get the fuck up, because that’s where she sits, but think better of it. Across from him, I drop into Adam’s vacant chair. Big eyes me and does a thorough once-over. I know I look like dogshit. I’ve lost more weight since we’ve been home. Nothin’ tastes good anymore. Not even the alcohol. It’s a means to an end.

  “Adam told me you’ve been talkin’ to yourself,” Big blurts out of thin air, catapulting us into a conversation I don’t wanna have.

  Here we go.

  “I’d suggest you leave my son out of this,” I warn, unimpressed with the low blow, but not surprised by it either. I’m sure Adam doesn’t enjoy hearing me beg Niki to leave, any more than I like having to argue with a ghost. It makes sense that he’d talk to Big about it. I can’t blame the kid. I might do the same if I were in his shoes.

  A deep rumble bangs around Big’s chest, as he attempts and fails to conceal his laughter. “I’d suggest you quit bein’ a prissy bitch and tell me what’s doin’. Not as your brother or your prez, but as your friend, asshole.”

  “I told you. It’s complicated,” I reiterate, in case he forgot.

  “And I’ve got all night.” Big leans back in his chair to get comfy, causing it to groan in protest. Tucking his arms across his chest, a cocky smirk locks in place, then there’s that stubborn gaze daring me to start somethin’—’cause he’s ready.

  Have I told you how much I hate havin’ a meddlesome asshole for a best friend? Yes? No? Well, consider yourself told. This prick is worse than any woman. At least, with a female, you can remove yourself from the situation, no worse for the wear. Big doesn’t roll that way. If it’s important to him, he’s not only obnoxious, he’s also relentless—quite the combination. Bein’ King-Kong-sized and a national president, nobody gets to just walk away if he don’t want you to. Normally, I’m cool with that as long as it don’t involve me.

  Obviously, I’m involved.

  I scratch my pec to give my hand something to do. “We’re not doin’ this.”

  “Oh. We are. ’Cause I didn’t pound a fuckin’ Monster energy drink for nothin’.”

  Fantastic.

  I open my mouth and start to tell him to fuck right off, but a slew of emotional word vomit pours from my lips instead. Everything from Niki and what went down, to her haunting me. Followed by what I did to Kit, by screwing that club whore, when I should’ve controlled my cock. Then onto the wonderful gift that just keeps on giving—guilt. I omit my childhood because that’s for my woman to know. The rest I unleash in a torrent of ugliness. He takes it. ’Cause he’s my best friend. Nodding along as if he gets it, Big remains quiet ‘til I’ve laid myself bare. By the time I’m through, I’m slouchin’ in my chair, bone tired, legs spread wide, sweatin’ through my boxers.

  Big clears his throat and blinks a handful of times before words form. “Holy hell. That’s a lot.”

  No shit.

  I shrug, not sure what he expected. “You asked.”

  “I’m glad I did. You need help. ’Cause you and I both know she’s not really haunting you. You’re doin’ this to yourself.” He taps the side of his skull, indicating it’s all in my head.

  “I know,” I agree.

  If I believed in hauntings, I would’ve already hired a witch to cleanse my house and the compound to get rid of her ghostly ass. But I don’t believe in that voodoo hoodoo mumbo jumbo.

  “You think it’s the guilt?” he asks.

  “It has to be.” That’s all that makes sense to me.

  “This ever happened before?”

  “Nope.” My head shakes. “We both know I’ve killed a fuck ton of people, but I’ve always slept like a baby after. Seen some vile shit, too. Never got nightmares from that either.” Not after baggin’ up a room full of dead kids, courtesy of Remy. Not even after scooping brains off the side of the highway, when a brother played sleepy chicken with a semi. May he rest in peace.

  “You’re hallucinating.” A statement, not a question.

  “Yep… and when I’m around Kit, it’s worse. Niki comes out for longer periods of time. I can’t focus. At work, it’s not as bad.” It’s manageable when the erections go away, but I’m not about to admit that.

