Chapter 13
We made it outside into the crisp, late summer night air, and I felt it as Pistol let out what I could only guess was a sigh of relief.
I also felt it as his arm tensed around me after every step we descended on our way to the parking lot.
When we put a little distance between us and the Copper Kings’ clubhouse, his feet stopped, communicating to me he needed a breather.
Instinctively, I tightened my hold around his back as I looked up at him and asked, “You okay?”
He didn’t get the chance to answer before Nighthawk came to stand in front of us, earning both of our attention. “You’re mobile, but you’re banged up. Trip to the doc wouldn’t hurt.”
“I’m fine. Nothin’ a long shower and some pain killers won’t fix.”
“Don’t be bullheaded, Ri,” chimed in Nomad. “Elroy—”
“I don’t know how y’all could possibly forget, but I just spent three years behind bars.
If you don’t think I know how to take a beatin’ by now, I don’t know what to tell you.
Not goin’ to Elroy’s. Need to find my hog and Reaper.
Was staked out when I was ambushed. Barely had the chance to unfasten her before they were on me. ”
“You don’t want to go to Elroy’s fine, but you are not fit to ride. Not tonight,” commanded Nighthawk with a stern shake of his head. “We’ll find your hog. You let your woman take you home, nurse those wounds.”
I barely contained the urge to flinch at his reference of me being Pistol’s woman.
I implied as much not five minutes ago—not to mention I had his ring on my finger—but hearing it like that made it all the more real.
Except, it wasn’t real.
Not entirely.
“Reaper’s with me,” I blurted, forcing my mind to focus on the matter at hand.
Pistol looked down at me, and that something in his expression came back. Only, this time, it lingered a little longer.
Was it appreciation?
Or maybe it was surprise.
I still couldn’t interpret what it meant, the dark of night making it harder for me to read, but it made me feel as light as I’d felt in days.
Remembering I was in the middle of speaking, I blinked and shook my head once before I continued, “She’s probably pissed as hell I made her stay in the car.”
Something between a knowing laugh and painful grunt sounded from the back of his throat. “Don’t doubt it,” he replied.
“It’s settled, then. One of us’ll shoot you a text when we find your ride, and we’ll regroup tomorrow.”
Content with the compromise, Pistol relayed the location where he last knew his Harley to be, and then we all went our separate ways. As we approached my Mustang, Reaper called to us in an incessant bark. She pawed at the window impatiently, and Pistol switched into dad mode in an instant.
“Pfui,” he commanded.
I had no idea what he said, but Reaper certainly did. She stopped and whined as she stared at us pathetically.
“She was worried, you know?” I murmured. “I don’t know how long it took her to find her way home; but I knew, as soon as I heard her at the back door, something was wrong. I know she doesn’t speak our language, but I understood her, and she was worried.”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I believe it. She’s my ride or die.”
Hoping to put her out of her misery, I reached for the door handle and unlatched it. It was barely open a sliver before she was forcing her way out of the front seat. She sniffed at Pistol urgently, her tail wagging hard and fast.
“Sitz,” commanded Pistol. She obeyed, and he offered her his hand, which she smelled and then licked affectionately. “Braves m?dchen,” he cooed. He then gingerly lifted his arm from around my shoulders and muttered, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
After we all piled into the car, I didn’t waste any time getting off the Kings’ compound and out of their territory.
Pistol and I didn’t say much to each other the whole way home.
Every time I glanced toward the passenger side, I found him with his head leaned back against the seat and his eyes closed.
I knew he wasn’t sleeping, and I could only guess what he was thinking, but I didn’t consider it my place to ask.
All the while, my thoughts were far from silent.
I wondered what happened next—between the Stallions and the Kings.
Sooner than later, they’d find out their missing guy, Fang, was six feet under.
Whether or not they’d be able to prove it was Pistol remained to be seen; but it seemed a pretty solid assumption the Kings wouldn’t need real evidence to have an excuse to exact revenge.
Then, of course, I had my brother to worry about.
I couldn’t get the look he gave me out of my head.
It wasn’t anger.
Wasn’t disappointment.
It wasn’t even judgement.
It was…nothing.
We hadn’t been close in a long time, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know my brother well enough to understand his blank expression meant whatever he was feeling toward me pushed him beyond his breaking point.
What that meant for me was unknown; and I couldn’t say I was in any hurry to find out.
