Chapter 3
Vector
I never knew anything about this man’s wife, let alone that she died sometime after he completed the work out here, all those years ago.
As selfish and closed-mouth as Jigsaw could be, I occasionally hear stories like this and they gut me every time. What a fucking thoughtful thing to do for a guy who already got paid handsomely for the work he was hired for.
I point out the door to the house, hoping that Paul will pick up talking about the project since Sloane’s demeanor has changed at the mention of funeral flowers.
Opening it, they stay in the doorway so she can study the craftsmanship and I walk ahead, grabbing a few beers from the fridge. I momentarily consider getting something stronger, but this family party might well turn into one for the big kids later on, so there’s no point getting buzzed now.
She only seems to be half listening to him as they make the rounds on the first floor, and even though I used this as a ploy to get Sloane out here today, I find myself drawn into and enjoying the old guy’s memories.
“Bridget has taken over the second floor,” I tell them after they’ve covered the fireplace, kitchen, the master bedroom that’s sitting empty in case I ever want it, and the banister. “I wouldn’t feel right invading her space without her permission.”
“Of course not!” Sloane eagerly agrees, turning when she notices her grandfather has stopped moving and has an odd look on his face as he studies the mantel.
She’s been quiet as a church mouse so far today, but that woman doesn’t miss anything and in hopes of distracting her, I place a hand low on her back when I collect her empty bottle and continue on to grab fresh beers for each of us.
Shortly after that, we’re heading out the door when Sloane looks back over her shoulder at the mantel again, her eyes widening and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what caught her attention, just as she trips over the threshold.
“Shit!” she yells, and narrowly avoids knocking her grandfather over.
Catching herself on the porch with one hand and her knees, she looks pleased that she managed to save her beer but lets out a groan when she tries to stand up. We simultaneously notice her bloody knee and both of us step forward to help her, each trying to pull her in a different direction.
“Paul, I got her,” I growl out the words harsher than I intend to, then bend just enough to pick her up bridal style and bring her back inside.
Deciding that it’ll be easier to rinse her knee off in the kitchen sink, I head back there and carefully place her on the counter next to it.
“Cinderella?” I tease, reaching down to pull off her sandals. Or I try, but I can’t figure out the damn laces.
“There’s a zipper in the back,” she tells me as blood continues to flow down her leg. “I’m making a mess. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about that,” I assure her, sliding her shoe off and turning her so her leg stretches across the large double sink.
I use the sprayer to gently rinse the wound and let out a low whistle when I see a thin flap of skin about the size of a quarter. I’m about to go and round up one of our medics, when she reaches for it and tears it the rest of the way off.
“Fuck!” I scream, looking up at her in shock.
Sloane looks every bit as surprised as I am. She’s biting her bottom lip and sucking air through her teeth as her wide eyes meet mine. I swear, the dark blue shade I noticed the other day is currently a few shades lighter than normal.
“Shit. Shit. Shit. That hurts,” she practically sings out.
Maybe it’s not the smartest move, but I grab a clean dishtowel from a drawer and press it against the wound.
“Move aside,” Paul demands, his arms full of various first aid supplies. “I dug through your bathroom and found all this.”
Considering I’ve never used the bedroom or bathroom he’s referencing, I grab the bottle of peroxide to check the date on it. Unfortunately, that’s been worn off but since it’s all we have, I yank the towel away to pour it over the wound.
Sloane opens her mouth like she’s screaming but no sound comes out. Slapping her hands outward, she catches me good on my shoulder and I find myself grinning for some unknown reason.
“That fucking hurt,” she groans out when I grab her wrist after the third smack lands.
“You seem like you could take it,” I respond, shrugging it off like I would with one of my brothers. Thankful for the fire I see in her eyes, I grin as I give into the draw of her pouty lips.
“That’ll leave a mark, but you should live,” Paul weighs in, wedging himself in between us under the guise of getting a better look at the wound. “I’d be happier if I had some antiseptic to put on it before we bandage it, but I couldn’t find any.”
“There are a dozen kids running around over by the clubhouse,” I say, taking a step back as Sloane uses the towel to clean off her leg. Looking down at my bloody clothes, I wish I had stuck with my traditional black today. “I’m willing to bet that each one of their mom’s has a tube of Neosporin with them.”