  “She here now?” He looks around the space as if he expects Niki to float into corporeal existence.

  “No. I’m too drunk.”

  Big nods as if he gets what I’m puttin’ down.

  Rubbing my sore flank, thanks to my wound not healin’ as it should, I tilt my head back and stare up at the ceiling. “Niki loved me. I should’ve expected someone I cared about dyin’ because of me would turn up this way.”

  “Then what’s your plan?” Big’s foot taps against the leg of the table, jiggling the entire thing.

  “Bring my woman home.”

  “How you gonna manage that?”

  Good question.

  Completely out of my element with love and relationships and all those intimate feelings and stuff, I shrug for the millionth time. “Talk to her, I guess. Ask for forgiveness.” That’s about all I can do. I’m not like Big or some of the other brothers. I’m not gonna lock her away. I’m not gonna force her to fall in line. She’s gotta want me as much as I want her, and if she doesn’t, I’ll survive. That’s what I do.

  The table stops moving, and Big sits forward, his elbows resting on the table, fingers steepled in front of him, pressing against the center of his chin. “Does she know about the club whore?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.” If someone mentioned it to her, it would be their right. I did it. There’s no use denying it.

  Big hums to himself. “Then maybe it’s better she doesn’t find out.”

  “Maybe it’s better for me, but it ain’t right. I fucked around on her.”

  “Not on purpose,” Big somehow justifies.

  I fuckin’ despise how easy it is for some people to rationalize their indiscretions. You screw up, it hurts someone, and instead of manning or womaning up and owning it… You do what? Lie? Deflect? Or my personal favorite—lie by omission. That one’s a doozy.

  Since Big and I don’t see things eye to eye, I set him straight. It won’t be the first or the last time. “Men don’t stick their dicks in willing cunts on accident. Don’t be stupid, brother.”

  I didn’t accidentally fall, with a condom and a hard-on, into a willing cunt, bent over a picnic table. Whoopsie. My bad.

  “Yeah. But you haven’t claimed her yet.” There he goes again, trying to let me off my own hook.

  “But I have.” We’ve already established this.

  “Not officially.”

  Christ.

  In hopes Big sees the light and knocks off this nonsense, I hit him on his home turf. “That’s like sayin’ Bink wasn’t yours before it was official. You threatened all the men she dated before you. You even paid some of them off. You made her life hell half the time. Sorry if I don’t take a fucked-up page outta your relationship playbook, brother.”

  Nodding as if it clicks, the giant asshole snorts. “Alright. I’ll give ya that. You do what you gotta do. But I’d say you need to see Doc and get checked out. Have you told Bonez about this?”

  “He’s been busy.” That’s code for I haven’t told him.

  “Not that busy.”

  Not givin’ me a chance to talk to my brother on my own time, the pain in my ass pulls out his cell and dials.

  “Fuckin’ asshole,” I hiss when the call connects.

  Sitting up straighter, Big smiles broadly, proud of himself.

  Rubbin’ sleep from his eyes, Bonez’s pillow-wrinkled face appears on the screen. He squints at Prez, then looks at me, assessing. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothin’,” I growl at the same time Big begins to fill in every detail of what’s been happenin’ the last month.

  As expected, like takin’ a bucket of ice water to the face—this wakes Bonez right up. Leaving his bedroom, he pads to the kitchen to get a drink.

  He fills a mug at his fancy-ass fridge as I comment, “You got company? I can call back later.” There was someone in his bed. I saw a flash of hair.

  Big’s eyes tip all the way back into his skull as he focuses the phone on me.

  Rubbing my temple with my middle finger, I flip the man off.

  He chuckles, far too pleased.

  “Bullshit.” Bonez drops onto his couch and yawns. “Company or not, we’re doin’ this now. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” He sips from a literal penis mug. The cup portion is flesh-colored, shaped like two nuts. The handle is the shaft with a fat mushroom head. It’s ridiculous, and he gives zero fucks when he raises his eyebrows, before taking another long drink.

