Chapter Six
Liss
Just as I tugged my sweater over my head, a spray of bullets ripped into the wall inches away from my left ear. I hit the floor, huddling behind the bed. My heart hammered against my chest. It hurt to breathe.
My brother. He found me.
“Liss!”
Gideon’s voice—a commanding roar laced with concern. I was so scared that my teeth were chattering, but I somehow managed to start crawling toward the sound of his voice.
In the back of my mind, I chastised myself for being stupid. My brother was shooting at me, for Christ’s sake. I needed to leave before he hauled my ass back home.
But all I could think about was Gideon.
When I got to the hallway, he stumbled into view. Relief and horror mingled in my chest at the sight of him. Blood streamed from his left shoulder and down his forearm, staining his Henley a disturbingly dark red. In his other hand, he gripped his Glock.
Striding down the hallway, Gideon reached for me, touching my cheek, my shoulder, my hair.
“Are you hurt? Did you get hit?”
I shook my head, still reeling, trying to get my bearings.
“No, no, I’m fine. I’m okay, I think, but—Gideon, you’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing serious,” he replied.
Nothing serious. I pushed his vest aside to get a better look. His shirt was fucking soaked from the hole in his shoulder. I bit my tongue with a whimper.
Gideon cupped the back of my head and pulled me close. A sob lodged in my throat and my eyes burned with the threat of tears. After years of being beaten, I never cried in front of people, and I had no idea why I was close to bawling like a baby now. I curled my fingers into his vest, fighting the revulsion when I felt his sticky blood on the leather.
This is my fault. I stayed too long. I should have known better.
“Go,” Gideon said, taking me by the arm. “Hide in the bathroom. Lock the door. Call one of the club members—anyone who will answer at this hour. Let them know what happened. Don’t come out unless I say so. Is that clear?”
He pressed his phone into my hand and pushed me toward the guest bathroom. I sputtered in protest.
“What about you? What are you going to do?”
Gideon said nothing, but his grip flexed on his gun. That was enough of an answer. I felt sick to my stomach.
“Gideon, no. You can’t go out there.”
He pried my fingers away from his vest, turned, and vanished down the hall. I clutched his phone with trembling hands. This man had been good to me. Protected me. He wouldn’t even have sex with me because it wasn’t the right thing to do, tainted with a morally gray area of obligation that he wouldn’t touch.
My vision blurred. My throat grew tight. When I glanced down at his phone, I realized my fingertips were smudged with blood. His blood.
Moving on autopilot, I locked myself into the bathroom and sank to the floor. With my knees pulled up to my chest, I shakily punched at buttons on Gideon’s phone until I found his contact list. Kingpin was at the top.
The phone rang and rang.
“Come on,” I hissed. “Pick up.”
At last, Kingpin’s voice came over the line.
“Aren’t you usually in bed by now, Big G? Or is that feisty little stray you took home keeping you awake?”
“Gideon was shot,” I said, my voice strained.
He turned serious in an instant.
“Liss? Where are you?”
“Gideon’s house.”
A gunshot cracked in the silence. I flinched and clamped my hand over my other ear.
“Please,” I said. “He needs help. He’s out there alone and I just—I can’t—”
“Hang tight, Liss,” Kingpin replied. “We’re on our way.”
I gripped Gideon’s phone, my ears straining for any sound that might provide a clue about what was happening. I should go find him instead of cowering in the bathroom. This was my mess, my problem, not Gideon’s.
The silence stretched on and on. I couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or not. Was it better that the shooting stopped? Or did that mean Gideon wasn’t fighting back anymore?
My hand flew to my ankle where my knife should be. Barefoot. Fuck. I’d left my boots by the bed where I’d kicked them off earlier to take a shower. And then I’d paraded around in front of Gideon in that damn towel like an idiot.
“Stupid,” I muttered to myself.
A rookie mistake. I always had my knife within reach, whether I was showering or sleeping or eating. Why did I leave it in the other room?
Because of Gideon. He made me feel safe.
I pushed to my feet, wavering for a moment. Gideon told me to stay put, behind a locked door.
Don’t come out unless I say so. Is that clear?
Well, too bad. He should know by now that I’m not a good girl. I don’t follow orders.
Unlocking the bathroom door, I stepped out, holding my breath. I heard nothing. That silence was making me itch.
Lunging for my boots, I yanked the knife from its sheath and gripped it so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Bringing a knife to a gunfight wasn’t a smart move by any stretch of the imagination, but it was better than being empty handed.
Bracing myself, I emerged into the hall. When I reached the front door, I inhaled to steady myself.
What if my brother was waiting for me? The idea of coming face to face with him made my stomach twist with dread.
Then a second thought crossed my mind—much worse than the first.
What if Gideon was lying out there, bleeding, or dead?
