Chapter 29 #2
“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad the idiots before me fucked it up so bad. Made the bar real easy to step over.” I flash a grin, and she smacks my arm.
“Hey! I know exactly how I’m supposed to be treated, don’t you get cocky.”
“Oh, I know you do. I was only joking. What I’m really sayin’ is... their loss is my win. You’re here. With me.”
She goes quiet for a beat. “What is this, though, Sarge? What are we doing?”
Letting out a breath, I say, “It’s Gavin.”
“What?”
“My name. My real name, it’s Gavin.” I let out a laugh at how odd it feels to say. “Haven’t heard it in years, but... You don’t have to call me Sarge. I’ll leave that up to you. Just figured my woman oughta know who’s actually holding her.”
Her brows lift. “Gavin, huh.” She tests it, soft. “So where’d ‘Sarge’ come from?”
I huff a laugh through my nose. “Army. Picked it the week I enlisted. No rank yet, just a dumb kid dead-set on making Sergeant First Class someday. Guess I thought if I claimed the name, the stripes would follow. Manifestation or some shit.” I shrug. “Worked, eventually.”
“So, you did it then?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. One of the proudest days of my career... followed real damn quick by one of the worst.” I lift my left arm like that says everything.
Her fingers lift slowly and trace the ridged, shiny scars.
“I thought this was from a bike wreck,” she says, voice soft.
“Looks that way, don’t it? Nah. All of what you see here is the result of third and fourth-degree burns. All this swollen, loose skin? Grafts. They took it off my thigh.”
She glances down at our tangled legs.
“Looks decent now, but healing was a bitch. Months of skin stretching, pus, and pain that made me wanna chew through my tongue.”
She touches the arm as though it might break. “So... fire? What exactly happened?”
“Yeah. Fire.” I close my eyes for a second, smell the diesel again.
“Humvee rolled over an IED. Charge was big enough to flip us—ripped the fuel tank wide open. Diesel sprayed everywhere. Didn’t explode, not like gasoline would, but it flashed the second it hit hot metal.
My left side caught the worst of it. Uniform’s supposed to be flame-resistant.
.. turns out ‘resistant’ can only do so much when you’re soaked in fuel. Went up like a torch.”
I swallow. “My guys dragged me out while I was still burning. Beat the flames off with their bare hands. I owe them this arm. Probably owe them my life.”
She’s quiet a beat. “Can you... Use it like normal? Does it hurt?”
I drag in a breath. This is what I ‘ve feared since the day she lit up that damn bar, but I won’t lie to her.
“I can use it but not like before I got hurt. Grip’s gone to shit, thumb’s down to mostly bone and tendon now.
Palm’s dead numb, back of the hand can feel maybe thirty percent on a good day.
Still hurts, though, phantom shit, pain in places that can’t feel a damn thing.
” I shrug. “Gets worse when the cold rolls in. Winter’s gonna be a bitch. ”
Her cheeks go pink. “So earlier... when you had that hand on me...”
I grin, lean in, and bite her shoulder softly.
“Yeah, that was a bit of a gamble there.” I chuckle low.
“Had to sneak a look just to be sure I was on your nipple and not your damn ribcage or something. Once I knew I was good, I locked my hand in place. No way I was risking grabbing and pinching something that don’t wanna be pinched. ”
She presses her face into my chest. “For what it’s worth, no man has ever touched me the way you do. No one’s ever made me feel like this.” Her words come out muffled, soft against my skin.
Heat punches through me, deep and real. I’ve been waiting for the day she’d look at my scars, my fucked-up hand, and flinch.
She hasn’t.
Not once.
“I just hope you’re not acting,” she whispers. Those sad green eyes lift to mine, begging me to prove her fears wrong. “I’ve had enough liars pretending I’m something special.”
I cup the back of her head, thumb stroking her hair. I’m not here to hurt her. I’m here to fix what they broke, make her feel whole, make her feel seen, and keep her safe until my last breath. She’ll never have to wonder again.
