Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LUCIFER
A knock sounds on my door, yanking me from a deep sleep, and my eyes fly open.
It takes a second for my brain even to register where the fuck I am, then another knock sounds and instinct kicks in.
I pull open my nightstand drawer and reach for my gun.
But I go still the moment I feel Jess’s warm, naked body wrap around mine.
She throws her leg over mine and buries her face in my shoulder, but she doesn’t wake, and the next knock is drowned out by the sound of her snoring. My gaze cuts to the door.
“Hold on,” I bark, my voice thick with sleep.
I grab the sheet and yank it up over her body, covering her just as the door swings open and Dread’s head pops into the room. His gaze sweeps across the bed, landing on Jess’s tangled hair peeking out from under the sheet, then cuts to me.
“Out,” I growl.
He grins, that shit-eating grin that makes me want to knock his teeth down his throat. “You dirty dog, you.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“Fine, but Tormentor needs to speak with you.” He keeps his voice low, which is the only considerate thing the bastard has ever done. “I think it’s about the guns in Mexico.”
Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I toss the sheet off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My body aches in a way it hasn’t in years—every muscle sore, my lower back tight, my cock still half-hard even after the night I put it through. I snag my jeans off the floor and step into them, not bothering to put on anything else.
My gaze drifts back to the bed, and I suck in a breath.
Jess is sprawled across my mattress, naked, twisted in the sheets like she’s been through a war. Her hair is a wild mess, her lips swollen, and there’s a dried streak of my cum on her collarbone that I missed last night.
I wore her the fuck out.
After the first time, she fell asleep for maybe an hour before she rolled over and pressed her ass against me, grinding until I was hard again.
I took her from behind that time, her face buried in my pillow, her back arched, her hands gripping the headboard.
She came so hard she cried, and I came inside her, which is something I’ve never done.
The sick thing is, I didn’t even care. I got off on it, and when I saw my cum leak out of her pussy, I became unhinged. Fucked it right back inside her pussy.
Consequences be damned.
Then, around four in the morning, I woke up to her mouth on my cock. I let her suck me until I finally flipped her onto her side and hooked my arm under her knee, pulling her leg up so I could sink as deep as possible.
The girl passed out after that, and I followed shortly after.
I pull the sheet up over her body, tucking it around her shoulders, and she lets out another snore. My lips quirk, and I let my gaze linger for a moment. Then I drag my fingers through my hair and leave the room, pulling the door shut behind me.
The common area is a fucking disaster. Empty bottles litter every surface, and there is a pair of stilettos that sit abandoned on the pool table.
A bra also hangs from the ceiling fan that I’m pretty sure belongs to Nightmare’s collection, and the air reeks of weed, whiskey, and sex. All signs of a good time.
Dread is perched on one of the barstools wearing nothing but a pair of jeans as he rolls a joint, his bare chest covered in tattoos and what looks like scratch marks.
“I thought you said Tormentor needed to speak with us,” I say, dropping onto the stool beside him.
“He got a call and stepped out for a minute.” He seals the joint with a quick lick, then brings it to his lips, flicking his lighter.
The tip catches, and he takes a long pull, holding the smoke in his lungs.
When he exhales, a cloud of thick gray smoke billows toward the ceiling.
“So, you consummated your marriage.” He takes another hit, then points the joint at me. “Mazel tov.”
I glare at him.
He takes another puff and points a finger at me. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He counts off on his fingers, smoke curling between them.
“For coming up with the idea to marry her. For forging your marriage certificate. For pushing you to visit her.” He leans in, dropping his voice.
“Most of all, you probably should be thanking me for taking Ginger off your hands last night. I took one for the team, and you got laid.” He spreads his hands wide.
“Like I said, you’re welcome. I expect you fuckers to name your firstborn after me. ”
I roll my eyes. “Let’s not pretend you didn’t get laid last night too.”
“Touché.” He takes another hit, the joint crackling softly. “So, now what? You gonna finally put a property patch on her and put an end to this charade?”
I drag my fingers through my hair, and my hand comes away smelling like her. I stare at my palm for a beat, then drop it to the bar. “Now, I figure out how to be a fucking husband so she doesn’t cut me loose.”
Dread lowers the joint from his lips, narrowing his eyes at me. “Is there a school for that?”
“If there is, I need the fucking address.”