With my heart in my throat, I opened the door. A quick scan of the street showed no signs of anyone. Empty. Unnervingly quiet. The street light on the corner cast a faint yellowish glow in the dark.
Finally, footsteps. To my left.
I tightened my grip on my knife and turned toward the sound.
“Didn’t I say to wait inside?”
Gideon came striding out of the shadows, still bloodied, but alive. I couldn’t see any further injuries beside the bullet wound in his shoulder. Relief rushed through me and my knees nearly threatened to buckle from the force of it.
“If you were hoping for an obedient little waif to hang on your every word and do as she’s told, you picked the wrong girl,” I replied, fighting the slight tremble in my voice.
“And what brilliant plan did you have in mind for using that pig-sticker?”
“I would have thought of something,” I protested.
Gideon grunted in disagreement. He gestured with his gun toward the house.
“Back inside. Let’s go.”
I glanced past his shoulder. Gideon moved to block my line of sight.
“They’re gone. For now. But I don’t expect that to last long. Did you call anyone?”
I nodded.
“Kingpin said he was on his way.”
“Good,” Gideon said.
Then his eyes slipped closed and he swayed. It suddenly dawned on me how pale he was. The tightness around his eyes and the clipped, quiet tone of his voice hinted at pain he wouldn’t breathe a word of complaint about. Hesitantly, I reached out and took his arm, curling my fingers around his bicep. I wasn’t used to offering comfort like this, and I felt stilted, awkward, like a newborn foal trying to stand on gawky legs.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” I said. “You should sit.”
Gideon glanced down at me.
“I’m not in the habit of taking orders from anyone other than my superiors, sweetheart. Club rules.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a Blackjack,” I countered. “Now move it, grandpa.”
He huffed a dry laugh.
“Told you not to call me that.”
“Yeah, well, I told you I don’t behave. The message doesn’t seem to be getting through your thick skull though.”
I led Gideon inside, bypassing the couch. He was a mess. Didn’t need blood stains to ruin his furniture. Guiding him into the kitchen, I coaxed him towards a chair. Gideon gritted his teeth as he sat, but he rested his Glock on his thigh. The fact that he wasn’t letting it go suggested he expected more trouble at any moment.
I grabbed a hand towel and pressed it to his shoulder. Gideon winced.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
For everything. For causing him so much trouble. For putting him in pain like this. For getting him shot. For bringing my shitty brother and my shitty problems to his doorstep.
A cool breeze kissed the back of my neck and I glanced up. The window over the sink was shattered. Glass shards glittered on the counter like ice crystals. His peaceful, quiet little home was ruined.
Neither of us said anything. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, exhaustion settling over us. The rumble of motorcycles thundered in the night, signaling that Kingpin would be here any minute now.
Gideon tilted his head back to look up at me. For the first time, I was the one to stand above him. He always towered over me with his barrel chest and broad shoulders. I placed my hand against his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palm.
The silence wasn’t unsettling now. Instead, it was laden with everything we couldn’t bring ourselves to say yet.
I’m glad you’re okay.
***
When the Blackjacks arrived, all members were accounted for. Even though it was the middle of the night, they still dropped whatever they were doing to protect one of their own.
I stepped back, overwhelmed by the number of bikers crammed into Gideon’s small house. Heavy biker boots, black leather, jeans, and tattoos everywhere, with a clamor of activity and voices tumbling over each other.
“Gatling, scout the neighborhood,” Kingpin said, calmly giving orders as he stood amid the milling bodies. “Baby Doll, Blackbeard, take a look at Big G. Get him patched up before he passes out.”
“I’m not going to pass out,” Gideon shot back.
“Don’t argue with me, brother. You look like death warmed over.”
“Crash,” Blackbeard barked, peeling the vest off Gideon’s shoulders. “Get my medical kit from my saddlebags.”
“On it,” Crash declared and ducked out the door.
“Spike, Tex,” Kingpin said. “Find out who was shooting. I want answers.”
He crossed his arms, planting his feet wide. He looked powerful, in control, a reliable leader who was determined to get to the bottom of this.
I marveled at how the club moved like a well-oiled machine, seamless and smooth. Baby Doll pulled the collar of Gideon’s shirt down and clucked her tongue at the hole in his shoulder. My throat tightened. I pressed myself back against the wall, trying to stay out of the way, trying to make myself as small as possible. I’d caused enough damage for one night.
“Well, shit,” Baby Doll said, shaking her head. “The bullet didn’t go through. We’ll have to dig it out. You’re not going to like that, big guy.”
A muscle flexed in Gideon’s jaw but he made no reply. He’d finally relinquished his Glock, setting it aside on the table as he leaned back in his chair. It seemed he was only comfortable enough to let down his guard when his club surrounded him.
“Whiskey?” Baby Doll asked, turning toward the kitchen cabinets.
“Above the stove,” Gideon said. “Credence! Get in here. Talk to me.”