“I know words only go so far, but I’m no actor, and I don’t have the time or energy to play mind games.” I drop a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. “All I need is the chance.”
She purses those pretty lips and looks up at me, playful fire in her eyes. “You never answered my question, Gavin.”
She’s right. I didn’t dodge it on purpose; the fact is, the answers have been carved into my goddamn soul already. “You’re my woman, Butterfly. Simple as that.”
“Your woman?” Her voice lifts, half-tease, half-challenge. “Do I get a say, or are we going full caveman? Ug bash woman over head, drag her back to clubhouse?”
I laugh, low and rough. “You own me just as I own you. It goes both ways, baby. But if you’ve got objections...”
“More like questions,” she corrects, smirking. “Definitely questions.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“What exactly do you all do? I mean, you can’t just sit around looking tough and riding bikes all day.” She props her head on her hand, elbow on the bed. “You’ve been with me two straight days. Don’t you have a job? Somewhere you clock in?”
Fair questions. I won’t sugar-coat the answers.
“The club owns a pawn shop, right in the middle of town. That’s our source of legit, taxable income. Pays the bills, feeds the families, keeps Uncle Sam happy.”
She stays quiet, patient.
“The rest,” I drop my voice, “comes from running drugs.”
She sucks in a breath as her eyes widen, body going rigid like she’s two seconds from bolting.
I lay my hand on her shoulder, steady, warm. “Not what you’re picturing, Butterfly. Pharmaceuticals. Medications that cost a fortune here. We bring them up from Mexico for those who’d die waiting on insurance or go broke trying to pay U.S. prices.”
Her eyes flick over my face, searching.
I keep my gaze locked on hers. She just started to trust me, even a small amount. No way I’m losing her over this.
“So... what,” she finally says, one brow arching. “You’re Robin Hood on a Harley?”
A rough laugh tears out of me. Wasn’t expecting that.
“Robin Hood stole,” I tell her, grinning, running my hand over her hair. “We buy fair and square south of the border. And green tights would cut off circulation to my balls, so, hard pass.”
She looks up, those big doe eyes clinging to the last shred of hope. “Okay, so it’s legal then?” Her voice coming out hopeful.
I drag a hand over my jaw. “The buying part is legal. Half the shit we need is over-the-counter down there. Anything stronger, we get from a doctor who’s willing to work with us.
” I meet her gaze, steady. “But bringing it back? No, Butterfly. Not the way we do it. Customs says ninety-day supply max on most prescription drugs. We move way more than that in one run. So, straight answer: no, it’s not legal. ”
The light in her eyes dies like someone flipped a switch. Her shoulders sag.
I lean in, voice low but firm. “Club used to run street drugs, Hannah—coke, meth, whatever paid. Now we move medicine. Real medicine. People who’d lose their houses or their kids because some pill costs two grand here—they get it for fifty bucks from us.
” Moving on my back, I look at the ceiling, “My brother and I, we grew up poor. My parents fought to get him his inhalers. I won’t let another kid go without like he did. ”
I turn my head toward her, waiting. This can only go one of two ways, and I don’t want to think of an ending without her.
She sighs, turns to me, and rests a hand on my chest. Her eyes lock onto mine. “I get it. I won’t pretend I like the idea that you could get in trouble, but I get it. Why you do what you do.”
My chest swells. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Rolling toward her, I take her mouth with mine. She knows now. All the ugly, all my truths, and she didn’t run.
“Next question,” she says. “What is that?” She points to the large flag hanging above my bed.
I don’t glance up because I already know the “that” she’s asking about. “Mm, that’s a Norse compass, it’s called Vegvísir. It’s a symbol of guidance and protection.”
A knock slams into the silence. “Bitch, you alive in there? Or did you die from the most blissful orgasm of your life?”
So much for keeping her all to myself, but I’m grateful for the time that we did get. Hannah buries her face into my chest, laughing through her embarrassment.
“It was touch and go there for a moment, but she’s alive and well,” I call back through the closed door.
Hannah swats at my chest, and I give her a shocked look like I don’t know what I did and plant a kiss on the tip of her nose.