Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“You’ve aggravated your injuries,” Jack growls, his voice pure steel wrapped in velvet. “And I’m not helping any. Come on, baby. Let’s get you settled in your favorite chair, and I’ll grab your pain meds.”
“Come on , Jack,” I groan as he eases me down. “I thought we were about to take this to the bedroom. And I hate those pills. They make me all loopy. I’m a lightweight, remember?”
“When I fuck you, baby,” he growls, eyes burning into mine, “you’re going to need to be fully healed. I’m not going to be gentle with that pussy.”
I blink, mouth suddenly dry.
“And yeah, I know those pills knock you out. Which is exactly why you’re getting settled in that chair first, ” he finishes, voice leaving zero room for argument.
“But, Jack…”
“Who do you belong to?” he asks, eyebrow arched like a loaded weapon.
I sigh. “You.”
“And who is in charge of your safety?”
“You,” I mutter, like I’m reciting lines from a very bossy romance novel.
“Then do as I say so I can make sure you stay safe.”
“Fine,” I sigh. “Am I going to have to wear a black vest like Riley’s that says Property of Spike on it?”
“No,” he says, fluffing a pillow on the chair like some grumpy biker nursemaid.
I exhale. “Thank the good Lord for that.”
He helps me ease down into the big comfy chair and I release an involuntary moan of relief. Partly from sitting, partly from not having to wear that black leather vest Riley always has on when she leaves the compound. Even Abby wears one. Hers says Iron Shadows.
“You’ll have one that says Property of Bones. ”
I blink. “Seriously?”
He gives me that look. The one that dares me to argue.
“Does it have to be black?” I ask carefully, knowing full well I’m about to push my luck.
“Everyone’s is black.”
“Does it have to be a vest?”
“It’s a cut,” he says flatly. “And yes. We all wear them. ”
“Yes, but I have very cute outfits that absolutely will not go with a leather cut.” I sit up a little straighter, warming to my argument.
“What if Abby makes me a custom belt that says Property of Bones on it, instead? Like… embroidered across a pink faux leather strap. You know I love a good dress belt. Ooh! Or a headband. That would be cute too. Tasteful danger. ”
He stares at me.
I grin.
“I do have a few outfits that could work with a cut,” I say, sweet as peach pie. “Just… not a black one. Pink would work. Maybe yellow. Black letters. Gotta have contrast, right? And smooth leather, not the rough-looking ones y’all wear. My delicate skin could never.”
Jack freezes.
“I fucking love you.”
No lead-in. No dramatic monologue. Just three…no, four, simple words dropped like a grenade in the middle of my chest.
Perfect.
I smile, heart skipping, and shake my head. “I’m not wearing a black leather vest, Bones. But… I really do love you, too.”
His eyes soften for just a breath before he’s all bossy biker again.
“Your cut can be whatever color you want, baby,” he says, already pulling out his phone.
“I’ll have Foster order you one now. Pink?
Yellow? Whatever. Talk to Abby. Ask her to make you belts, headbands, hats, sunglasses, hell, shoes if you want.
I don’t care. As long as every damn one says Property of Bones. Tell her to spare no cost.”
“I’ll pay for…”
His eyes snap up.
“Okay,” I say quickly.
“Good girl. And don’t call me Bones. I’m only ever Jack to you.”
I bite my lip to hide the grin threatening to take over my face. But I’m not done.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” he asks, already suspicious.
“Are you gonna wear a patch that says Property of Sunny? ” I ask sweetly. “I mean, seems fair.”
He gives me a look. The kind that would melt steel. “I’m not wearing a Property patch.”
“Why not?” I ask innocently. “You’re mine, right?”
He huffs a short laugh. “Yes, Sunny. I’m yours. But, I’m not wearing a Property patch because, baby, I’m a man. In a man’s world.”
I lean in, eyes wide and oh-so-blinking-adorable. “Exactly. And in this man’s world… I’m the only one who gets to own you.”
He stares at me for a long second… and then he smiles. Just a little.
“That pink cut better come with a damn matching leash,” he mutters. “Seems like it’s the only way to rein you in.”
“How about a bracelet instead?” I offer with a grin.
“I’ve got a better idea,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket.
