Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Wren
Iwrapped my arm around Rocky's waist. He wobbled slightly as we climbed the metal stairs to my apartment but I wisely didn’t say anything.
His face had gone the color of dirty chalk, making the smudges of blood stand out like war paint.
My heart hammered against my ribs with each step we took, like it couldn't decide between racing with relief that he came back alive or stopping altogether at how close he'd come to not making it back at all.
"I can make it," he insisted, even as his body leaned heavier into mine. “Just give me a second.”
"Shut up," I muttered, tightening my grip. "You've lost blood, and I'm not picking your ass up when you face-plant on these stairs."
He made a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn't caught on a wince. The stairs seemed to stretch forever, each metal step ringing under our boots like an announcement: still alive, still breathing, still here.
“Are you even all right?” Though I sounded exasperated, I used irritation to cover my alarm. “Did you get shot anywhere else?”
“No. Just adrenaline drop.” He stumbled and lunged forward, somehow I managed to keep his fucking big ass, muscled up self from actually doing the face-planting I’d mentioned earlier. When I did, I bumped his arm and he groaned. Loudly. “And in a bit of pain. Maybe some blood loss.”
I'd spent the entire night pacing my apartment, imagining every possible horrible outcome while the men rescued those girls.
Ghost had refused to let me come to the clinic when they'd first returned, telling me I needed to let Sawbones do his job.
Like hell. The moment I'd heard Rocky was back and hurt, I'd bolted for the clinic, only to find him trying to stand up with that stubborn look on his face, the one that said he'd crawl across broken glass before admitting he’d been hurt.
I fumbled with my keys at the door, one arm still supporting Rocky. My fingers felt clumsy, my nerves shot after hours of waiting, of not knowing if he'd come back in one piece. When the lock finally clicked, I shouldered the door open and guided him inside.
"Sit," I ordered, kicking the door shut behind us and turning the deadbolt with a decisive click.
Rocky eased onto my couch with another suppressed grimace. Though Bones dressed his wound, it had bled through a small amount. Dried blood crusted along his forearm and streaked his chest where it had dripped down from his wound.
"It's not as bad as it looks," he said, catching me staring at the wound. "Just a graze."
"Yeah, and I'm the fucking queen of England." I moved to the kitchen, filling a bowl with warm water and grabbing a clean cloth before returning to kneel in front of him. "Let me see it."
He started to protest, but I silenced him with a look I'd learned from Ghost, the one that said arguing would only make things worse.
Rocky exhaled slowly, then nodded. "Fine. But I told you, it's just a—"
"If you say 'just a graze' one more time, I'm going to smack you upside your thick head." I helped him ease his shirt over his head, careful not to jar his injured arm too much. "Arms up, tough guy."
The shirt came off, revealing more dried blood and the beginning of bruises across his ribs. My breath caught at the sight. He'd taken more hits than just the bullet graze, though in the chaos of the warehouse raid, he probably hadn't even noticed.
I dipped the cloth in warm water and began carefully washing away the blood from his arm, working my way around the bandage Bones had applied. Rocky watched me, his eyes following every movement of my hands.
"Did Ghost give you shit about coming to find me?" he asked, his voice rougher than usual.
I snorted. "He tried. Told me to give you space to recover." I wrung out the cloth, the water turning pink. "Since when have I ever done what I'm told?"
That earned me a small bark of laughter before he groaned again.
A small smile softened his features, a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made my throat burn with unshed tears.
I focused on cleaning the rest of the dried blood from his chest and arm, trying to ignore how my fingers trembled slightly against his skin.
And how close to breaking down and sobbing like a baby I truly felt.
"Wren," he said softly. "I'm OK. Really."
"You could have died." The words escaped before I could stop them, raw and honest in a way I hadn't intended. I kept my eyes on my task, unable to meet his gaze. "They could have killed you."
"They didn't, honey."
"Not for lack of trying." I pressed the cloth harder against a stubborn smear of blood near his collarbone, making him hiss. I immediately felt bad. "Sorry."
