Chapter 21 #3
“Everybody’s staring,” she mutters quietly.
“Let them.”
Kiwi whistles low from somewhere near the bar. “Damn, mate. You move fast.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I grump.
Nova raises his whiskey glass slightly. “You’re one of us now, brother.”
Ruby hides her face briefly against my shoulder, embarrassed. I keep moving upstairs while Ruby huffs softly in irritation against my chest. “You can put me down now.”
“No.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re also hardheaded.”
“Yeah.”
She tips her head back enough to look at me finally. “You agree with everything?”
I glance down at her while climbing the stairs. “Only when you’re right.” That earns me the tiniest breath of laughter—soft, pretty, and dangerous to my damn sanity.
By the time we reach my room, the clubhouse noise is muted. I carry her inside and shut the door behind us with my boot before setting her carefully onto the edge of the bed.
Ruby sighs sharply, frustrated. “You hovering every second isn’t gonna magically fix me or anything else for that matter.”
“No,” I agree calmly. “But it’ll stop me from losin’ my shit.”
That shuts her up. Her eyes lift slowly to mine, and the room goes quieter somehow, heavy and charged, because I don’t think either one of us expected honesty to start slipping this easily between us.
A brief, solid knock lands against the door, followed by Everest’s voice muffled through the wood. “Church.” The word drops into the room like a cold reminder.
I keep my eyes on Ruby. “Need one of the women to sit with you while I’m gone?”
Ruby lets out a soft breath and glances around the room, all of it quieter than the chaos downstairs. “No,” she says, voice small with exhaustion. “I think I just need a little time to myself, if that’s okay.”
I look down at her for a second longer than I mean to, trying to make peace with walking away while she’s still bruised and worn thin. “I get it, babe,” I murmur. “Get settled. I’ll be back soon.” I leave her sitting there and head downstairs.
The church room feels heavy tonight, smelling of whiskey, smoke, leather, sweat, and old wood polished by years of elbows and fists pounding against it during business. Riggs takes the head of the table while the rest of us settle in around him.
Riggs lays everything out piece by piece. Nobody interrupts much. When they do, it matters.
“School hit changes things,” Wick mutters darkly.
“Means they’re either desperate or stupid,” Fender says.
“Or both,” Kiwi adds.
Riggs nods once. “Either way, they targeted family.” The room goes dead quiet at that, because there isn’t anything the Kings respond to faster than threats against family.
Church runs another hour before assignments start getting handed out. Nobody is talking retaliation yet. Not until the Kings know exactly where to strike. That’s how we survive. Calculated violence always lands harder than reckless rage.
Before anybody stands, Riggs plants both hands on the table and lets his eyes move around the room.
“For the next few days, everybody stays hunkered down here unless I say different,” he says, voice rough and final.
“No solo runs… no women leavin’ without an escort.
Doors stay watched. Property stays locked.
” A few heads nod. Nobody argues, because nobody is stupid enough to mistake this for caution when it’s really war settling in.
Then Riggs’ eyes settle on me. “One more thing…” The room stills. “You claimin’ Ruby as your woman?” No warning, no soft way into it, just the truth laid out in the middle of the table for everybody to hear.
Every second sitting there while she’s alone in my room has already been eating through me, so I don’t hesitate. “She’s mine.” The words come out low and hard.
For half a beat, nobody says a damn thing. Then fists start thudding against the table—once, twice, a few solid knocks rolling around the room like approval you feel more than hear. Not loud or showy, just brothers marking something that matters. Something real.
Riggs gives one short nod, then he pushes back from the table and looks around the room one last time. “That’s it. Lock it down and get some sleep where you can. We move smart till I say otherwise.”
Chairs scrape back. Boots thud against old wood.
The brothers peel off in pairs and singles, low voices rolling through the room while I stand there for half a second longer with my pulse still beating hard from saying she’s mine out loud.
Then I turn and head for the stairs, drawn upstairs by the same thing that’s been pulling at me all night.
Ruby. By the time I reach the hallway outside my room, the clubhouse noise has dulled to a low hum under my boots, and all I can think about is getting back to her.
I ease the door open and step back into my room, shutting out the last of the clubhouse noise behind me. The quiet hits different in here. For a second, I stand there, letting my eyes adjust to the low amber light and letting the truth of it settle in my chest.