Paul chuckles, nodding his head in response. “Well, Sloane, it was a good thing you made Vector drive us over here.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh, but I’m smart enough not to make a sound. Sloane’s mouth draws into a hard line when she realizes she can’t respond to that comment without wounding her grandfather, but that doesn’t stop her from giving him the darkest side-eye I’ve ever seen.
“Come on, we’ll head back so you can admire the bar your granddad built, we’ll find you something for your knee, and I’ll change into something that won’t terrify the children,” I say, scooping up her sandal before reaching for her.
Sloane lets out a squawk as I’m reaching for her, but I don’t give her the chance to stop me from carrying her back to the ATV.
“Look at me, carrying a woman over a threshold,” I murmur, enjoying how red she turns when she gets flustered.
“Does this mean we’re married?” she cracks, fluttering her eyelashes at me.
I let out a bark of laughter but keep my opinions on the subject of marriage to myself since her grandfather is hot on my heels.
*
Entering the clubhouse, I catch Oak’s eyes and he quickly clears out a space at the bar for me to deposit my load.
“Men, this is Sloane, can someone rustle up something to put on her knee?” I introduce her and make my request as quickly as possible, my words tripping over themselves before any of them say something to get me in trouble. “And this is her grandfather, Paul Folly. I’ll have you know, he built this bar.”
Swann is the only one to turn and walk away from us, while the others exchange smirks and chuckles when they see where she’s injured. Thankfully, Tyrant’s elsewhere because he’d have zero issue turning her banged up knee into something X-rated in front of her granddad.
I order us a round of whiskey, ignoring the feel of my bloody shirt sticking to my skin as I wait to see to her wound; Oak seamlessly gets Paul chatting away, and in a few moments, Swann’s reappearance has Sloane giggling.
The man’s got a couple of inches and the bulk of someone who spends a lot of time working out, but looks completely natural as he holds his four-year-old daughter in position to look like she’s flying toward us, a small tube is grasped in her outstretched hand as the crowd parts to let Evon deliver the antiseptic cream.
“Here she comes to save the day!” Sloane croons, getting a grateful smile from Swann.
“I wanna be a doctor,” Evon announces when her dad swings her to a stop in front of us, easily balancing her butt on his forearm. “And a superhero.”
“I think most doctors are superheroes,” Sloane immediately responds, reaching for the tube just as the child’s arm bends, putting it on a trajectory with her mouth.
“I hurt my elbow,” Evon loudly states, holding up first one and then the other before finding and showing off the fading mark. Next, she leans toward Sloane and me, dropping her voice before she continues. “I cried. Did you cry? Daddy says it’s okay to cry because it helped me feel better. Then he gave me a popsicle. Did you get a popsicle?”
“No, I did not get a popsicle!” Sloane’s exaggerated frown in my direction lets the child know exactly who is responsible for that slight.
“No, but you got whiskey,” I remind Sloane, picking up the glass from beside her and wrapping her hand around it.
The disappointed look Evon shoots at me is followed by a grin at Sloane, before she gives her dad the biggest doe eyes I’ve ever seen. “Daddy, don’t you think her knee would feel better if we both got popsicles?”
“We haven’t even met yet,” Sloane says, bopping her on her nose with a fingertip. “And I think you’re going to be the best Superhero Doctor, ever!”
Swann and I try to keep a straight face as we exchange a look. Next, he juts his chin out at Oak, who’s standing on the other side of Sloane from me and our brother once again shifts over, leaving space for Swann to deposit his daughter on the bar.
“A red one for me, Daddy,” Evon calls out when he leaves a second time in search of the required medicine .
Sloane
After introducing myself to the little general beside me, I hold my hand out and she looks at it in question. Not sure that anyone’s taught her to introduce herself, I gently lead the way with a quick shake of her hand as I tell her my name and ask hers.
“Miss Evon, Vector has to put the cream on my knee now and I’m worried it’ll hurt,” I tell her. “Can I hold your hand, so I’ll be brave?”
She solemnly nods her head, and we keep up a steady stream of chatter as Vector continues to tend to my wound. In no time, my knee is wrapped up and her dad has dutifully returned with a popsicle for each of us. Vector no sooner introduces Swann to me, than Evon decides she wants to rejoin her friends. Their departure leaves the two of us on our own as Pops has moved across the room to talk to some others and the other men have moved further down the bar.
