Thornhill Road (Love Me Tender)

Chapter Twelve

Tess

His knuckles were swollen and bloody.

Whether or not it was his blood I couldn’t tell.

It was obvious he’d beaten the shit out of someone.

My guess was the guy I’d seen in the apartment who appeared to be terrified as he watched Mustang’s every move.

I hoped it wasn’t the woman who was clearly Mary-Kate’s mother. I prayed my man wasn’t capable of laying hands on the mother of his child.

In a way, she was beautiful. One look at her and I could tell she didn’t take great care of herself, but I also saw a woman who would have no trouble catching a man if she wanted.

Mary-Kate had inherited her curly hair and her nose.

But she had Mustang’s eyes.

Ed’s eyes.

I had so many questions—questions I knew I couldn’t ask in the moment.

Mustang was still calming down, and the last thing I wanted to do was poke the bear.

We were mostly silent as we rode back to his house. It wasn’t until we pulled into the driveway that I got a proper look at it.

We’d been in such a rush before, I was too distracted to notice the big, ranch style home on a spacious lot. He had a small deck that extended off his front porch. There was a built-in bench and two, cushioned Adirondack chairs in front of two large windows on the center of the house.

We pulled into his garage and Mustang extracted his hand from mine. I looked over at him just as he murmured, “Out, sugar.”

I was sugar again, and I knew that meant he was coming back to himself.

We both got out and Mustang walked around the back of his truck to the rear passenger door. He had Mary-Kate propped against his chest in short order. I watched her cling to his neck with her temple pressed against his, and I saw how connected with one another they were. It wasn’t just Mustang in his adult wisdom with the knowledge of his child—it was Mary-Kate, in her innocence, in tune with her father.

He caught my hand with his free one, and I trailed behind them into the house.

The door from the garage opened into a generous open floor plan. The kitchen and dining area were right in front of us, and his living room was toward the front of the house. As he led me into the belly of the kitchen, we passed a sliding glass door off the back of the house, and I glimpsed his screened-in porch and an absolutely gorgeous view.

He sat Mary-Kate down on the island counter and let go of my hand on his way to the fridge.

“Daddy, are you bleeding?” she asked, sounding worried.

He pulled a carton of strawberries out of the fridge with his unaffected hand, then paused to look down at his other—as if for the first time.

“Babe, let me help,” I insisted, reaching for the fruit. “You need to ice that. Just, uh, point me in the direction of a cutting board.”

I glanced around the room. He had about a million cabinets and drawers. I wondered if he’d managed to fill them all. If so, I was sure he was roughing it in my kitchen.

“Second drawer down. Right side of the stove,” he told me. “Knives are in the block. I cut ‘em in half.”

“Got it,” I assured him as I went about my task.

I heard him open up his freezer drawer and glanced back at him as he took out a bag of peas and unceremoniously plopped them over his knuckles. This was apparently all the attention he was going to give his hand, as he then went straight to the tall cabinet next to the fridge and pulled out a container of goldfish. I rinsed strawberries and listened as he poured out a few into a bowl.

“More, daddy!” Mary-Kate insisted on a giggle.

“We’ll see about that. You eat those and your strawberries first.”

After I’d halved a few, I carried the cutting board over to the island. Mary-Kate hummed her delight and immediately reached for one.

“Thank you,” she said politely.

“You’re welcome.”

Mustang popped a strawberry in his mouth too, eliciting a gasp from his little one.

“Hey!”

Smiling, he muttered, “You can share, princess.”

“Yeah, okay,” she conceded, kicking her feet as she reached for another berry. “You can have one, too,” she told me.

“Oh, thank you. That’s so nice of you.”

As I accepted her offer, Mustang pulled his phone from his pocket. He tapped the screen a few times, and Mary-Kate and I both watched him as he brought the device to his ear and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Yeah,” he said, answering a question we couldn’t hear. “Need to be at the bar tonight. Can she stay at your place?”

Uninterested in her father’s conversation, Mary-Kate grabbed a goldfish, then looked at me and said, “You’re pretty. How come I never met you before?”

I might not have had any children, but I knew they had a tendency to speak their mind, so her compliment felt like an invitation into their world I wouldn’t dare take for granted.

“Thank you, Mary-Kate. I think you’re pretty, too.”

