Chapter 20 #2
I release with a shocked, guttural groan across the shower wall, hand slamming out against the granite.
Fuck.
I’m still breathing hard as I grab the handheld showerhead to wash the evidence away. And I’m reminded that, as much as I might feel like the na?ve teenage boy I was when I first met her, I’ve become a twisted, kinky motherfucker in the past decade.
Is that something I think I can really turn off, just because she might be back in my life?
She’s clearly made something of herself, learning and mastering an entire artistic craft and raising a whole Goddamn human being who seems like a pretty damn awesome kid.
And meanwhile I’ve… done what?
Thrown away a whole helluva lot of potential and let myself waste away as the semi-successful owner of a sex dungeon?
Even that I haven’t been great at. I had to get bailed out a couple of times by rich friends that I just happened to make along the way because…
Frankly, I didn’t care. About much of anything.
After losing everyone I ever loved, sure, I’ve built a good friend group around the club over the years…
But I never let any of them too close. I never risked letting any of them know the real me.
Hell, I’m not sure I even know the real me anymore. Except I never felt more real than when I was with Harper.
And that’s too much to put on any one person.
I should have been doing what Harper’s clearly done with the past decade. I should have been working on myself and making myself the best man I could be—so that on the mere chance that I ever ran across her again, I’d be the kind of man who might deserve her.
I count to seven and then slam the water off, annoyed at my old compulsions.
I’m even more annoyed when I flip the water on again. And off. And on. And off. And on. And off again, spraying myself ruthlessly in the face each time.
After the seventh repetition, I’m finally able to drag myself out of the shower and dry off. I glare at my phone, texting Isaak to ask for any updates.
On our way.
comes his immediate reply.
Got some intel on that name you gave us.
I immediately hit the call button as I wrap a towel around my waist. “Talk to me.”
“Not good news,” Isaak’s deep voice rumbles over the phone. “That big rig company Zedekiah works for is legit, but Mads hacked his company's travel logs, and he goes on runs to Jalisco twice a month.”
Jalisco. Classic cartel country. I’ve heard they work with the Texas MCs to move product.
“How has he not been picked up by border control?” I ask.
“He’s been stopped a couple of times, apparently, but he always checks out fine. Maybe he hauled clean loads sometimes and got lucky on those runs? Or maybe he gets tipped off. Who knows?”
“Lucky. Sure.” I glare out the back window at the private backyard. This bastard’s luck just ran out. “Do we know who he’s running the shipments for? Harper said she thinks it’s an MC.”
“That’s the other news that just came in and why I texted. Mads also found some traffic cam footage of the bleeding fucker slung bitch over the back of one of the Harleys you saw.”
“So he’s still alive,” I growl unhappily. “I was hoping he bled out before the ambulances got there.”
“No such luck. If it’s any solace, it looked like he was in a lot of pain. Bad news, though—the camera got a clear pic of the cuts the bikers were wearing. Lonestar Kings.”
“Fuck,” I breathe out, watching my face go pale in the bathroom mirror.
Everybody in Texas knows the Kings. They’re notorious for their brutality working this side of the border in coordination with the newer, more entrepreneurial Jalisco cartels.
They’ll work with anyone, not just their own supply lines, to traffic drugs, guns, and girls back and forth across the border.
The Kings have been around for decades, but ever since their partnership with the new Jalisco cartels, they’ve been more deadly than ever. Just a few years ago there was a shootout near Nuevo Laredo that took out five federal agents.
“There’s got to be a RICO case building against them, right?” I ask.
“Not in time to do your girl any good if she’s mixed up with them right now.”
I nod. “What’s their connection to Silas? Harper said Z was trying to force him to give her ownership of Carnal. What the hell does a random piece of downtown real estate have to do with any of this?”
“Still working on it.”
“Was Father Bane able to get in to see Silas?” I hoped at least Silas would be willing to talk to the priest to give us some insight into what the hell is going on.
“Bane got there right before visiting hours ended but was turned away. They said Silas wasn’t accepting visitors.”
I shake my head. “Do you think that’s the truth? Harper said he indicated the guards were in on it with the Kings.”
“Don’t know. But I’ve heard the Kings have networks all throughout the prisons, on both sides of the bars.”
“Shit. You think Silas is safe?”
“I think safety is a relative term, considering we have no idea what we’re wrapped up in.”