  Loving this far too much, that cocky smile of Big’s grows, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Annoyed by this entire night, I scowl at the intrusive prick, then at my brother for good measure. Fuck ‘em both.

  Knowing I can’t get out of this even if I tried, I yield to my brother’s interrogation.

  One by one, he fires off a list of questions, from what I’ve been eating and drinking, to sleep patterns. Typical doctor stuff. Since he can’t check my vitals, he makes me stand and give him a slow turn.

  Bonez whistles. “Jesus, brother, you’ve lost a lot of weight.”

  My eyes roll.

  I know.

  “Remove your bandage.” Having already cleaned and redressed it this morning, I peel back the tape for Bonez to inspect.

  The moment it’s revealed, he sucks back a curse. “Gunz, hospital, now.”

  With two fingers, I prod along the edge of my injury, studying it myself. “What? Why? I’m already on a new round of antibiotics. Doc gave ‘em to me last week.” When I called to let him know I was runnin’ a low-grade fever for like a day, maybe two. He knew what was up. Sent over a script. Done and done. No muss, no fuss.

  “You’re hallucinating.” Bonez states the obvious.

  “So?”

  Big pans in the camera, to give my brother a better view. “There could still be bullet fragments in your abdomen. It’s too red, and I can see the crusted puss. It’s infected.” Bonez squints. The lines around his eyes deepen, as he plays concerned doctor to a T.

  “It’s better than it was last week.” I push along the edge that oozed last week, and I’m happy to report there is no such ick this time ‘round.

  Still squinting at the site, Bonez licks his lips. “It’s not.”

  “I’ve been shot plenty of times before, brother.” And never had a problem healing. To emphasize my point, I pull down the back of my boxers to show the scar on my ass cheek, where I was last shot. Then another on my left bicep. Onto the outside of my right forearm. Right thigh, covered by ink, and the same calf. All there to be seen in their scarred, healed glory. Tada.

  Irritated by my showmanship, Bonez speaks directly to Prez. “He needs a hospital.”

  Two sets of worried eyes stare at me. “I’ll take him,” Big promises.

  “He won’t,” I volley, glaring straight at Prez.

  “Do you know without a single doubt this isn’t happenin’ ’cause you’re a stubborn motherfucker? That there isn’t an infection there? That your odd behavior isn’t because of that?” Big two-finger points to the scab.

  Dropping back onto my chair, I shrug because I don’t know shit anymore. My woman left me. Gone. No goodbye. I can’t sleep more than three hours at a time. Besides a piece of fruit in the morning, I don’t eat ‘til dinner. Even then, I have little appetite. Yesterday, during a bathroom break, Niki came for a visit when I was takin’ a piss. I got so hard I couldn’t finish leakin’ without jackin’ off. Christ. Even thinkin’ about it makes me wanna puke. It was… gross. I don’t do that. Yankin’ my cock ‘til I spill cum into a wad of toilet paper. Childish stuff. It felt like I was back in elementary, readin’ Dad’s nudie mags all over again. Not something I wanna relive.

  “We’re going tonight,” Big declares as if he’s made up his mind, and I don’t have a say in the matter.

  Tired of fighting him, I relent. It’s obvious what I’ve been doin’ isn’t workin’, and I’m sick of Niki livin’ rent-free in my head. Our hospital is, how you say, friendly to our breed. They don’t ask too many questions. The care is always top-notch.

  Gettin’ my ass in gear before these two meddlesome assholes bark orders, I push out of the chair, using my knee as leverage. On a groan, I shuffle to the bedroom, climb over the mess I’ve made, and throw on a new pair of sweats from the pile, a t-shirt, and a pair of crew socks before stuffing my feet into my least-worn boots. I leave them unlaced. I don’t give a damn how I look. All I want is sleep. Hours of it. Days. Weeks.

  But what I want more than that is…

  Kit.