“Hey, what do you say?” asked Mustang, already pocketing his phone once more.

Mary-Kate, obviously familiar with his tone, looked up at him to find he was, indeed, speaking to her. This made her grin before she murmured, “Thank you.” Looking to me again, she repeated, “How come I never met you before?”

“I only met her a few days ago, babe,” Mustang interjected. “Hey, listen to me.”

He waited until he had her attention before he continued.

“I’ve got to work tonight. You’re gonna stay the night with Aunt Winnie and Uncle Roy.”

Her whole body jolted in excitement before she cried, “Yay!”

Mustang chuckled. “Yeah. Figured as much.” Jerking his chin, he instructed, “Finish up. I’m gonna go pack you a bag.” To me he asked, “You okay here?”

“Yeah, of course.”

I watched him walk out of the kitchen and disappear down a hallway between the kitchen and the living room. As I looked in that direction, I took in a few more details. He had a leather sectional couch in front of a big screen television he’d mounted to the wall. Behind the sitting area, to the right of the front door, he had a long narrow table with drawers and a shelf at the bottom. On the shelf were a pair of boots and tennis shoes that obviously belonged to him; and beside them were at least four pairs of little girl shoes in different colors and styles.

It was remarkable to me to be inside of Mustang’s house which was so clearly a home. It lacked a feminine touch—it wasn’t decorated, per say—but it had a certain lived-in comfort.

“Do you know my Aunt Winnie?” asked Mary-Kate, pulling me from my thoughts.

“I do, actually.”

“She’s Otto’s mommy. Otto is my best friend. Whenever I stay with Aunt Winnie and Uncle Roy, we get to play all the time!”

“You know what? I saw Otto today. He was asking about you.”

“You saw Otto? Where?!” she asked, those hazel-blue eyes wide in excitement.

She was adorable in a photograph—but she was radiant sitting in front of me.

“Your dad and I were at the clubhouse,” I told her, speaking through a smile. “He was there with his brothers.”

“Sometimes daddy takes me to the clubhouse, but not all the time,” she said before consuming her last strawberry. “And sometimes I see Uncle Jed there, and he brings Lowe and Ax. They’re my friends, too. But not like Otto. Otto is my bestest friend.”

I noted how in the last two minutes, I’d learned the badass bikers I knew as Bull and Wrangler were also affectionally known as Uncle Roy and Uncle Jed—and I sort of loved that.

“Well, Otto missed not having you there today. I bet he’ll be so excited to see you.”

Just as I finished speaking, Mustang reappeared. He had a little pink backpack with multi-colored hearts scribbled in a pattern held in one hand, the bag of peas in his other. He went straight for the freezer and discarded the latter before turning to address me.

“Winnie was rounding up her crew. Should be here any minute now. I’ll get MK’s car seat loaded up in their cage, then we’re back on the hog.”

“Okay, babe.”

As if right on cue, a knock sounded at the door.

“Down, daddy! I want to get it,” insisted Mary-Kate.

Mustang helped her off the counter, and she took off the second her feet hit the floor.

“You wait for me before you open that door,” he called out to her.

His words were for his daughter, but he was still looking at me.

I wasn’t sure what he was saying as he stared, but I stared right back.

A second later, his fingers were in my hair and his lips were on mine for a short, hard kiss.

It was over before I knew it, and then he was halfway across the room, headed toward his daughter, who was bouncing in excitement.

The last hour had been a whirlwind—but as I watched him from where I stood at his kitchen island, I grappled with not a single doubt.

Father. Protector. Badass biker. Wild Stallion.

That was my man.

Mustang hadn’t exaggerated. The lineup of bands that night was awesome . I was glad I’d been at the bar early to snag a seat, because it was standing room only by ten o’clock.

There was no way the crowd wasn’t a fire-safety hazard.

There was also no way everyone in the crowd lived in Gillette.

Judging by the number of Wild Stallions patches I saw, I ventured to guess that a good number of that night’s attendees had made the journey from Cheyenne or the chapters in our neighboring states.

Earlier on in the night, one such Stallion sidled up next to me at the bar. The patch on his chest let me know his road name was Pistol. He was, apparently, an enforcer—his final patch cluing me in that he belonged to the Missoula chapter. He ordered a drink, then proceeded to strike up a conversation with me. This lasted all of about ten seconds before Mustang hollered, “That one’s not on the menu.”