She’s here.
In my room.
In my space.
Ruby is standing in front of the bathroom mirror, one hand braced lightly against the counter, staring at her reflection like she doesn’t quite recognize the woman looking back.
Steam still clings to the edges of the glass from where the hot water has been running, blurring the bruises just enough to make them look unreal, except I know exactly how real they are.
The cut on her lip. The shadows under her eyes.
The way exhaustion pulls at her shoulders now that the chaos has finally gone quiet enough for her body to feel every last hit.
I cross the room slower than I mean to and lean against the doorframe, watching her for a beat, hating that somebody put that look on her face and hating even more that that part of her still seems braced for the next blow.
“Want to wash the hospital off you?” I ask quietly.
My voice comes out rough, scraped raw by anger, adrenaline, and the slow crash after both.
“Yeah,” she whispers finally. She winces when her ribs protest at her movement, and a sharp breath leaves her mouth.
I react, hands settling carefully at her waist. Ruby looks up at me.
Every damn time we get this close, it feels like standing too near lightning.
Like one wrong move, and everything inside me is going to ignite.
Silence settles while steam thickens around us. The mirror fogs over completely. Heat wraps around the room until breathing feels heavier somehow.
Then her fingers move slowly toward the hoodie’s hem before hesitating.
I see the uncertainty there.
Not because she’s being shy.
Because she is hurting.
I step closer. “I got you, babe.”
Her breathing catches slightly, and her eyes flick to mine. “Catcher…”
“I’m helping you.” The words come out rougher than intended. Not forceful. Just… certain. Because taking care of her feels instinctive now.
Like breathing.
Ruby studies me for a long second before finally nodding once.
I carefully ease the hoodie over her head, so it doesn’t tug at her bruised ribs or injured wrist. The second I see the marks beneath her skin, my jaw tightens. Anger flashes hot inside me. Violent enough that my fingers almost curl automatically.
I force it all down.
Right now, this woman needs softness.
Not rage.
I kneel in front of her and help her step out of the sweatpants before carefully guiding her panties down her hips and thighs, slowly and gently so nothing pulls where she’s already hurting.
I stand and help her step into the shower, then I peel off my clothes and toss them into a pile on the floor.
Ruby’s eyes flick lower for half a second before she catches herself. That tiny reaction punches heat low into my gut despite everything.
Because I’m painfully aware of her too.
Every breath she takes.
Every inch of her skin.
I notice how her body reacts, even when she tries to hide it.
But this is about taking care of her and the fact that she is allowing me to do so.
I step into the shower behind her, steam curling thick around both of us while hot water drums against the tile and our skin.
Ruby steps beneath the spray of water, and my hands slide carefully over her shoulders. I reach for the shampoo first, working it slowly between my palms before carefully washing her hair, fingers massaging lightly against her scalp while avoiding the tender knot near the back of her head.
A soft sound slips out of her before she can catch it. I feel the way her body eases beneath my hands, the tension finally loosening from her shoulders as her breathing turns slower, steadier. And for one fragile second, it feels like she’s trusting me to carry some of the weight for her.
Ruby leans back into my chest. My hands pick up the soap and move lower after rinsing her hair, gliding over bruised shoulders and down her arms with slow, deliberate care. I wash every inch of her as if she were something precious.
Because she is, even if I still don’t fully know what to do with that realization.
Without speaking, I turn her to face me.
Ruby watches me through lowered lashes once my hands drift along her waist. Her lips part slightly, and her breathing changes.
Ruby allowing me to care for her is somehow more dangerous than losing control ever would’ve been. The moment feels more intimate than sex somehow.
My hand slides carefully over her stomach, over our baby, and something inside me cracks open all over again.
Mine.
Ours.
My forehead rests briefly against hers, and I close my eyes for a second longer than I should.
Ruby’s fingers slide into my hair slowly.
Not rushed.
Not needy.
Just touching me as if she can’t help herself.
And I’ll be damned if standing here with her naked beneath my hands while carrying my child doesn’t feel dangerously close to getting handed something I stopped believing I deserved a long damn time ago.
Something good.
Something permanent.
And that kind of hope is terrifying as hell.