  In my life.

  In our house.

  Pussy on my face.

  To accomplish that, I gotta get this head screwed on straight. Niki’s gotta go.

  Operation get-well, woo-my-woman, and eat-some-pussy is officially underway.

  Wish me luck. I’m gonna fuckin’ need it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  KIT

  Fuck.

  Shit.

  Damn.

  Damn.

  Dammit.

  Using both fists, I rub blurring wetness from my eyes as I navigate a long stretch of sidewalk, careful not to trip and fall on my behind.

  I left him. I left Gunz in his time of need. I’m the world’s biggest bitch.

  Racing to the hospital in the literal middle of the night, the doors retract. Just beyond is the brotherhood, pacing the halls in leather. Hot on my tail, a tired Jade and Loretta enter alongside White Boy and Blimp, our babysitters tonight.

  They escorted Bink and the rest of the sisters home, to keep an eye on the kids. Don’t worry, they’re not alone. Deke and three others were left to protect the compound. I didn’t ask. Adam told me when he called to make sure I was doing okay, after Big called in the middle of girl time to explain Gunz’s in surgery for bullet fragments, an infection, and as if the first two weren’t bad enough, internal bleeding.

  It’s been quite the evening.

  Three conjoined hotel rooms at the nicest place in town and girl talk. Hours and hours of it. We had a bar of chips and dip to pair with our hours of chatter. We were just finished dressing for bed when the call came through. First to me, then the rest of the sisters.

  Every moment since the news broke has been a blur. My focus singular. On him and getting to the hospital as fast as possible. Not that it does much good. His family is already here for support.

  Adam breaks through the crowd, heading straight for me. We don’t speak as he leads me by the arm through a throng of men, into a nearby waiting room, teeming with even more males—a stark contrast of denim and leather versus the sterile white walls and tan chairs. In the center of the space, there’s a cart full of snacks and coffee. One brother gets up and offers me their seat. Swallowing down my ball of nerves, I offer him a tight, grateful smile before I take it, my hands trembling.

  Acting far beyond his years, Adam kneels in front of me and rubs his palms up and down my thighs. His smile’s watery, his eyes rimmed in red, when I meet them with my own.

  “He’s in good hands, Mom.” He attempts to comfort, his voice hoarser than usual.

  Scratching my nail along the chair arm, I bob my head, so he knows I’m paying attention.

  In good hands.

  Right.

  A surgeon’s hands in the middle of the night. It doesn’t take a genius to know they don’t operate at three in the morning unless it’s life-threatening.

  Like Moses parted the sea, if the sea was bursting with testosterone, Big lumbers into the space. Somehow, he swallows most of the air before he stops close to my chair, his attention on us. I tilt my head way back to look at him at this angle. If he reached up, I bet his fingertips would graze the ceiling.

  “Just so you know, he asked me not to call you.” Their president rocks back on his boot heels as if this conversation is just as uncomfortable for him as it is for me.

  Wind fully knocked out of my sails, my shoulders deflate. “I understand.” I left Gunz. He has a right to feel betrayed. Maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to call me either if I were in his shoes.

  “Fuck. Don’t look at me like that,” the giant rumbles. “It’s not ’cause you left. He doesn’t want you to worry. Here.” Big shoves his phone into my hands and strides away. On the screen, looking straight at me, is the familiar face of Bonez, drinking from an actual dick-shaped mug. Caught off guard, I try my best to suppress a smile and fail. The size of that ‘ah-hem’ thing and the crinkle of exhausted humor in his gaze, as he sips from it, draws a tiny giggle to the surface. One I didn’t know I needed until this very second. It lightens the mood a smidge, and for that, I’m thankful.

  I adore this man.

  “Sooo…” Bonez drawls, then grins, despite the terrible circumstances. “I guess this is the part where I get to betray my exceptionally stubborn brother in favor of his woman.”

  Oh.

  “It is?... I mean… Right. It is,” I fumble.