Sipping from his mug, Bonez winks over the rim. “Good girl… Hey, Adam, why don’t you get Mom somethin’ to drink while we talk?”

  Without a word, Adam pats my thigh twice, then sets off to find me something to drink as his uncle fills me in on what the hell’s going on. The last I knew, Gunz was healing. Then again, the last I knew, we were in a good spot. That was before the funeral. Before the alcohol and tension. Before we stopped communicating.

  When Bonez is through explaining the Niki suicide, guilt sex, infection, drinking, hallucinations combination, I’m full-on sobbing. Adam sets a box of tissues in my lap. I collect a wad and wipe the snot from my face, not caring who sees this hot mess.

  “Thank you,” I croak, dabbing my swollen eyes.

  Incredible as always, Bonez offers a contrite, singular nod, that says it all—you’re welcome, and please don’t screw over my brother, among a dozen other sentiments.

  Before long, we hang up with the promise to keep in touch, and I return the phone to Big, who’s hovering on the outskirts, eavesdropping, and chatting with a man named Kai. The giant with a ponytail down his spine plucks the phone from my palm and deposits his cell into his back pocket. Not wanting to be a nuisance, I return to my chair. Adam pulled up another beside mine. He hands me a Styrofoam cup of tea. I accept it with a sad but gracious smile.

  Then we wait.

  And while we do, I overanalyze every morsel, down to the minutia, of what I’ve learned.

  Gunz is visited by Niki. Seeing her. Feeling her. Explicitly.

  Sucking on my bottom lip, I shiver at the thought.

  That isn’t something you hear every day.

  I close my eyes and try hard not to picture them together. I try not to think about him coming inside her. It’s futile. Because it’s all there. In vivid color. Them. Their relationship—the kissing, the fucking, the bond. Bile surges up my throat as the spike of jealousy does what it does best—takes root and poisons you from the inside out.

  People have pasts. I understand this. That’s not a problem.

  It’s the woman he screwed at the fire. The one with Niki’s face. The one he thought was her.

  Bonez omitted most of the details but told me just the same. He’s probably concerned Gunz wouldn’t share, since he hasn’t been the most forthcoming, or maybe he wanted to take the heat off his brother. Perhaps a little of both. If I had a sibling I was as close to, that’s what I’d do.

  Truth? From me to you… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all this information.

  If you could help a lady out and give me your thoughts, I’d appreciate it. Because now I’m not just worried about him. I’m hurt even more than I was before. I’m…

  Dammit.

  I’m tired.

  Resting my head on Adam’s shoulder, he drops a kiss there as I shove all these icky feelings down, way, way, way down, to deal with later. I’m done crying tonight.

  I’m just… done.

  Throughout the night, Loretta and Jade stop by to check on me before they leave. In and out, I doze, resting on my son—fifteen minutes here, half an hour there. For hours, we linger with no update. Apart from a nurse stopping by to see if we need our cart refilled and to flirt with the remaining brothers, we’re left in the dark.

  Light filters through the tall windows as the sun rises.

  Finishing what’s left of my now cold tea, I stretch a bit and massage a kink out of my neck. The surrounding chairs are filled with snoring brothers, most of who could use a trip to the ENT to get checked for sleep apnea. Their poor partners. I sure lucked out with my guy.

  I sigh inwardly.

  My. Guy.

  Gunz.

  Erik.

  Less than six months ago, I was eating chicken over the sink for dinner, so I didn’t have extra dishes to wash. I spent my nights watching television and grading papers. On occasion, Adam and I would have lunch together.

  Now look where we are.

  My son’s wearing a leather vest with his name on it—Oz.

  That’s what the brothers have named him. Oz. Adam and Gunz explained it to me over dinner one night. Something about it meaning strength. Also, Adam’s a bit like Dorothy, according to them. There was something in there about him following a path, making friends, encountering some witches, whatever that means, and making it back home—to the Sacred Sinners and his father. It’s poetic in its own way. Weird, too. When you’ve been calling your son Adam all his life, and now everyone around you calls him Oz, it’s an adjustment. Just as I’ve become Kit. No longer Melanie. That woman died the moment I rolled onto the SS compound in my jacked-up truck.

