Chapter Twenty-Four
Emmett
CONCENTRATING ON painting was a no-go. It left too much space for his thoughts to take over. For his thoughts to turn to Wilder and how good those lips had felt against his. How perfectly Wilder’s body had pressed against his.
A groan rumbled through him, and he gave up on going back to painting.
He walked to the couch, gaze catching on his book lying on the ground next to his bag.
Maybe that would shut his brain up? He bent down to pick it up, opening it.
He hadn’t had a chance to start it yet, so the piece of paper sticking up a few pages in wasn’t his.
He sat down on the couch with a smile on his lips.
He drew his legs up, laying the book against his knees, and started reading.
He was easily pulled into the world of knights, dragons, and murderous conspiracies.
It was the kind of story that had him fighting not to skip ahead on the page to see what happened next.
A creaking sound had his head snapping up, his forehead puckering when he didn’t find Wilder in the doorway. Of course, he didn’t. It would be hours before he returned.
A sigh pushed past his lips, and he grumbled under his breath as he took his receivers off, shoving them into his front pocket.
There was no use in listening for Wilder.
It would only pull his thoughts back to him and away from the knight braving a deathly trial to ask the dragons for help in the war his kingdom was losing.
He stood, forcing his attention back onto the page as he made his way through the room and out the doors, heading for the kitchen to grab a snack. He might as well settle in while Wilder was gone.
He barely stopped reading while he looked for the bag of chips he was certain he’d spotted somewhere in one of the cupboards earlier.
It was nowhere to be found, so instead, he grabbed the small pack of Milk Duds he did find, holding it under the book as he made his way back to the boxing room, eyes firmly on the page because he’d just reached an exciting point that could change everything for the knight.
He turned the page as he walked through the double doors, a smile flittering across his lips when he reached Wilder’s paper bookmark.
He couldn’t wait to talk about what he’d read with Wilder.
He had a feeling Wilder would enjoy the conversation even more than him, and he’d probably end up blushing by the end of it.
When he reached the couch, he crouched down to pull his phone out of his bag.
No calls. No texts. Unsurprising. He shoved his phone back into the bag along with the Milk Duds, gaze returning to his book.
He couldn’t remember where he was on the page, so he started at the top again.
He straightened, intending to take a seat on the couch when he noticed the shadows dancing across the wall.
His own shadow was still; bigger shadows moving along the white wall.
Rapid flashes of light made him whirl around, the book slipping from between his fingers.
There were men on the floor, bleeding, maybe even dead. Someone was standing over them, chest heaving visibly. His head snapped up, and Emmett’s breath got stuck in his throat. Time stood still as he stared into green-flecked eyes. He blinked, and then Wilder was in front of him, signing, “You OK?”
He gaped at Wilder for a long moment, then took in his ragged look, the way his chest moved rapidly, his cheeks flushed, and―fuck.
“You’re bleeding,” he hissed and grabbed one of Wilder’s hands, studying his bloodied knuckles. He was running his fingers over the cuts and bruises gently when his head was tilted back by a hand under his chin.
“Wild―”
Lips crashing over his cut him off, and a moan ripped from his throat at the feel of those desperate lips and rough stubble against him, the hand on the small of his back tugging him into Wilder’s bigger, harder body.
As much as he was enjoying it, there were dead people on the floor.
He let Wilder carry on for a moment longer because he was incredibly soft for this man, but then he broke the kiss, moving back in Wilder’s arms so he could see his face. Wilder’s lips moved, but his concentration was completely shot, so he reached into his pocket and pulled out his receivers.
“Scared me half to death,” Wilder said, his voice coming through garbled, and at first, he thought it was his CIs, but one look at the haunted expression on Wilder’s face, and he knew it wasn’t.
“Sorry? I scared you?” He blinked at Wilder. “What the hell happened?”
Two lines formed between Wilder’s brows, something warring in his eyes.
“What?”
Wilder sighed. “It was a diversion. So they could get to you.”
“To me? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Wilder said, the growl in his voice making Emmett’s heart skip a beat.
Fuck. If Wilder was scared… He shook his head.
Now wasn’t the time to get scared. He could do that later.
Right now, he needed to reassure Wilder that he was alright.
That he was alive. Because of him. Because of what he did.
“You saved me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, the crack in his voice snapping Wilder’s attention back to him.
He took one of Wilder’s hands in his, bringing it to his chest and placing it right over his heart. A shiver went through Wilder’s body, and then he buried his face in the side of Emmett’s neck, breathing in deeply. He held on, eyes closing as he tried to keep his heartbeat steady for Wilder.
They remained like that for a long moment, both breathing shakily, until Wilder pulled back, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Emmett’s head.
“We need to go,” Wilder said, tugging on Emmett’s hand to turn him toward the door.
“But―”
“Someone’s coming to take care of it.”
He didn’t bother telling Wilder that wasn’t what he worried about. They weren’t the ones he worried about.
“Jacket,” he mumbled instead.
He wasn’t going anywhere without it. He didn’t want to freeze his ass off on Wilder’s bike.
