Chapter 49 Lachlan
LACHLAN
“Aye! The friggen phone stays.” My reply ripped from my chest. Raw, gravelly. Did Natasha not think I’d protect her with my life? “Now let’s go.”
I signaled for her to exit as I opened the back door and stepped into the cold air. Natasha appeared as though she had words. Instead, she tucked a glass into the hoodie. I lifted an eyebrow.
“Your finger.”
My left hand grabbed hers. My blood still pounded from the close call, and her fingers felt small and warm against mine.
The crunch of gravel accompanied our sprint across the street.
I dropped to a knee before the motorcycle and gritted my teeth.
My right hand throbbed with the intensity of a bass drum.
The blood from losing my forefinger had mostly stopped, but every nerve hollered.
My mangled hand didn’t want to move, didn’t want to grip.
Nae. I forced my fingers—the ones I did have—to obey.
The skin pulled tight over raw edges as I stripped wires and twisted them together.
Pain flashed up my arm. Made my vision spark white at the edges.
I bit down hard to keep from groaning and tasted copper on the inside of my cheek.
Please, God. I kept working on the assignment.
Dad had taught me to hotwire every sort of vehicle while growing up, saying, You never know.
Natasha stood on the side closest to the door, arms folded like armor. Despite all we’d gone through, she was … Hell, she was gorgeous. Her mouth set in that stubborn way, a smirk. Bealin’—boiled with rage. Couldn’t blame her.
Her eyes—rich, hazel, and deep enough to drown in—slid to mine.
Suddenly, I wanted to kiss her. Kiss the fury from her mouth.
I restrained myself. Who was she angrier with?
Lorenzo for the mind games? Or me for shouting at her?
Suppose she thought I was dangling her like a toy.
Och. Whatever she thought, she’d soon see the lad wasn’t gonna remain breathing. He’d wronged her.
My woman.
In no time, the motorcycle’s engine rumbled. We tore through the streets, Natasha holding me tight. Wind slapped our faces, and we soon reached a block of flats in Dundee’s worst patches. I parked, kicking the stand.
“Keep your head down, Natasha. Nobody gives a crap here. But there’s a system. If someone has a bounty, they—”
“They snitch?” Natasha climbed off first.
“Aye. But this place ain’t so bad. It’s quite literally a resort.”
“I’m not a diva, but I could use a massage?” Her brow lifted.
“Meh. Massages usually come with happy, itchy endings. They also have a street pharmacist. And a shady doc.” I lifted my bad hand. “Let’s get this fixed. Raincheck on the spa date?”
She nodded.
The stench of piss hit us before we reached the door.
“You got the PIN for the keypad access?” She gestured to the code lock.
“No need.” I shoved the door open. The lock didn’t work. Nobody cared, making it useful for Kieran.
Kieran had a network running through these flats with the efficiency of bad plumbing.
Drug dealers, the dodgy masseuse with a loyalty punch card, that probably now only served said dealers since Kieran got married.
All on the first floor, in odd-numbered apartments, naturally.
Same went for the “doctor” with credentials from a YouTube tutorial who reattached my finger.
Though he’d helped out, the lad wouldn’t let me borrow his phone.
“Too risky,” he said. Too risky, mate? He just stitched me up with thread from a sewing kit!
At least he handed me a bag of gauze and enough painkillers to make the Dodgers’ drug testing department twitch.
I’d fail a random drug test three times over. Bless him.
We climbed a narrow staircase, coming to a hall. Under the welcome rug for the right spot, I pulled it away.
Roaches scattered. I grabbed Kieran’s spare key, muttering cusswords.
Inside, the place was quiet, bare bones, just a couch in the living room.
Natasha’s mouth curved. “Nothing’s crawling.”
“Not yet.” I stomped a foot. Nothing scatted. I rifled through the kitchen. “Find another phone?”
“Okay. Would Kieran lock it?” Natasha asked, heaving a sigh.
“With his mam’s birthday. She’s gone; he struggles.”
Warmth softened her features. Natasha hooked a thumb. “See what I can find.”
The fridge reeked like something had died twice.
I checked the cupboard for more than just the chips we’d scored from the car. I found a package of rice and a pot and started to cook it. While waiting, I checked my phone. Still dead.
Natasha strolled into the room, gripping a Glock. “Found this under the mattress.” She strode over, placed it into my hands, and removed the other man’s cellphone from her pocket. “I’ll try some other combos.”
As I pushed the Glock into my belt, I wanted her to see me. Not just connect eyes because of her sorrow for Kieran’s mam.
Man, she didn’t even lift her gaze while we shared the chips.
We stood around as she muttered how Lorenzo’s dad took her father’s belt in the cage.
Before a much-anticipated rematch, Gotti lost the belt to another UFC fighter, and Vassili snatched it back.
She was right. Lorenzo’s obsession was confusing.
But he was off his head, so the backstory? Totally inconsequential.