  Life is…in the wise words of Forrest Gump, like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.

  And so, we wait to see what the next gooey filling has to offer.

  Let’s hope it’s a good one.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  GUNZ

  Monitors beep quietly. The cuff around my bicep tightens. Everything’s heavy—my skin, bones, teeth. Fighting against sleep, my eyelid cracks open, one and then the next. Pale light seeps through the slits as I dampen my dry lips with the sweep of my tongue.

  “You’re one stubborn asshole,” a familiar voice complains.

  Ejecting a heavy breath, I blink.

  “You hear me?”

  Yes, I hear you, fucker.

  Another blink—difficult and slow.

  My surroundings take what feels like decades to focus.

  Lulling my head to the side, a large form stands near me. His hand cuffs over the plastic railing of my bed. I look down at the giant, sausage-sized fingers, and the light dusting of hair on his knuckles.

  Blink.

  “You with us?”

  I groan in response, phlegm caught in my throat.

  I’m alive.

  With every pump of my heart, heaviness bears down like gravity. The harder I try to stay awake, the powers at be work against me. Unable to stop them, my eyelids wilt. In the darkness, I’m alone, in the recesses of my own mind. In my own body. A first in over a month. To test the theory, I draw memories of Niki to the surface. Happy ones. Of our sex-sharing days. Before the emotional crap. When it was fun. When the only thing I worried about was Bink, the club, and endless days of fucking.

  Wearing a crop top and boner-inducing daisy-duke shorts, she smiles at me.

  I smile back.

  Then I release the thought. It goes along with the woman, fizzling to nothingness.

  I’m free.

  Finally fucking free.

  Melting into my bed, no longer bogged down by the past, I let go. Of her. Of the drinking. Of my mom. Of my father. Of… all the fucked-up bullshit I let stand in my way and hold me back. All of it. I can’t live like this anymore.

  Where has it gotten me?

  In a bed. In a hospital room. Recovering from wounds. And I’m not talkin’ about the bullet or the infection. That’s nothing more than a physical injury I’ve survived before.

  Crackin’ a single eye open, I search out my brother, who, no doubt, has been livin’ here since they brought me back to recover. He’s an overprotective one. Not that I don’t get it. Despite all the shit I give him, I’d do the same for Big. We’ve been through a lot over the years.

  When I can’t see him, I grumble, my mouth as dry as the Sahara.

  “You need somethin’?” Big stands, so we can see each other.

  “Her,” I rasp.

  “You want your woman?”

  I nod the best I can. It’s slow and takes a shit ton of effort.

  I don’t want her. I need her. Now. I need to apologize. To make amends. To fix the past six weeks. She needs to know how sorry I am. That I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back. To bring her home.

  She’s mine.

  And it’s about damn time she knows it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  KIT

  Following the club president through an endless maze of monochromatic hallways, we stop beyond Gunz’s hospital door. Nobody has been permitted inside except Big and medical personnel. President’s orders. It’s been three days since Gunz’s surgery. Three days since he woke the first time, and he’s been fading in and out of consciousness ever since.

  For those three days, I’ve slept sitting up in a hospital waiting room, and only left twice to shower and check on Chibs. Jez and her little ones are doing a bang-up job keeping him company. Turns out, our bat-eared boy loves kids. More specifically, the human snacks they keep feeding him. Our Frenchie has become a cucumber and cheese stick slut, or so I’ve heard.

  Opening the door like a gentleman, Big waves for me to go inside. Bowing my head in silent appreciation, I do as I’m told. Sitting up with the help of his hospital bed, Gunz watches me enter the room. Skin paler than usual, scruff extra sexy, he’s wearing a blue gown that makes his already attractive eyes pop. There’s a white blanket strewn over his legs and pillows behind his head. Sock-covered toes with those little grippies on the bottom peek out from beneath the covers.

  Tracking my every move, his smile’s lopsided and tired as I approach. He pats the bed for me to sit. I perch on the edge, my butt nudging his leg.

  “I’ve missed you,” he says. Stealing one of my hands, he sandwiches it between his own. Warmth encases not only my skin but my heart. He’s alive. Breathing. Here. Looking right at me.