“Fuck.” I look back in the direction of my bedroom door.
I’m reunited with the love of my life, only to be put in a position where I’m not sure if I can keep her safe. It feels like that Christmas when Mom revealed her cancer was back all over again.
What if I can’t keep them safe?
What if I lose Harper?
My hands start shaking. Three. Seven. Eleven, thirteen, seventeen, nineteen—
“Okay, our guys just pulled up outside your location,” Isaak says. “One will post across the street, one will take the backyard. I’ll keep you updated as we learn more.”
“Thanks, Isaak. I owe you one.”
“Don’t be dumb. You’re family.”
I huff out a short laugh as the phone clicks off in my ear. I should be relieved knowing we’ve got protection.
But I’ve never felt less in control in my life.
I’m scrolling through my phone, trying not to think about Harper sleeping in the other room, when she bursts through my door without knocking.
“A car just pulled up outside,” she says, and I look up to find her breathless, beautiful, and—
She pauses just inside the doorway, and something in her expression shifts when she sees me on the bed.
Fuck. Focus, Graham.
“It’s our guys. Well, my friend Isaak’s security guys. You’re safe.”
I see her shoulders visibly relax.
“So they’ll just… what? Stay stationed out front?”
“And a guy out back, too.”
Harper’s whole body seems to shudder, as if the adrenaline is finally leaving her system. She’s been holding it together all day, being strong for her kid, but now—
“Pretend I’m not here,” she says suddenly, and flips off my overhead light.
I frown at her in the semi-darkness. My bedside lamp is still on, though, so I can see the way her eyes have gone dark, and the way her hips sway as she moves closer to my bed, biting her bottom lip.
Uhhhh… My mouth goes dry as she approaches with a liquid grace I remember from a thousand fevered teenage fantasies. Her fingers find the hem of her shirt.
“Get under the covers, Caleb. And close your eyes.”
Then she pulls her shirt off over her head.
Jesus Christ.
My brain short-circuits. Years of wanting her, dreaming about her, and now she’s standing at the foot of my bed in just her bra and—
I thought she’d go back to her room after confirming it was the protection unit outside. Or maybe she’d stay, finally wanting to talk.
But her clear alternate intentions don’t stop me from throwing the covers back and revealing that I haven’t put on anything besides my boxer-briefs after my shower.
My heart hammers against my ribs as Harper leans over—giving me a perfect view of her cleavage—and snaps off my bedside light.
The darkness feels intimate.
Dangerous.
“Face away from me,” she breathes out, and goosebumps race across my skin.
Every instinct screams at me to turn and pull her close to my chest—to take control of this situation like I usually do with subs at the club.
But God knows she’s not a sub. And something in her voice tells me she needs to be the one calling the shots right now.
So I roll onto my side, presenting her with my back, even though it kills me not to look at her.
The mattress dips as she climbs in behind me. The covers settle over us both, and suddenly we’re in our own private world. Hidden from everything outside this room.
Just us.
Then her hands are on my shoulders, kneading my muscles, warm against my bare skin.
“Fuck, that feels so good,” I gasp out, melting into her touch.
Her hands are small but strong, and the simple intimacy of it—Harper touching me, choosing to touch me—makes my chest tight.
“You’ve grown,” she whispers against my back.
I huff out a laugh, trying to sound normal when my entire nervous system is on fire. “A decade’ll do that to a man.”
I start to turn around—I need to see her face and understand what this means—but she locks her arms around me from behind and presses her cheek to my spine between my shoulder blades.
“Stay,” she whispers. “Please.”
I freeze. The plea in her voice undoes me completely.
“We should talk,” I manage, because I’m still trying to be the good guy here. I’m trying to do the right thing even though she’s in my bed and I can feel the warmth of her skin against mine. It’s torturous in the best possible way.
“I know,” she whispers, and I can hear the guilt in her voice. “There are some things I need to tell you. But tonight I don’t want to think anymore. Can you just make me feel good? Is that too selfish to ask?”
I suck in a breath and let it out raggedly.
She’s asking me to touch her. To make her feel good. Harper Tucker—the girl I’ve been in love with since I was a teenager—is in my bed, pressed against my back, asking me to make her feel good.
I should still insist that we talk first. I should be responsible and mature—
But instead, I blurt out what I’m actually thinking: “Do you know how often I used to think about you climbing into my bed like this?” The confession tears out of me before I can stop it.