No sooner had we arrived at the house and shifted into park than Pistol was reaching for the door.
“Wait,” I proclaimed, quickly killing the engine. “Let me help you.”
Shocker—he didn’t wait.
With a barely disguised groan, he unfolded himself from where he sat as he stepped out onto the driveway. Reaper was quick to follow.
“Pistol, slow down,” I called as I grabbed my purse and made my own exit.
“Said it before. I’m fine.”
I raised an eyebrow and watched him lift a hand to press against his side as he gingerly ambled toward the house.
“You know, you’re not all that convincing, tough guy,” I hollered after him.
“Takin’ a shower,” he said in reply.
I merely gaped at him as he went. Seeing as he so obviously didn’t want my assistance, I didn’t press the issue. Nevertheless, as soon as he disappeared into the house, I hurried in after him. Just in case.
I caught up with ease and was two steps behind him as he journeyed through the kitchen, into the living room, and toward the bathroom.
When he flipped on the light switch at his final destination, he paused long enough to mutter over his shoulder, “Been taken my own clothes off since I was two years old. Stop hoverin’. I’m fine.”
While his tone was final, it wasn’t harsh or rude, so I freed a sigh and retreated a couple steps.
He nodded, expressing a silent thanks, then shut himself inside.
Reaper, who was also not invited, huffed before plopping down in front of the door.
She rested her head atop her paws and we both waited helplessly for the sound of the shower.
It only took me a couple minutes to admit how weird it was that I was standing there while Pistol bathed.
It might have been true he didn’t need my help cleaning himself up, but he was going to need a lot more than a shower.
He had a split lip and a matching cut on his brow and nose.
The way he grabbed at his ribs coupled with the memory of Carmy’s fist in his side meant he was likely aching all over and would need pain meds, ice, and bandages.
I wasn’t entirely convinced his tough guy persona would allow me to put a bandage on him, but ice and pain meds were going to be nonnegotiable.
With my mind made up, I discarded my purse on the couch and returned to the kitchen, hopeful there was now more than my gelato in the freezer to use as an ice pack.
A quick peek clued me into the fact that Viv wasn’t big on frozen veggies—but there was an ice maker, and I had a couple tea towels I could wrap around some cubes. That would have to do.
Having spent the day going through every drawer and cabinet in the house, I knew he kept a big bottle of ibuprofen in the junk drawer of his kitchen.
I took it out and set it on the counter, then grabbed a glass out of a nearby cabinet and filled it with water.
That done, I ventured back toward the hallway to see if he was still in the shower.
The sound of water informed me he wasn’t finished, so I went back to the kitchen and tried to remember if I came across a first aid kit earlier.
I checked underneath the sink but came up short.
I knew I had a box of Band-Aids and some Neosporin, but I stowed them in the bathroom.
The only bathroom on the main level.
I frowned and, not for the first time, wondered how sharing one bathroom was ever going to work long term. Even Carmy and I managed to afford a place with two bathrooms back in the day. Not to say Pistol’s house wasn’t sufficient. It was actually pretty nice, if not plain.
That thought triggered another, and I pulled my top lip between my teeth, remembering the thousands of dollars’ worth of goods I purchased in an attempt to make myself feel better earlier.
I closed my eyes as I reached up and grabbed two fistfuls of hair.
While I was shopping, Pistol was getting the shit beat out of him.
For a minute, I felt like a bitch.
Part of me wanted to take the easy way out and justify my actions. Pistol had turned my life upside down, and he was an asshole about it.
But another part of me couldn’t help but to admit, his life was turned upside down, too. Moreover, whatever shit was coming his way had far more dire consequences.
It couldn’t be denied our situation was a fucking mess. There was nothing fair or easy about it. We’d been married thirty-six hours, and it already felt like we’d both been to hell and back. We merely took different roads to get there.
Now we were home.
Whatever that meant.
I couldn’t even begin to explain how we got here. It all seemed so ridiculous.
Raking my fingers through my hair, I blew out a sigh and shook away my thoughts.
It had been a long day, and I didn’t have the capacity to piece it all together in order to make sense of it.
The best I could do was to make sure Pistol was okay.
It wasn’t my fault that he was ambushed, abducted, and tied to a chair for who knows how long—but the fact that my brother was the one to lay hands on him left me in a weird place.
I wanted to help.
I needed to help.