“Maybe you could ask Shadow for some pointers. He’s in marital bliss or whatever the fuck you ball and chainers call being pussy whipped these days.” He pauses for a beat. “You know what? Forget it. I think you’re better off with the school. Should we Google it?”
“I’m serious, Dread.”
“Me too. Google knows everything.” He takes another puff of his joint.
“The other day I asked Google if it’s normal to get hard when someone tells you to piss off and die, and it gave me a comprehensive article on anger management, along with the number to a hotline.
Google knows all the things, man. All. The. Things.”
I stare at him blankly. There’s got to be something in the weed he’s smoking. I should make Nightmare drug test him and see what the fuck comes up on his blood panel.
He claps me on the back and inches closer. “You know what your problem is?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“Of course. What are brothers for if they’re not willing to deplete their savings accounts and hand you the hard truth?”
“Torture,” I deadpan.
“You think too much,” he says, like he just invented the cure for cancer.
“That’s your problem.” He taps ash into an empty beer bottle.
“You don’t need a fucking school to teach you how to be her husband.
What you need is to make it official. . .
” His voice trails and his brows furrow.
“Well, I guess it’s official even if it’s forged, right?
Maybe you should get a priest. Is she Jewish? I know a rabbi.”
Yeah, I’m definitely having this motherfucker drug tested.
The front door swings open and Tormentor walks in fully clothed, his phone pressed to his ear, which is more than I can say for either of us. Dread turns his head, takes one look at Tormentor’s grim expression, and the crazy seems to flee him.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “That’s not a face that’s about to deliver good news. I’m too fucking hungover to play cops and robbers.”
Tormentor ends the call and tucks the phone into his pocket, then pulls up a stool on my other side.
“Bad news?” I ask.
“Depends on your definition.” He glances at Dread’s joint, then at me. “The shipment in Nuevo Laredo got hit. They took everything—the rifles, the ammo, the cash.”
I feel my jaw tighten. “How many dead?”
“Three. Two of ours, one of theirs.” Tormentor leans forward, his elbows on the bar. “They left a message, though. Said they want to talk.”
“Talk,” I scoff. “They stole a hundred grand worth of hardware and killed two of our guys, and they want to talk. Tell them they can go fuck their mothers.”
“And their fathers,” Dread adds, passing his joint to Tormentor, who declines by waving him off.
Tormentor’s gaze cuts to me. “I don’t think they want a war. It sounds like they’re looking to negotiate.”
“We don’t have anything to fucking barter with,” I growl. “What are we going to give them a herd of cows from the ranch we sunk all our money into?”
“Perhaps a five-night stay at the dude ranch when it’s up and running,” Dread suggests. “Complete with horseback lessons and unlimited cornbread sliders. Nothing says peace more than some southern hospitality.”
Tormentor narrows his eyes at him. “What’s wrong with you?”
Dread shrugs. “I have no idea, man.” He examines the joint in his hand. “Blame it on the Devil’s lettuce.”
Tormentor shakes his head before bringing his gaze back to me. “We should get Shadow’s take on this. You want me to round up the boys?”
“For what?” I ask. “It’s pretty obvious these motherfuckers are looking to put a bullet in my head the second I cross the border,” I mutter.
Tormentor nods slowly. “That’s a possibility.”
I stare at the bar, my mind already running through logistics—who to bring, what route to take, how much firepower we’d need if things go sideways.
But underneath all of it, there’s a thread of something I haven’t felt before.
A hesitation. A pull toward that room down the hall where Jess is sleeping in my bed, marked, claimed, and completely unaware that I’m about to disappear for three days and there’s a possibility I’ll return in a pine box.
How’s that for husband material?
“Set it up,” I tell Tormentor. “Call Shade and have him plan the route. Tell him I want us back in three days. That gives us time to make the drop in North Carolina.”
Dread raises an eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight. We’re going to go to Mexico to fuck shit up and kill some margarita-loving motherfuckers. Then we’re going to steal the guns they stole from us and deliver them to North Carolina . . . all in three days? Am I right?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” I grunt.
“Got it.” Dread nods and lifts his joint in the air. “Well, here’s to hoping they don’t kill us.”
I leave Dread at the bar with his joint and his bullshit, nodding once at Tormentor before pushing off the stool and heading back down the hallway.