  “I missed you, too.” I sigh, happy to be present and see him face-to-face. I didn’t know how much I needed this.

  Gunz strokes the inside of my wrist with the pad of his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I reply honestly. It’s been a long week, and he’s been through a lot.

  Frowning at my words, a crease forms between Gunz’s brow as he growls, “It’s sure as fuck not.”

  “You need to focus on getting better. The rest will work itself out.” If he’s healthy and on the mend, that’s all I care about. Adam has been sick with worry, as have most of the brotherhood. The rest doesn’t matter in the scheme of things. It was a fleeting moment in life. A mere blip. I’m not excusing his behavior. We’ve both made mistakes. Life is about learning from them. Growing and not living in the past. I know that’s far easier said than done.

  Accepting my words at face value, Gunz says nothing as he tugs my arm up to place my palm on his heart, just over the hospital gown. Both of his hands lay on mine, holding it in place. Our gazes catch, and there we pause. His chest rises, and I breathe along with him, somehow in sync. An affectionate smirk hooks at the corner of his mouth, and he shakes his head. “You’re somethin’ else, love… Will you marry me?”

  Will I… What?

  Will I… Do… What?!

  Replaying what he said, my eyes widen to the size of tractor tires. Will you marry me?

  What is happening?

  With his heart beating wildly beneath my touch, even faster than my own, I sputter a frantic and not-so-cute, “Wh-what?!”

  Amused by this, the sexy-as-fuck man has the goddamn audacity to laugh. At me. At my reaction. As if asking someone to marry them is a normal, everyday request. As if I wasn’t scared out of my mind the past three days, wallowing in my own guilt for leaving. The bastard takes it a step further and pats my hand as if that’s somehow going to calm my nerves. To take the cake, he smiles as he does it.

  “Love.” Gunz pauses a beat to rein in a chuckle. It’s a half-assed attempt because one still slips out. “I didn’t stutter. I said, will you marry me?” There goes that smile again. Wider this time.

  Ugh.

  Why’s he doing this? I don’t even know what to say.

  “Erik… I—”

  He interrupts me. “Is that a no?”

  Not knowing much of any-damn-thing, I massage the center of my forehead and breathe, so I don’t end up hyperventilating. “That’s a…ugh… we’ve been through a lot… um… you’re in the hospital. Let’s focus on that.” I wanna focus on normal life stuff. Like getting to know each other better and getting back on the track we were on after the warehouse.

  Not on the same page as me, his firm, “No,” brooks no room for argument. “My head’s better now, and I know what I want. I’ve known what I want for a long time now. I want you in my bed. In my life. Ridin’ on the back of my bike, on my face and my cock, for the rest of our lives.”

  Oh. Boy.

  This man doesn’t half-ass anything, does he? I show up out of the blue and drop the Adam bomb on him. What does he do? He accepts the knowledge with far more grace than anyone else would. Then he spends days not only in my presence but wanting to get to know me. If that wasn’t already enough, he wanted to visit our son in jail. No hesitation. That’s all before the kidnapping. He got me a dog. Brought our son into his own personal office to work alongside him. Now… marriage.

  I guess I should have expected this would happen… huh?

  Gunz’s choices are cut and dry. There is no sway. No indecision. He knows what he wants and who he is.

  “Erik,” I begin, so we can have an open discussion about his proposition.

  Once again, the stubborn man cuts me off at the pass. “Do you wanna be my wife?” His steel gaze is one of determination. Intention finite—yes or no.

  “I… I can’t believe you’re asking me this…” Today of all days.

  Gunz lifts my hand from his chest and kisses each of my fingertips one by one as he speaks. “Why? I love you. I ain’t never loved anyone before. I get I fucked up, but I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ it up to you. Takin’ care of you and our son, and our smooshed-face dog.”

  There go those weird butterflies again, beating up my insides.

  He loves me. He loves our son. Our dog. His actions have shown as much.

  “I… I… I…” Unable to form words, I clear my throat to bide me some time, to focus less on the wild emotions going batshit crazy in my head, and more on the logistics.