Wilder looked around for a moment before heading toward the couch, hand still in Emmett’s. Wilder crouched down to push Emmett’s bag off his jacket to grab it, rising to hold it up for Emmett to place his arms in the sleeves.
Jacket on, Wilder pulled him across the room, and he kept his gaze locked on Wilder as they walked past the bodies. That was not a vision he wanted to add to his nightmares.
Their footsteps echoed as they made their way through the gym and into the hallway, making the hair at the back of his neck stand on end.
The door opened before they reached it, and he found himself jerked behind Wilder while he pulled his gun from its holster.
Breath caught in his throat as his chest tightened, his heart racing so damned fast he could feel his whole body vibrating from it.
“Nice to see you, too,” someone said.
He couldn’t quite place the voice, so when Wilder lowered his gun, he peeked around him. Short, dirty blond hair, sparkling green eyes, and a wide smile. Maddox. His shoulders dropped, and his heart slowed down, breathing becoming instantly easier.
“The bodies are in the boxing room. I doubt they’ve got IDs on them, but if you find anything, get it to Ezra,” Wilder said. “I don’t have my phone, and Doc needs to have a look at Dash. They’re out front.”
Maddox inclined his head and took off down the hall.
Emmett let Wilder lead him out the door, and despite how thick his throat felt, he pushed out the words he desperately needed an answer to. “Did you really kill someone for me?”
Wilder snapped his head up, a fire raging in his eyes as he met Emmett’s gaze.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe.”
The gravel in that voice? The conviction in those words? It turned his insides to liquid.
“Is it wrong that I find that really hot?” he whispered.
Something akin to relief crossed Wilder’s face, and then he reached for Emmett, hands finding his hips to tug him up against that big body.
“Darlin’, there isn’t a damned thing wrong with you.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but his words were swallowed by Wilder’s mouth on his. It was a hard and insistent kiss, those hands traveling up his back to hold him closer. He wrapped his arms around the back of Wilder’s neck, pushing up on his toes to kiss him back.
“I need to get you out of here,” Wilder said, his voice sounding strained with the same feelings wreaking havoc inside Emmett.
Wilder stepped toward his bike, and Emmett’s mouth dropped open when he saw it lying on the ground.
Had he…? His poor heart couldn’t take it, tears welling up in his eyes.
Why did knowing Wilder had dropped his bike on the ground to reach him faster mean more than Wilder literally killing people to keep him safe?
He accepted his helmet from Wilder and pushed it over his head, letting Wilder tie the strap for him.
He caught a glimpse of Wilder’s hands, bloodied and bruised as they were.
He hated that it was because of him once again.
He didn’t want Wilder to get hurt, and yet, there was a part of him that rejoiced in the knowledge that Wilder had raised those fists to people who would’ve hurt him.
He didn’t even care if they were alive or not.
Heath must’ve broken some part of him, not that he could find a single flying fuck to give about it.
He’d never thought there was anything wrong with Emma or her fathers for being outlaw bikers.
He’d never thought there was anything wrong with Uncle Nic, despite him having been an assassin in his youth.
It was a mystery how he hadn’t been drawn to the club and bikers before.
Perhaps it was lucky? He might not have met Wilder at the exact time and place in his life as he was becoming more and more certain he’d been supposed to.
Getting behind Wilder on the bike, he wrapped his arms around him, tighter than he probably ever had.
Wilder flinched, his pained grunt just loud enough to hear over the bike’s engine.
Emmett cursed under his breath and moved back, loosening his hold, but hands grabbed his arms and pulled him forward, plastering him against Wilder’s back right before the bike started moving.
He held on, barely breathing as they hit the road.
He tried his best to concentrate on only breathing.
In. hold. Out. Repeat. If he let his brain get even a second to think, it was as if everything screeched to a halt.
All the fear, all the dread, came rushing in, and he ended up pressed harder against Wilder.
In. Hold. Out.
The sun was disappearing behind the mature trees surrounding the clubhouse as they drove up the driveway, bathing the fields in a soft violet glow. He breathed a sigh of relief, unsure if that feeling of safety was because he knew he was safe here or because he knew Wilder was.
Miles’s car was gone, which meant he was still working, and only a few motorcycles took up the usual long line across from the house. Emma and Remy were running out the door before Wilder pulled to a stop.
He was off in a second, undoing the chinstrap of his helmet and pulling it off. Emma crashed into him, and he nearly dropped the helmet, a soft smile gracing his lips when it was tugged gently out of his hand by Wilder.
“Scared the shit out of us,” Emma mumbled, pulling back to look him over. “You alright?”
“I’m fine. He’s the one who’s hurt,” he said with a wave of his hand toward Wilder.
Emma gave him a cursory glance, barely stopping at his bloody knuckles.
“Get that cleaned,” she ordered, then turned to Emmett. “Stay safe, okay?”
“Dash needs you. He’s at the gym. I’ll keep Em in my room until we know more,” Wilder said.
They watched as Emma and Remy jumped on their bikes, taking off down the driveway at a speed that made him wince, and then he looked up at Wilder, his stomach erupting in butterflies when he found himself caught in that dark gaze.