5. Gray
GRAY
Kane calls church at eight Sunday morning.
I leave Ruby eating breakfast with Tessa in the protected room. Meg is awake in her room across from mine, but her door remains closed. The clinic gave her painkillers that made her sleep, and I’ve checked the corridor twice without knocking.
The church table holds a map of the old river road, Bishop’s number and photographs Cash pulled from a fuel-stop camera.
One shows the dark truck that passed my house.
The cracked left taillight is clear. Another catches Bishop on a Perdition bike three miles north of Ransom. Kane stands at the head of the table.
“They want the route,” he says. “We give them the route.”
Flat morning light comes through the high windows. Every patched man is in the room except Tank, who covers the north road with two brothers. Griz studies the map. “We ready for Cyrus’s answer after we take his cargo?”
“Yeah,” Kane says.
Griz nods. “Then put me at the bridge.” No argument after the answer. He asks about the cost, hears Kane’s answer and takes his place.
Chains leans back. “Old agreement kept Perdition on our side.” One quiet sentence.
Kane looks at him. “Old agreement gave another club a road through our territory. You want Cyrus deciding what crosses Ransom?”
Chains’s jaw shifts. “No.”
“Then we’re done.”
He gives one restrained nod. Griz glances toward him before returning to the map. Kane puts a phone in the middle of the table. “Call Bishop, give him what he wants.”
I dial, put it on speaker, and Bishop answers after three rings. “Gray.”
“Your boys made the point.”
Silence sharpens down the line.
“What point is that?”
“My house is wrecked. The people in it are behind Kingdom Come gates. I want this finished.”
“You should have said yes the first time.”
“Monday. Ten at the old landing. North watch changes at nine forty. I can hold the road open twenty minutes.”
Bishop waits long enough to pretend he’s considering it, but he already believes. Men rarely question an answer shaped exactly like their expectation.
“No Kane,” he says. “One truck. We pass and this is over.”
“Bring the two men who came to my house.”
Judge’s eyes lift. Bishop asks, “Why?”
“I want to see their faces before I decide this is done.”
“They’ll be there.”
“Ten.”
I end the call. Kane takes his phone from his pocket. “Cash, confirm who owns every vehicle Bishop has used. Judge, rotate the gate watch. Make it visible.” He looks at me last.
“You stand at the landing alone. Bishop needs to see what he bought.”
“Okay.”
“You follow my word when we close.”
The correction from last night sits between us. He’s trusting me at the center of the trap after I failed to trust him with the approach.
“I will.”
Kane holds my gaze, then nods.
Church ends.
Cash brings Meg’s car through the gates near noon.
He parks beside the clubhouse and removes a small duffel, her laptop bag and a canvas tote packed with school folders.
“Got what she asked for,” he says. “Tank checked the rental first. Nothing touched.”
Meg comes out of the clubhouse wearing jeans, a soft white shirt and the bruise Perdition put across her face. The sight still strips every useful thought from me. She checks the duffel, then the laptop.
“Anything missing?” Cash asks.
“No. Thank you.”
He nods toward the school tote. “Teacher work during a lockdown. That’s grim.”
“Orientation is in nine days. Perdition doesn’t get to ruin that too.”
Cash looks at me. “She’s scarier than Tank.”
“Always has been.”
Meg gives me a look, but her mouth softens.
“Need anything else from the rental?” I ask.
“No. I’m all good for now, thanks.”
Cash takes the hint and heads toward the clubhouse. Brothers move through the common room beyond the open door. Judge is on the phone near the bar. Colt and Wilder check the gate schedule. Nobody pretends not to see us. I touch the uninjured side of Meg’s face and kiss her.
Carefully at first, until she grips my shirt and opens her mouth, turning careful into a promise.
I keep one hand at her waist and the other away from the sore shoulder.
When I lift my head, the common room is quieter.
Judge looks at the ceiling. Cash has found something fascinating behind the bar.
But Tank is still on the north road, and he’s going to hear about this. I’ve already decided it’s inevitable.
“That was subtle,” Meg says.
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
Her eyes warm. I take her bag to the guest room with my hand at her back.
The compound holds its breath through Sunday.
Perdition does nothing. That’s part of the pressure.
Cash confirms the truck carries false plates.
Chains goes with Judge to the south approach and follows every instruction without comment.
Tank returns after dark. He checks Meg’s injuries, listens while she tells him she’s sore but steady and doesn’t ask why every brother suddenly knows she’s with me.
