Wild Devotion (Wild Heart Mountain: Wild Rider’s MC #13)

1. Luke

1

LUKE

A slow burn courses through the pectoral muscles in my chest as I pull the bar towards me. The strain is almost too much, and I grunt as my muscles fatigue and threaten to give up.

“Come on, Luke, one more.” Arlo hovers over the bench with his hands under the bar, ready to catch the weights if my muscles give up.

But I’m not giving up. I push through the strain and raise the bar one last time, letting out a grunt as every muscle in my upper body screams.

“Nice one.” Arlo grabs the bar and helps me hook it back into place.

I lie on the bench panting as my muscles ease back to their normal state. I’ll be sore tomorrow, but a good sore. The kind that means I’m getting stronger.

Arlo chucks my gym towel at me and offers a hand. I grip his hand, and he pulls me up to a sitting position. My useless limbs stick out under my gym shorts. But with just the two of us here, I don’t bother to hide the stumps where my legs used to be.

Arlo checks his phone for the hundredth time since we started the workout.

“Still no word from Maggie?” I ask.

“Not since she picked Isla up at the station.” He runs a hand over his beard and a frown line creases his brow.

He glances out the one grimy window of the basement gym. It’s up high and shows the snow-covered parking lot.

“I should have gone with her,” he says for about the hundredth time.

It’s no use telling him what he already knows, that Maggie snuck out of the kitchen without telling Arlo because she wanted to go alone. Without knowing the situation of the woman she was meeting, I’m guessing she didn’t want her big hairy biker husband scaring her off.

“Maybe they needed to get supplies for the baby. They might have gone shopping in Hope.”

Arlo grunts but doesn’t seem convinced. “We’ve got plenty of baby stuff here. The damn club’s turning into a nursery.”

He’s not wrong. Since I joined the MC as a prospect two years ago, I’ve been to six weddings, I’ve lost count of the number of babies born, and at least two of the old ladies are pregnant right now.

There’s a pang in my chest so strong that I close my eyes.

Marriage and babies, a family. My young self never thought of those things when I signed up for the military at eighteen. Having a family was the last thing on my mind. I wanted adventure and to follow family tradition. My dad served and my grandad served. Joining the army was all I ever wanted to do.

Now at twenty-seven, I sense the loss of all the things I’ll never have.

The pang of loss goes through my body, and a violent itch makes my missing left leg twitch. The stump thumps against the bench and I grit my teeth, waiting for the phantom itch to dissipate.

Arlo notes my discomfort, but he knows better than to say anything. The last thing I want is pity from the men.

“Do we know the woman’s situation?” I ask, trying to distract my brain from the itch that isn’t there.

“She left her fiancé.” Arlo paces to the window and back, frowning at the snow falling against the windowpane.

It must be a shitty situation for a woman to take her baby and leave her fiancé on Christmas Eve. We’ve got a woman’s refuge in the mountains that Lone Star’s old lady set up. It saddens me how much it’s needed.

“Maggie was at culinary school with Isla’s brother. I’ve met him a few times. He does the competition circuit as well.” Arlo’s referring to the pastry competitions Maggie loves taking part in.

“Can’t the brother take her in?”

Arlo shakes his head. “He’s away in Europe and his wife is having complications with her pregnancy, so she can’t fly and he doesn’t want to leave her. He gave Isla Maggie’s number.”

Arlo glances out the snow-covered window again. “They should be back by now.”

What he needs is a distraction until Maggie gets back safely.

“Your turn.” My wheelchair is parked next to the bench, and I pull it towards me. I slide into the chair and wheel around behind the bench, ready to spot Arlo.

We’re working out in the basement gym at the Wild Riders MC headquarters. Even though it’s Christmas Eve, I don’t miss a workout. My legs might be useless, but my upper body, core, and arms are strong.

Arlo does three sets and Maggie still isn’t back. He paces the gym while I haul myself back onto the bench and get ready for sit-ups.

Arlo hovers, but he knows better than to hold my limbs down. I hate anyone touching my stumps, but when I first started working out, my body had gotten soft from no use. I avoided core exercises until I finally gave in and let Arlo strap my stumps down while I curled up to a sitting position.