“What could possibly be better than a bracelet?” I tease. “Bracelets are subtle. Chic. Plus, people wouldn’t dare look at your wrist without your permission.”
I giggle at my own joke, fully expecting him to roll his eyes or toss back something equally sarcastic.
He doesn’t.
Instead, Jack drops down on one knee.
Right there. No warning. Just boom. Knees to the floor, big strong hands wrapping around mine like they were made to hold them.
“A ring,” he says simply. “You’re right, Sunny. You do own me. Heart. Soul. Sanity. It’s all yours.”
My breath catches.
“I want you to claim me. Not with a patch. Not with a bracelet. With a ring. Mark your territory. Marry me.”
My world tilts.
The air disappears.
And all I can do is stare down at this terrifying, beautiful man who has skinned people alive and just asked me to be his wife like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Wow,” I whisper.
Because yeah. Wow.
“That’s not an answer, beautiful,” Jack says, smiling just enough to make one of those scars tug at the corner of his mouth.
God help me, even that is hot.
“No,” I blurt. His brow twitches. “I mean…yes! No, as in you’re right…it wasn’t an answer. But yes to the actual thing. I’ll marry you!”
He exhales, slow and deep like someone just released the pressure valve on his entire soul.
“Yeah?” he asks, voice low and full of something that cracks my heart wide open.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding so hard my ribs protest. “I’ll marry the scary man with the face scars and the pink leash obsession.”
His chuckle rumbles low in his chest as he stands, then leans down, pressing his forehead gently to mine.
“Good,” he murmurs, voice rough with emotion and satisfaction. “Because I already put the ring on your finger.”
What?
I blink. “How did you…?”
But then I look down.
And gasp.
Because sitting there on my finger, like it’s always belonged, is a ring. Not dainty. Not delicate. It’s bold. Strong. Gorgeous. Just like him.
A thick silver band etched with intricate patterns that almost look like flames wrapping around a deep, smoky stone that catches the light and throws it back like fire. Elegant but lethal.
So him.
So… us.
“You put a ring on me without me even noticing?” I whisper, staring at it like it might vanish.
He grins. “Slipped it on when I was helping you sit down. You were too busy complaining about your vest .”
I laugh, half in shock, half in awe. “That is so messed up… and kinda romantic.”
“Kinda?” he growls, teasing now.
“Okay, very romantic,” I say, eyes shining. “Sneaky, but romantic.”
He leans in, lips brushing against mine. “Foster is ordering your cuts as we speak.”
“Wait. How? You don’t even know my size. Actually, hold up… how did you know my ring size?”
“I stole one of your rings from your jewelry box,” he says without a hint of shame. “Took it with me to the jeweler last week.”
“You what ?”
“You didn’t even notice it was gone.”
Touché.
“And your clothes, baby?” he adds with a smirk. “You have enough hanging in that closet to clothe a small militia. Finding your size was the easiest part of this whole operation.”
I blink at him. “Okay… fair. But, uh…what color vest is Foster ordering?”
Jack’s grin turns devilish. “ All of them. ”
My mouth drops. “All of them?”
“All of them,” he growls. “Pink. White. Pastel lavender with sparkles, for all I care.
I told him to get every color the company owned or could get.
I want you wearing your cut no matter what dress you put on.
And none of those bulky, biker styles either.
I said make ‘em cute. Feminine. Something that looks like it belongs next to heels, not boots and a bandana.”
I stare at him.
“You had a whole fashion brief prepared for Foster?” I ask. “In those few seconds of texts you just sent?”
He shrugs. “My words were short but he knows what I mean. You’re my woman. And if my woman doesn’t want to compromise style for protection. She gets both.”
My jaw moves, but no sound comes out.
This man. This terrifying, scarred-up, emotionally-stunted man…
Just custom-ordered me an entire line of tactical couture.
“Okay,” I whisper, completely undone. “I’m never letting you go.”
He smirks. “Good. Because I wouldn’t let you if you tried.”
A beat of silence.
“Can I have a gun? Or one of your blades…Bedazzled?”
His brow twitches. “There’s a line, woman,” he growls.
I burst out laughing, the sound still shaky but real. “Just checking where it is.”