Maybe nobody had the nerve to tell him before the run.
Maybe he sees my attention and puts it down to the attack.
Either way, the borrowed time ends soon.
At ten, Tessa takes responsibility for Ruby in the room near the common area until she’s in bed. Meg and I each go behind our separate doors. I shower. Check my gun. Lay my cut across the chair and then I sit on the edge of the bed and listen to forty feet of silence.
Her knock comes just after eleven, and I open the door. Meg stands in the corridor wearing a dark blue shirt and loose sleep shorts. Her hair is down, and the bruise on her cheek has deepened.
“You should be sleeping.”
“I tried.”
“Meg, you shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m not here because I’m scared.” She steps across the threshold. “I wanted to be with you.”
I close the door, and the lock clicks. Meg slides her hands beneath my shirt and pushes me backward.
There’s no argument to hide behind tonight.
No workbench, no anger and no restraint snapping without warning.
She walks me toward the bed while her palms travel over my ribs.
I catch her wrists gently. “Your side, though?”
“Sore, not broken. My shoulder is fine if you don’t put weight on it.”
“Your mouth?”
“Works perfectly fine.”
She proves it. The kiss is slow and deep. I touch only unmarked skin, one hand at her waist and the other beneath her hair. Meg sets the pace. She opens my jeans, slides her palm inside and strokes me until my restraint starts to pull tight. I reach for her, but she says, “Not yet,” and I go still.
Meg pushes my shirt over my head. Her fingers move across my chest, following old scars and ink without turning either into questions. She kisses the center of my chest, then lower, her tongue touching the line of hair beneath my navel.
“Sit down.”
I sit on the narrow bed built for a patched man who once slept at the compound between runs. Meg stands between my knees and removes her shirt. She wears no bra, and my hands close around the edge of the mattress. She watches the reaction. “You manage every room you enter.”
“Not this one.”
“Learning.”
Meg cups one breast and draws her thumb over the nipple while I watch. My cock goes painfully hard beneath her hand.
“You enjoy this.”
“Very much.”
She lowers her shorts and underwear together.
The room gives me warm skin, copper hair and the woman I’ve wanted showing me exactly how she wants to be seen.
I reach for her hips, and this time she lets me.
I draw her close and press my mouth to her stomach.
Her fingers slide into my hair, not directing.
Holding. I kiss lower, along her hip and the inside of one thigh. Meg’s breath changes.
“Lie down,” I say.
“You were doing so well.”
“Request.”
She smiles and settles on her back, careful of her shoulder.
I kneel between her knees and take my time.
The first stroke of my tongue makes her fingers catch in the sheet.
I hold her thighs open without force and taste her slowly, learning what changes when urgency doesn’t drive us.
Meg rolls her hips toward my mouth. I circle her clit, then drag my tongue lower and push it inside.
“Gray.”
My name leaves her softer than it did in the garage. I do it again. Her body opens beneath me. I slide two fingers deep and curl them while my tongue returns to the place that makes her thighs tremble. Meg grips my forearm. “Come up here.”
“Not finished.”
“Neither am I.”
I kiss my way over her body, careful around the bruised side.
When I reach her breasts, I take one nipple into my mouth and feel her arch.
She opens my jeans the rest of the way, pushes them down and straddles my thighs.
Her hair falls around us as she leans down and kisses me.
I hold her waist loosely and let her set everything.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“You receiving something without checking every exit.”
“Door is locked.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
She rises and guides me against her, and I keep my eyes on hers as she lowers slowly. Heat closes around the head of my cock. Meg takes another inch, pauses to breathe, then continues until she’s seated deep on me. Her body tightens. “Good?” I ask.
“Very.”
She rolls her hips. Pleasure drags through me, slower and sharper than the garage.
I grip her thighs, careful to avoid the sore side while she finds a rhythm.
Meg rides me without rushing. Every lift exposes the wet length of me before she sinks back down.
Her breasts move above me, and the sight nearly ends the patience she demanded.
I catch one nipple between my fingers. Her pace breaks for half a second.
“Again,” she says.
I roll it gently, then harder. Meg leans forward, palms braced on either side of my head, and kisses me while her hips keep moving.
“I want you,” she says against my mouth.
“You have me.”
“Not as Ruby’s father.”
“No.”
“Not as Tank’s brother.”
“No.”
“You.”