Crash galloped back into the kitchen and deposited a worn, cracked leather bag on the table. Blackbeard started pulling out tools—forceps, a scalpel, gauze.
Bile burned in the back of my throat. I couldn’t watch this.
Fleeing the kitchen, I sought sanctuary in the guest bedroom. Thankfully, no one was there. I dropped to the floor at the foot of the bed and pulled my knees up to my chest. The activity in the rest of the house was muffled and blessedly distant, but I could still make out bits and pieces of the conversation in the kitchen.
“How the fuck can you do this, Baby Doll?” Crash’s voice, a little strained.
“I grew up with four brothers,” Baby Doll replied matter-of-fact. “You’d be amazed how many times those bastards almost got themselves impaled doing stupid shit. Blood and guts never bothered me.”
“You’re lookin’ a little queasy, Prospect,” Blackbeard said. “Get some fresh air. Don’t puke all over our patient.”
The echo of Crash’s hurried footsteps signaled he practically ran outside. Then Gideon’s harsh fuck! indicated Baby Doll and Blackbeard had started to extract the bullet.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. This was never supposed to happen. All I wanted to do was apologize, over and over, because Gideon didn’t deserve this. The Blackjacks didn’t deserve this.
Guilt pushed me into action. I grabbed my few scattered belongings, stuffing them into my backpack. After tugging my boots on, I did a brief search of the room. It was like I’d never been here in the first place.
I couldn’t walk out the front door. Not now. I’d have to bypass too many bikers.
So, I shoved the window open. The glass wasn’t broken, but it was scarred by three bullet holes. More damage because of me.
I kicked the screen out and tossed my backpack to the ground. After I climbed through, I dusted myself off, waiting to see if anyone had heard me escape.
The flare of a lighter glowed in the dark. I startled and took a step back.
“Had a feeling you’d bolt,” Gatling said.
Leaning against a tree, half of his face was hidden in shadow. The other half was illuminated by the red stub of his cigarette as he lit it. He gestured to Gideon’s house and the bullet holes embedded in the facade.
“This has something to do with you, doesn’t it? Big G has his fair share of enemies, but the fact that you’re scuttling out the window suggests you’re guilty as fuck.”
I hooked my backpack over my shoulder, uneasy.
“Don’t worry. I’m leaving, and I’ll take all of this with me.”
Gatling released a slow stream of smoke thoughtfully and tapped ash onto the ground.
“Doubt it. This problem of yours—whatever it is—won’t go away by running.”
I poked my tongue in my cheek, frustrated. Running was the only option I had. If I didn’t run, my brother would drag me home, making sure I never even considered leaving him again.
“Then what do you suggest?” I shot back. “Call the cops? You know they won’t make a damn bit of difference until it’s too late.”
“Didn’t say anything about cops, did I? We’ll handle it ourselves. This ain’t our first rodeo.”
“You’re already too involved,” I protested.
Gatling hummed and used his shoulder to push away from the tree. He was a tall, lean son of a bitch, with stormy gray eyes and measured movements that reminded me of a snake slowly coiling up in preparation to strike.
“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it, sweetheart? It’s pretty obvious the way you and Big G eye fuck each other every chance you get. If you didn’t want us involved, it’s too late for that.”
My stomach sank to my toes. Gatling was right.
“See, if you skip town now,” he continued. “Big G won’t rest until he knows what happened to you. That’s just the kind of man he is.”
I clenched my teeth. Of course Gideon wouldn’t sit back and let me disappear. Not now. He took a bullet for me. He bled for me.
I spun on my heel and started in the opposite direction. Away from Gatling. Away from Gideon.
“You won’t get far that way either,” Gatling called. “Vlad is keeping watch on the west side of the house. Hot Shot is around here somewhere, too, but he’s sneaky. Good luck giving him the slip. So, you might as well go back inside and get settled for the night.”
I faltered, at a loss for what to do next.
“Do you want a piece of friendly advice?” he ventured.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to tell me no matter what my answer is?”
Gatling flicked his cigarette into the dirt, grinding the red cinder beneath his boot heel.
“Aim that pissy little attitude at those who deserve it. Not Big G. Not us. We’re all sinners here, Liss. We have blood on our hands and we’ve done things we’re not proud of. The rest of the world would spit on our bodies in the gutter if given half the chance because we’re fucking garbage to them. But when you belong to this club, we fight for each other, no matter what.”
“I’m not part of your club,” I pointed out.
He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug and tilted his head toward the house.
“Big G wants you here. As long as you’re in his life, you’re one of us.”
I shifted in place and adjusted the strap of my backpack. No one fought for me the way Gideon did. Part of me liked it—craved it, starved for it, desperate and hungry to fill my hollow belly with his attention. But another part of me was terrified by it. Why did I deserve his protection? Why did he risk his neck and put his life on the line for a scrawny nobody like me?