We fell silent as I continued working. The only sounds were our breathing and the gentle splash of water as I rinsed the cloth.
My thoughts raced, jumping from the sight of him standing in the clinic doorway, looking pale but alive, to the terrifying hours of not knowing if he'd return at all.
I'd spent those hours thinking, deciding, committing to what I knew in my gut was true, regardless of how we'd started.
I stilled suddenly on his chest. I looked up, meeting his dark eyes for the first time since we'd entered my apartment. His gaze held mine, steady despite the pain I knew coursed through him.
"I've decided to keep you," I announced, the words coming out blunter than intended, but no less true for their lack of finesse. "But if you ever lie to me again, I'll cut your balls off and feed them to you."
Rocky blinked once, twice, his expression shifting from surprise to warm humor.
Then to an almost tender expression. The corner of his mouth quirked up, half-amused, half-serious as he nodded.
"No more lies," he promised, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest beneath my palm. "Not ever. Not for any reason."
I searched his face for any hint of deception, any crack in his sincerity, but found none. Just exhaustion, pain, and what that looked remarkably like devotion shining in those dark eyes.
"Good," I said finally, my voice softer than I'd meant it to be. "Because I'm not going through this bullshit again. One heart-shredding betrayal per relationship is my fucking limit."
The tension between us shifted, electric and heavy. Rocky reached up with his good arm, his hand cupping my face with heart melting gentleness that made. His thumb traced my bottom lip, the callused pad rough against sensitive skin.
"I love you," he said simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. "Have since I first saw you."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight.
Before I could find the words to respond, he pulled me toward him, capturing my mouth in a kiss that started gentle but quickly caught fire.
His lips moved against mine with hunger and reverence, and I melted into him, careful of his injured arm even as my body pressed closer.
The world narrowed to just this. His mouth on mine, his hand tangled in my hair, the solid beat of his heart beneath my palm.
Whatever came next, whatever complications awaited us with Ghost and Vittorio and the aftermath of tonight's raid, none of it mattered in this moment.
We had survived. We had found each other.
And I had absolutely no intention of letting him go.
I pulled back from our kiss just enough to breathe, my lips still tingling from the pressure of his.
His eyes, heavy-lidded but intense, held mine as I stood, taking his good hand in mine.
"Come on," I said, voice rough with want.
"Not doing this on my couch when I've got a perfectly good bed.
" I tugged gently, mindful of his injury as he stood.
His height made me tilt my head back to maintain eye contact, and something in his gaze, open and unguarded, sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with… love.
My bedroom looked exactly as I'd left it that morning. My unmade bed, the purple sheets tangled from my restless night of worry, clothes scattered across the floor, all testament to my distress during the hours he’d been gone.
I guided him to the edge of the bed, easing him down onto the surface.
The soft, morning sunlight filtering through my half-drawn blinds cast stripes across his skin, highlighting the contours of muscle and the shadows of old scars and new bruises.
His bandaged arm stood out starkly against his tanned skin.
"Let me," I murmured when he reached for his belt with his good hand. I knelt between his legs, fingers working his belt buckle, then the button of his jeans. He lifted his hips to help as I tugged them down, my palms skimming his thighs.
Our first time together had been frantic, desperate—all clashing teeth and grasping hands and clothes half-torn off in the heat of the moment. Our second hadn't been much different, raw with the emotional aftermath of betrayal and a sort of truce.
This felt different. Deliberate. Like we had all the time in the world. Like a “happy ever after” might actually be possible.
I stood, pulling my T-shirt over my head and shimmying out of my jeans. Rocky's eyes tracked my movements, hungry but patient, his hand reaching out to trace the curve of my hip as I stepped between his spread legs.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through me.
"You're not so bad yourself," I replied, running my fingers through his hair. "You know, for an undercover cop or spy or whatever the fuck you are."
He smiled, that rare, genuine smile that transformed his whole face. "I just do what Tori tells me to. And I think we've established I'm whatever you want me to be. However you’ll have me."