After the rice finished, I poured it into bowls. “No forks, spoons.” I glared at the steam furrowing from the bowls, still hungry.
“Luckily, we had appetizers. Are we gonna sit, Lach? Don’t think I didn’t see you use some of the whiskey in that flask to wipe the coffee mugs before you filled them.”
She sipped from her cup; her nose furrowed at the heat probably building in her chest. I knocked my mug back, finished it in one gulp.
Natasha sipped hers again, then stepped to me. Her eyes hooded and lips parted just so. I shoved my good hand into the pocket of my jeans for more reasons than one. “We can sit, Tash.”
She took my other hand, smiling.
“Now that my stomach’s not growling, I have an idea to pass the time, so the rice doesn’t give our fingers second-degree burns. By the way, my cellphone is in the rest of the uncooked rice. I hope it works.” As if this is what I wanted to mention.
“Me too.” Her smile was faint.
I groaned. “Natasha, you’re too good for this place.
Too good to run around the Highlands. Too good for me to touch you with”—I lifted my bandaged hand—“this! I don’t deserve to touch you.
I’m supposed to be putting the finishing touches on your birthday in two weeks.
” Which included the proposal of the century. “But we’re here. In this … hellhole!”
Her eyes softened, and a fire lit behind them. “I caused this, Lachlan!”
“No. Lorenzo did.”
“Well, I’m frustrated. I only want one thing, and you’re standing in the way.” Desire and aggression, twin flames danced in her eyes. “I want to fill myself up with you, Lach. Not shame or anger. You.” Her hands slid into my hair, pulling me down until her mouth found mine.
The kiss wasn’t sweet—it consumed. Full of every negative experience we’d survived.
My breath hitched against hers. “I can’t do this. Keep kissing you like this, Tash.”
She pressed her lips against mine in another hard kiss, nipping my bottom lip. “Will you help me forget? The frustrations? Just focus on us?”
“You wanted to get married first, Tash,” I rasped.
“Okay,” she whispered, eyes searching mine. “Right here, right now. God is here. He’s everywhere. Heck … half of my lineage’s backstory included marriages that stayed between them and God because of slavery. So … marry me, Lachlan MacKenzie.”
Her words hit me in a place I’d ignored for years. I grasped her hand and slid out a bent coin from my pocket with my good hand. I placed it onto her palm. My makeshift ring. We said the words, voices low, but certain. It wasn’t a chapel. It was better. It was ours.
And when I kissed her again, it was slow.
Reverent. My hands, both of them, wounds and all, cradled her face, like she was the most breakable, precious possession I’d ever held.
We sank onto the couch, her breath warm against my neck.
Her lips traveled my jaw as if she wanted the torture of having to come slowly back to my lips.
The warmth of her mouth, touching everywhere but my own, sent a shiver down my spine.
I kissed her temple, lingering. No rush. Then lower, tracing the path of her cheekbone until my lips brushed the corner of her mouth.
Remembering all she’d gone through, I murmured, “Tell me if I go too fast.”
“You won’t,” she whispered, her breath feathering my lips. “Not with me. That’s why I trust and love you, Lach.”
Her confession loosened something in my chest. I explored the curves of her body with care, learning the shape of her through the fabric between us. I kept my movements unhurried, as if every second with her was sacred.
She closed her eyes and leaned into my touch, her body softening, her breath changing—slower, deeper. I brushed my thumb along her jaw, tilting her head so I could kiss her again. Tasted the faint salt of her skin.
When her hands slipped under the hem of my shirt, I felt every point of contact, like it burned into me. She traced the planes of my stomach, old baseball scars, not flinching at a single one.
“I’ve seen these, but I want to remember them in a different way,” she breathed, kissing one.
She was undoing me.
I lowered us onto the couch, my body caging hers without trapping her, supporting my weight, so she could move if she needed .
.. or say no. My lips followed the curve of her throat, her pulse fluttering against my mouth.
Her fingers tightened in my hair, a small sound escaping her—want and relief mingled.
She tilted her head, lips brushing mine for a tease, and I kissed her harder, letting our laughter and soft moans mix together while undressing each other.
We didn’t rush. We explored each other, savoring every brush of skin, every subtle curve, every quiet gasp. And my hands lingered, learning the way of her hips, the curve of her breast. I felt her tension give way to trust, to want, to something raw and alive between us.
By the time I rested my forehead against hers, our breaths mingled, and we both trembled. The world beyond these decrepit walls no longer existed. I held her naked body in my arms, and the silence we shared was broken only by the promise of more heat to come.
“Nice?” I asked.
“Expand your vocab, Lach.” She winked at me, lips parted, and I’d have kissed her again if she weren’t trying to catch up. “I saw heaven between your arms. Now the couch is not rat-infested, Lach. It’s love-infested.”
I chuckled, squeezing her in my arms. “You’re perfect, Natasha MacKenzie. Perfect for me.”