A small voice in the back of my mind whispered the answer but I wouldn’t listen.
He loves you.
Fuck, no. No, no, no. I couldn’t look that in the face right now.
Gatling took up his position next to the tree again. He blended so well with the shadows that I could barely see him, even though I knew he was there.
I returned to the house, walking through the front door since there was no reason to sneak around anymore. It seemed I wasn’t going anywhere tonight. Crash was in the kitchen, cleaning up the bloody stains on the floor, and the wads of bloody gauze on the kitchen table. He looked green around the gills, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to keep his stomach from rebelling. Tex and Spike were sprawled in the living room, flipping through channels on the television. Kingpin and Credence stood off to one side, talking in low, hushed tones.
Baby Doll and Blackbeard emerged from what I assumed was Gideon’s bedroom.
“Big G is all stitched up,” Blackbeard announced. “He needs to rest, but I doubt he’ll do that.”
“Any serious damage?” Kingpin asked.
Baby Doll shook her head.
“The bullet didn’t hit anything major. He’s lucky.”
“I’d feel better if one or two warm bodies were posted outside,” Blackbeard said. “Gideon refused to take painkillers in case trouble comes knocking twice in one night. He’s on edge, which is understandable.”
“Already done,” Kingpin said. “Gatling, Hot Shot, and Vlad are outside. Tex and Spike will relieve them in a few hours, before sunrise.”
I dropped my backpack by the door and tiptoed toward Gideon’s bedroom. Gingerly, I reached out and pushed his door open a few inches. Thin bars of light streamed through the slats of his blinds. His room was nearly twice as big as mine, with dark sheets, a king size bed, and a life-sized picture of his bike mounted on the wall above his headboard.
Gideon was propped up in bed, his eyes closed, with an unsettling gray pallor to his skin. His shirt was gone, leaving his tattoos and bandages on display. He was barefoot too, but his jeans were still on.
“Don’t lurk in the dark, watching me sleep,” he rasped. “It’s creepy as fuck.”
I smiled a little, relieved to hear his sense of humor was still intact. Gideon slowly opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on me. The hulking shadow of his Glock rested on his nightstand, serving as a potent reminder that he was not a gentle man. But he was gentle with me.
I traced the wood grain of his door frame with my thumbnail.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” I whispered.
“Wasn’t asleep.”
He held his hand out and beckoned to me.
It took every ounce of self-restraint not to fly across the room. I hesitated at the edge of his bed, realizing what a personal, intimate moment this was. Allowing me to see him like this, vulnerable and weakened by blood loss.
Gideon shifted forward and hooked a finger into my belt loop with an insistent tug. I crawled into bed beside him. He looped an arm around my waist, nestling me against his body like we were two puzzle pieces who were always destined to fit together.
I ghosted my fingers over the tattoos on his chest, stumbling when I found ridges of scars beneath the ink. One—two—three, four, five.
“Told you I’ve had worse than that broken nose you gave me,” he said, his voice low and gruff.
I frowned. I didn’t like thinking about where he got those scars, or how much pain he must have endured in his lifetime. I didn’t like that a broken nose was the least of his concerns.
“Did you have any luck climbing out the window?” Gideon asked.
I huffed with annoyance. I swear this man could read my damn mind.
“No,” I admitted.
He hummed a deep rumble like thunder in his chest.
“Didn’t think so.”
I studied his profile for a moment, eyes closed, breathing measured and even. Would I ever understand what this man saw in me?
I buried my face in Gideon’s neck, pressing my lips to the slow, steady rhythm of his pulse. His musky cologne was replaced with the sharp scent of antiseptic. His skin was warm—nearly scorching hot. And the weight of his arm locked around my waist was comforting.
“Liss,” he growled. “We talked about this.”
I dragged my hand down his chest, toying at his earlobe with my tongue.
This time, I felt no obligation or gratitude toward him. Only relief—crystal clear and bright as the sun. I couldn’t call it love—not yet, not quite. I didn’t know what love felt like. It didn’t belong to people like me. But this feeling pressing against my chest, my heart…it felt softer than anything I’d ever experienced before. And I knew Gideon wouldn’t break it, smash it, crush it, bruise it. He would guard it with his fucking life.
“Please,” I murmured, peppering kisses down his neck and shoulder. “I want to.”
Two minutes ago, I was prepared to leave him behind. The fact that his club was on the other side of his bedroom door should have been enough to dampen my arousal, too.
I shifted my leg over his hips, pressing my core against his thigh. Gideon sucked in a breath through his teeth. His hand strayed from my lower back to my ass with a squeeze.
He turned me down before because my reasons were all wrong—guilt, obligation, a quick fuck that meant nothing but scratching an itch.
There was only one reason why I wanted him now.
“Convince me to stay.”