  “When?” I ask, just to see where he’s at.

  “In twenty-three days.”

  “What?!” I half-scream, hating the shrill, nervous tone. Mortified by my outburst, I turn my head away, but keep touching him, because I can’t stop. It’s been weeks since we’ve been this close. This engaged. I missed him so damn much.

  “Love.” Gunz jostles my arm, encouraging me to look at him. I do. Chewing on my bottom lip, tapping my foot on the floor anxiously. Satisfied with my attention, he continues, “We spent twenty-three hours together the first night we met. If you say yes, we’ll get married twenty-three days from today. That’s enough time for you and the sisters to plan a little somethin’.” There he goes, offering more direct decisiveness, I wish I possessed even a quarter of.

  “You’re serious?” I double-check… because… internal freakout. Who gets married in twenty-three days who isn’t part of a reality TV show? Well, I guess some people who elope do. Huh?

  Warm, smirking lips kiss the tips of my fingers a second time. “As a heart attack.” He winks, far too charming for me not to half-swoon. He’s pulling out all the stops today.

  This damn man. I don’t know what to do with him.

  “You don’t think this is… quick?”

  A simple shake of the head. “Nope.”

  “You want to marry me?” Yep, I’m checking a whopping third time to give the man an out.

  Enjoying this far too much, Gunz’s entire body vibrates in barely concealed laughter. “Yeah, love. I wanna marry you.”

  “But we haven’t even had sex yet… ya know… again.” What if I’m bad at it? What if he doesn’t like my… ya know… parts? I’m not as youthful down there as I once was. You and I both know sex is part of any healthy relationship. These boobs reside in Sagville. My vagina isn’t visited by the moist fairy as often as it was way back when. She sometimes takes a little extra help in that department. Then again, this is Gunz. She likes him. She likes him a lot.

  “So?” He shrugs, not at all reading between the lines.

  “What if I’m…” Lousy at it? Cry? Fail to meet his expectations after years of kinky fuckery?

  The man rolls his eyes. “I know what you’re gonna say. That’s not fuckin’ possible. To prove it to ya, why don’t you climb on up here.” Using my own fingers, he taps them to his mouth, then uses my pointer to caress his bottom lip before drawing his tongue across the pad. My stomach shudders, and my breath falters from the simple touch.

  I swallow hard. “I’m not… we’re not…”

  “Love, might not be able to fuck you right now, but my tongue works just fine.” To prove a point, the devil draws the tip of my same digit into his mouth and sucks.

  Holy hell.

  “Erik,” I croak, knowing darn well my cheeks are flaming hot, that I’m… bothered.

  “Take off your pants,” he states around my fingertip.

  “Erik.”

  “Wife. Take off your pants and sit on my fuckin’ face.” His laser-beam stare locks onto my pants like he’s willing them to disintegrate to ash.

  “This is silly. We’re in a hospital,” I reason… because logic.

  “I know. What’s crazy is you haven’t sat on my face before this. Now get your fine ass up here and let me taste my woman’s pussy. I’m an injured man. Give me somethin’ to live for.” Gunz releases my hand and juts his chin at my clothing.

  “You’re ridiculous.” I chuckle awkwardly, far too charmed by him.

  “And horny,” he tacks on.

  Legs shaking, I stand and slowly unbutton my jeans, my eyes focused on the door, my back to him. What if someone walks in? What if they catch us? In my twenties, I didn’t care who saw us screwing. The more the merrier. It was nothing more than a youthful rite of passage. This is a hospital room after he underwent major surgery. We’re older now. It’s not the same thing.

  Gunz clears his throat. “Come on, love. Just a little taste. If you don’t like it, we can stop,” he reassures, and I adore him even more for it.

  I think I can do this. I want to try.

  Ignoring any reason to chicken out, I unzip my fly and shuffle my tight jeans to the floor as Gunz lays the bed flat with the button on his bed. Now pooling around my ankles, I slip my jeans, shoes, and socks off at the same time. Left standing in my barely there lace thong, I cup my hands over my privates, not caring Gunz can see my bare ass. He’s seen it before. Hell, he’s seen all this before. A long time ago, but still.