No sooner had he said it than Buck was at my back. He was younger than the other Stallion, but that didn’t stop him from tapping him on the shoulder and suggesting he scram. The warning glare that came from behind the bar helped, too.

From that point on, Buck stayed close to keep me company.

Or, more accurately, mark me as off limits—but I preferred to consider him company.

I even made him talk to me a little, which was how I came to know he was a prospect with the club. He’d been working on earning his patches for the last nine months. He had one more to go before he was a fully patched member.

I wondered what all that entailed.

Obviously, babysitting wasn’t off the table.

While a normal bar might have started to empty out after one A.M., Steel Mustang felt like the party was just getting started. Even though my phone hadn’t rung all night, I cut myself off after my first ranch water. Experience told me I’d regret staying up into the wee hours, but I didn’t want to leave. Not without Mustang.

At two in the morning, he and his bar manager—the redhead I’d learned was Phoenix—shut down alcohol service, which was reason enough for the revelers to go looking for a change of scenery.

Lucky for them, they didn’t have to go far.

After the bar was emptied, when Mustang pulled me behind him through the clubhouse, I caught a glimpse of just how wild the Wild Stallions could get after dark. What I saw was nothing in comparison to what I’d seen the first night Mustang brought me there. Part of me wanted to stay and watch it all unfold—but a bigger part of me wanted to focus all my attention on just one man.

Mine .

Seeing as he didn’t stop until he had me alone in his room, I knew we were on the same page.

We made quick work of removing each other’s clothing, and it wasn’t long before he had me flat across his bed.

He made me come with his fingers first.

A while later, a fistful of my hair in his grip, I came on my hands and knees with him inside of me.

Not long after that, he found his own climax before we both collapsed, panting for breath.

This time, when he left me to go deal with his condom, I didn’t fall asleep.

My moment alone brought back the events of the day, and all the questions I hadn’t yet had the chance to ask.

I was sitting with his top sheet tucked underneath my arms, my knees pulled up to my chest when Mustang returned. Whatever party was going on in the main room didn’t sound like it was even close to dying down.

“Would’ve lost that bet,” said Mustang as he dropped trou.

“What bet?” I murmured, admiring his nakedness as he came to join me between the sheets.

“Never fucked a woman capable of crashing as fast as you do after sex. Least not a sober one.”

I hummed a laugh as I rested my cheek atop my knee.

He sat with his back propped against the wall behind the bed.

He was in a good mood, and my body still felt relaxed and sated, but there was a reason I was still awake—and I didn’t want to keep it from him.

I dropped my gaze to look at his hand. The blood had long since been washed away, but bruises had started to form on the skin across his knuckles. Before we left his house earlier, he'd let me look at it. Begrudgingly. As soon as I was sure he hadn’t broken anything, he wouldn’t let me fuss over him anymore.

“Mustang?” I whispered, lifting my eyes to find his.

“Right here, sugar.”

“What happened today? With Mary-Kate’s mother?”

His demeanor shifted in the second it took me to blink.

It wasn’t a chill I felt at the visible change I saw in his eyes, more like a silent warning to brace myself. So, I did. I sat up straight, hugging the sheet to my chest as I let my knees drop to the bed, angling my body toward his.

I was open. I was ready, and I wanted him to know that.

He received my message and started sharing.

“The only reason I don’t have MK full time is because I’ve got a dick, not a pussy. I can’t be her mom, and I know she needs one. I know because I did, and I’ve got a dick. When I lost mine, I felt it. Trix is a selfish bitch, but MK loves her, and I know I gotta respect that.

“She also knows shit about me and the club she shouldn’t know. Met her when the Stallions were in a different place. Stuff she knows could get a brother popped if she played her cards right. Not sure she’s smart enough to play those cards right, but she threatens me with that shit all the time.

“Trix walks a fine line. I tolerate her for my girl, but I sure as fuck don’t need to tolerate the shit company she keeps—especially if it means they’re gettin’ high with MK closed up in another room. I don’t have a stick up my ass. Trix wants to find an escape from her miserable life, all the power to her—just not when she’s got MK.