Now my core is strong, but I still need straps to counterbalance the weight. I secure them loosely around my upper thighs.

We’ve been working out for an hour, and despite the snow outside, sweat runs over my body.

I pull my t-shirt off and place it behind my head. My goal is to get to 100 sit-ups by the end of the year, and I’m eight days away .

I get into a steady rhythm, breathing in on the up and out on the back down. Sweat glistens on my stomach, and I focus on the rhythm of my breathing as I count up in my head.

Without my lower legs to counterbalance, my abs and upper legs are working extra hard. When I started working out two years ago, I could barely do five assisted sit-ups.

My physical therapist told me getting to ten unassisted would be good. I’m not looking for good. My lower body might be missing, but my torso and arms can be strong.

The sensation of my muscles straining spurs me on as I hit the halfway mark.

I’m in the zone now, my muscles working extra hard to pull myself up. I pass sixty, then seventy, then eighty.

Every muscle in my stomach, back, and upper legs screams and sweat flies off my forehead, but I remain laser focused on pulling myself up one sit-up at a time.

I reach ninety and my body shudders. I’m vaguely aware of Arlo moving across the room and voices at the door.

But I remain focused on pushing past ninety. My body strains and my muscles burn. I cry out with every sit-up.

Shapes move in my peripheral vision, and a baby wails.

I’m at ninety-five, and my lungs are it fit to burst. My body gives out and my abdominals freeze up. The next time I come down, my body refuses to get back up .

I lie back on the bench, breathing hard. Ninety-five. That’s five more than last time, but still not the hundred sit-ups I promised myself I’d get to by the end of the year.

As I lie panting on my back, the rest of the basement comes back into focus. Maggie’s voice reaches my ears, along with the sound of a baby crying.

My abs are protesting, but I grip the side of the bench and pull myself up one last time. I’m panting hard as I sit up on the bench. My chest heaves up and down, and my hair sticks to my forehead.

I’m a sweaty mess with no shirt on and my stumps sticking out of my gym shorts. But it’s only Maggie and she’s practically family. But it’s not only Maggie.

Learning on the doorframe with a baby clutched to her chest is the prettiest woman I’m ever seen. Her dark hair falls over her face as she comforts the child with shushing noises. She jiggles it up and down, making her entire curvy body move in a way that shouldn’t be sexy. But it is.

My dick stirs to life, which is a surprise. I’ve not felt that for a real live woman since the accident.

My heart, already hammering in my chest, picks up a notch and threatens to burst right out of my rib cage.

Arlo’s saying something, but I don’t hear what it is. All my focus is on the goddess in front of me.

“The refuge is full, so Isla will be staying at the club,” Arlo says.

My thoughts are all jumbled up and I open my mouth to speak, but the only sound that comes out is a gargled, “Aha.”

The woman glances up and our eyes lock. She has dark circles under hers, and they appear haunted. If some fucker has harmed her, I’ll track him down and, missing limbs or not, I’ll fucking hurt him.

Her gaze rakes over my chest, and her eyes widen when she gets to the six-pack of my abs. My dick stirs again, and a sensation long forgotten flutters through my veins.

Attraction.

This is what it’s like to be mutually attracted to someone. I puff out my chest, aware of my well-defined muscles, especially with the badass tattoo that curves around my bulging biceps.

Then her eyes track further down my body.

Panic grips my insides, and I flick my gym towel over my stumps. I look away before her gaze gets to my useless stumps sticking out of my gym shorts. Before she realizes that I’m only half a man.

I can’t handle seeing the pity in this woman’s eyes. For a moment I forgot. For a moment, I was just a hard-muscled man enjoying the appreciative gaze of a pretty woman.

Pressing my knuckles into the bench, I breathe deeply, not looking up until Arlo and Maggie and the girl holding the baby have left.

Their voices fade as they head down the corridor and to the stairs, not giving it a second thought as they climb the stairs with their working limbs .

I wait for a long time until my breathing has calmed, and the sweat has turned icy on my body. Only then do I haul myself into my wheelchair and maneuver around the gym equipment, squeeze through the door, and wheel down the corridor that’s so tight my elbows bump the walls as I roll by until I get to the elevator.