"Just be you," I whispered, bending to press my lips to his forehead, his temple, the corner of his mouth. "That's always going to be enough."
I straddled him carefully, mindful of his wounded arm as I settled onto his lap. His skin burned hot against mine, his erection pressed hard between us. I rose up on my knees, positioning him at my entrance before sinking down slowly, taking him inside me inch by inch.
Rocky's breath hitched, his good hand cupping my face with surprising gentleness. "Wren," he breathed, like my name was something sacred.
I rolled my hips, setting a languid pace that bore no resemblance to our previous frantic couplings.
His hand slid from my face, down my neck, tracing the curve of my breast with reverence rather than the desperate hunger I'd felt from him before.
His thumb brushed over my nipple, drawing a soft gasp from my lips.
"I love the sounds you make," he murmured, repeating the motion. "Like you can't help yourself."
"Shut up," I muttered without heat, my head falling back as pleasure spiraled through me. "You talk too much."
His laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating against my palms where they rested for balance. "Make me."
I leaned forward, capturing his mouth with mine, swallowing whatever smart-ass reply he might have offered next. His hand moved to my lower back, urging me closer, deeper, as we rocked together in the half-light of my bedroom.
For the first time, I felt like I was truly seeing Rocky.
Not the Copperhead killer, not Vittorio's undercover guy, but the man beneath all those layers.
And for the first time, I let him see me.
Not just Ghost's daughter or the tough girl with a smart mouth, but all of me, even the scared, vulnerable parts I usually kept hidden behind walls of attitude and profanity.
"Fuck," I whispered as heat built at the base of my spine, my thighs beginning to tremble. "Rocky—"
"I'm here," he murmured, his hand sliding between us to find where we joined, his thumb circling my clit with exquisite pressure. "Right here with you, baby."
The endearment, so casual yet so intimate, pushed me over the edge. I came with a cry that I muffled against his shoulder, my body shuddering around him. He followed moments later, his arm tightening around my waist as he groaned my name against my neck, his hips jerking upward.
We stayed like that for a long while, my forehead pressed to his, our breathing gradually slowing. I felt boneless, spent in the best possible way, reluctant to move and break the moment.
Eventually, I eased off him, collapsing onto the bed beside him. He followed me down, his good arm pulling me against his side, my head finding the perfect place on his chest. His heartbeat thrummed steady beneath my ear, a reassuring rhythm that made my eyes grow heavy.
The sudden buzz of his phone on the nightstand shattered our peaceful bubble. Rocky sighed, reaching over to check it, his movement jostling me slightly.
"Vittorio?" I asked, not lifting my head.
"Yeah." He angled the screen so I could see the message:
Jack and Ghost said you're Bound in Blood now?
I snorted. "Ghost said that? Really?"
"Doubt it," Rocky replied, his thumb moving over the screen as he typed his response.
Don't know bout that. But Wren's decided she's keeping me so I'll have to work something out.
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face at his words. "Damn right I'm keeping you," I murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Took too much work to break you in properly."
Tell her I’ve got her bike. Surprisingly no worse for ware. I’ll have one of my men haul it to her.
He set the phone down and pulled me closer, his lips brushing the top of my head. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."
"Don't 'sweetheart' me," I grumbled, even as I curled more tightly against him, careful to avoid his injured arm. "I'm still fully capable of kicking your ass if necessary."
"I'm counting on it." The smile in his voice was evident without me needing to see his face.
“Tori’s having your bike delivered.”
I gasped. “Oh, thank God! I can’t believe I forgot about my baby!”
Outside, the compound stirred with late morning activity, the distant rumble of motorcycles and voices carrying through my partly open window.
I found my forever. My “happy ever after.” Were there still things to work out? Yes. Lots of things. Though, it sounded like Ghost might have made his peace with the situation. More likely, they’d offer Rocky a patch in Bound in Blood to keep an eye on him and reserve judgement.
Whatever came next, we'd face it together. I felt myself drifting toward sleep, content in the knowledge that when I woke, he'd still be there. Because Rocky was going to let me keep him.