“I grew up with an abusive parent who was hooked on his own drug, and I’ll do what I’ve got to, to make sure my girl doesn’t endure the same fate. I can’t win every battle, but I will win this one. I'm prepared to fall on my sword if I have to. Trix keeps goin’ down this road, I will get full custody, even if that means my MK hates me for it one day.”

He’d laid it all out there, plain and simple. It was a lot to absorb, but he’d definitely filled in the blanks. He didn’t mess around when it came to the safety and wellbeing of his daughter. I got that. I admired it, even. His tactics were a bit rough, but so was he.

He was a Stallion.

It was that realization which hit me anew.

I’d known since the moment I met him he was part of a motorcycle club—and not one of those clubs that got together just to ride for fun. It wasn’t like the Wild Stallions were in the news for stirring up trouble—but it seemed unlikely they weren’t the kind that stirred the pot every now and again. I’d just never seriously considered what that could look like.

I reached up and swept a bit of hair behind my ear, ignoring the nervous pang in my belly as I asked, “Um—what do you mean when you say the Stallions were in a different place? ”

He studied me for a full minute, then warned, “Baby, you open this door—it don’t shut.”

I could feel my chest rising and falling as my breaths grew shallow. He was giving me the chance to change my mind—to keep my eyes closed and just enjoy the ride.

But I was his woman. I wanted to be his woman. I couldn’t do that in a state of blind ignorance. I wouldn’t. Moreover, if there was any chance the truth could break us, I needed to know before it was too late.

Before such a truth could destroy me.

“Mustang, I want to know.”

He hesitated a minute longer, then gave it to me straight.

“Bull’s the president of the Wild Stallions MC. Not just the Gillette chapter—the whole organization. He’s a good man. A family man. He’s business savvy, always thinkin’ ten steps ahead. He was one of the founding members twenty-seven years ago—but he’s only been our leader the last four, and he didn’t earn his title simply by puttin’ in the time. He fought for it. Lost blood and brothers for it. It was a hostile takeover during the club’s darkest time.”

My heart was pounding as he spoke.

I feared any attempts to brace myself for what was coming wouldn’t be enough.

“Stallions have always been in the business of protection. The garage and the shop are legit—but we’ve got other ways of lining our pockets.”

Protection seemed promising. Maybe even safe-ish. I could get on board with that.

“For a long time, we aided in the transport of drugs and guns across the Canadian border.”

Okay—that part didn’t seem so safe.

“Club rule stated we saw the drugs to where they needed to go, but we did not buy or sell them. We did not partake. None of the hard stuff. It was strictly for profit. We didn’t want the hassle of any addicts in our ranks. The money was good, the work was consistent, we were reliable and therefore sought after. At least, that’s how it was when I joined.

“I was nearly a decade in when we started expanding. Started multiple chapters and opened up garages in other towns. Things started to get messy. Fuckers started to get greedy. Brothers started using—including the highest ranked among us. Scorpion, our former prez, let shit slide. He wanted to start a stable. Prostitutes brought in drugs. That shit spread like a virus—and he was the worst infected.

“Six years ago, we weren’t transporting only drugs and guns, we were trafficking people—mostly women, but sometimes girls. It was fucked, and not all of us were down to do that shit. A couple brothers left, some just took a hit in pay, refusing to take certain jobs—but Bull was the first among us to make a stand.

“Took nearly a year to recruit enough of us on his side. He was patient, smart. He didn’t want an all-out civil war, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a battle. We lost one of the best among us, but we won. In the end, we won.”

He stopped his story, and I stared at him, feeling like he’d left out the most important part.

“But what does that mean? How are you different now?”

“No women. No trafficking, no stable—none of that. A woman shows up here wanting Stallion dick, she earns her keep, but we don’t sell her pussy.”

I nodded, still trying to absorb it all.

No women. No human trafficking. That was a marked improvement.

Holy hell , how was I even having this conversation?

“And, um, what about the drugs and the guns?”

“No drugs. That was a harder sell—but that’s part of the reason I opened Steel Mustang, as another source of income for the club.”

No human trafficking. No drugs.

“And the guns?”

“Still move guns, baby. Protect the right people for the right cash, too.”

I shook my head in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“Means someone needs to get from point A to point B, we don’t ask questions, we just get them there.”

I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and gnawed on it a little.