“Come on with me,” Vector says, lifting me down from my perch. “Can you walk alright?”
After testing my weight on it, I nod my head and he reaches back for both of our whiskey glasses before leading me to a hallway.
“Where are we going?” I ask, taking in the photos and posters on the walls until we pass a staircase, and he hands me my glass before reaching into his pocket and producing a fob that he swipes against what looks like a small imperfection in the woodwork that lines one side of the hall. With a small click, I nearly gasp with the realization that a door was seamlessly blended into the surrounding woodwork.
“Sorry to say, this wasn’t your granddad’s doing. I added that in after I took over,” he confesses with a grin.
Pushing the door in, he ushers me into a large room. An oversized chair and ottoman are on one side, facing two large, flat screen TVs, while the other side is dominated by a king-sized bed.
There’s a small kitchenette along the wall we’ve just entered through, with another door just beyond it. Two area rugs, a couple of dressers, and framed photos give the space a cozy feel and I smile, guessing his sister handled that for him.
Hearing the door close behind me, I turn to face him when I’m struck by the sudden silence.
Looking at him in surprise, he gives me a wolfish grin and a shrug. “Tyrant and Roman got into a fight a couple of years ago and bounced down the stairs. Other than when I open a window, that’s the only thing I’ve ever heard from in here.”
“What if something major were to happen out there?” I ask him, wondering if this wouldn’t be a little dangerous for him.
He grabs a remote control, and one of the screens lights up with over a dozen different camera angles. With my attention momentarily focused there, I accidently suck on my popsicle a little too hard when I hear him groan and turn back to him.
Vector’s standing in the same spot, his cut on a hook behind him, his bloody shirt balled up in his hands, and his eyes trained on my lips with his thoughts plain as day across his face. That’s as much warning as I get before he tosses his shirt into a garbage can and crosses to me. Taking the remains of my popsicle, he throws that in the general direction of the small sink before he slams his lips down on mine.
My body reacts to his immediately, maybe it’s been too long or maybe it’s him, but my back arches like a bow, pushing my chest into his as I wrap my arms around his shoulders. Vector’s tongue strokes and mixes with mine and all I can think is that I’ve never been kissed like this before . This is what every kiss should feel like, instead of all those sloppy attempts I’ve been subjected to in the past.
For once, I’m the one pushing to move things along faster, because if I’m this riled up from a kiss, I want to know what his other talents are.
When I start to slide my hands down his body, Vector reaches back, shifting us as he grips my wrists and places them against the wall behind me. His eyes speak volumes when he draws away from me, keeping me pinned as he fumbles through his wallet and I quickly hear the sound of a condom wrapper being torn open.
With a nod from him, I reach for the top of my shorts and, somewhat proudly, push them down without having to open them.
His large hands immediately cup my ass and he thrusts inside me. I have no option but to grab his shoulders for support and hold on for the ride.
“Eyes on me,” he growls, and I snap them open to discover his green eyes have golden flecks in them.
I can’t help the smile on my face when it occurs to me to be thankful for the soundproofing. Between him trying to pound me through the wall and our collective groans, I have no doubt every man in the main room would know what we are doing.
It doesn’t take either of us long to finish, and the moment my body collapses against his, he shifts us to place my weight on the nearby counter.
“You alright?” Vector asks, gently kissing my swollen lips and I once again moan into his mouth. “None of that now.”
Raising an eyebrow at him, as almost a dare and he lets out a laugh. “We’re damn lucky Roman tossed that condom at me this morning, as it is.”
“You don’t have a pile of them around here?” I ask, more flippantly than in question, just as he’s pulling out of me.
“My brothers definitely do. I’m no saint, but I tend to go for quality over quantity, so it’s been a while,” he tells me, cleaning up at the small kitchenette as he indicates the closed door beyond him.
“For me, too,” I quietly reply as I walk past him to what I assume is the bathroom. I sigh once I’m in there and besides my knee, notice more marks on the inside of my thighs, where the top of his jeans and belt were mercilessly chaffing against my skin.
Damn. He could have slid his jeans down at least.
“I better get back to Pops,” I tell him when I rejoin him.
“You want to stay for a bit? I can give you a ride home whenever,” he offers, but I shake my head.
“Maybe another time,” I counter, not wanting to explain that as old as I am, I’d feel weird ditching Grandfather for a hook up.