I wasn’t sure my brain had the energy to fully process most of what he’d shared, but I felt pretty clear on what they weren’t doing. Mostly. They’d been into some dangerous, very illegal activities—but I didn’t know what a battle amongst his brothers entailed. Not to mention, I didn’t imagine one could be in the guns and drug business without meeting some very questionable people.

“But you don’t, like…” I stopped myself and frowned, uncertain if I could finish the question.

“Spit it out, sugar. You opened the door. You best walk through it.”

I licked my lips anxiously then blurted, “You don’t kill people, do you?”

It wasn’t until I said it that I realized that was my line. I didn’t have the capacity right then to figure out what that said about me, but nothing he’d said made me want to run. Not yet, anyway.

He quirked an eyebrow, but there was no humor in his expression.

“We’re not hired assassins and the Stallions aren’t a gang—but we’re not martyrs, either. We’re outlaws. In a kill or be killed situation, we do what we have to.”

I felt short of breath, suddenly worried about the prospect of Mustang in a kill or be killed situation.

“Does that—does that happen a lot? To you? I mean—how often is that a choice you have to make?”

“No, baby. There’s a reason the patch on the front of my kutte says Sergeant-at-Arms and not VP or Enforcer. Bull wanted me to be his right hand, but it wasn’t a job I wanted. We made a compromise. I lean in where I’m needed, I keep my brothers in line, but Steel Mustang is my bread and butter.”

For the first time since we started down this line of conversation, I pulled in a deep breath, filling my lungs completely before letting it all out on a sigh.

Mustang watched me, his hazel-blue irises painting every inch of my face.

“Any of that change this?” he asked, motioning between us.

For a second, I thought about how I would feel if I got up, got dressed, and walked out of his door for good. Even after everything he’d told me, just the thought of that made me ache all over—and not in a good way.

We’d known each other for a matter of days , and we’d just discussed the circumstances under which he or one of his kind might kill someone—which would likely involve gun trafficking, or some shady protection run. Yet, as crazy as it sounded, it wasn’t altogether unbelievable. He was a Wild Stallion. I wasn’t under the impression they garnered their reputation around town by selling candy bars door to door.

What was more unfathomable was my desire to stay.

Except, that didn’t seem to fit my current circumstance, either.

We were in a relationship. Not twenty-four hours ago, I told him I had no plans of bailing on said relationship any time soon.

We hadn’t known each other long, but Mustang was the one constantly reminding me how we knew enough . We knew enough to want more. He knew enough to trust me with the truth, and I knew enough to be sure he wasn’t a monster. He was far more complicated than that.

I dropped the sheet I held around my chest and crawled toward him, until I was straddling his lap. I took his hands in mine, lacing our fingers together as I tried to think of the words to say.

“I won’t lie to you. I don’t know what to do with most of what you just said. And, honestly, seeing you this afternoon—how angry you were—it caught me off guard, and it scared me a little. But I’m not so na?ve as to think you didn’t have it in you. You’re a Stallion, not a Boy Scout.”

“Should go without sayin’, I’d never lay a hand on you, sugar.”

“I know, I know,” I insisted on a whisper.

I leaned toward him, touching my forehead to his as I let my eyes fall closed.

I pictured him, holding Mary-Kate against his chest, her temple pressed to his.

I remembered our first ride—me holding onto him as we sped down the highway on his Harley in the dark of night.

He was wild, but he wasn’t reckless, and he was mine if I wanted him.

And I still wanted him.

“I understand you are a man who will do whatever you have to in order to protect your brothers and your family. You said Stallions have always been in the business of protection and—babe?” I pulled way enough to see into his eyes. “I’ve never been with a man who’s made me feel safer.”

I meant that. In more ways than one.

“Fuck,” he muttered a second before he crushed his lips against mine.

He extracted one of his hands from my grip, then reached up and buried his fingers in my hair. I hummed into his mouth as he swept his tongue through mine, kissing me deep and greedy—the Mustang way.

He pulled back abruptly, my hair in his fist, and his lips still grazing mine when he said, “I’m gonna need you to put my dick in your mouth. Get me hard, baby, ‘cause I plan on fuckin’ you again as soon as I am.”

My lips spread into a smile and a thrill rushed up my spine.

That was my man.

I pressed a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth—then I did as I was told.

He fucked me again.

It was out of this world.

When he went to discard his condom, I was out like a light when he got back.