34. Judge
Temper
W hen I wake up, it's early morning. I'm still sprawled on top of Bones, his arms locked around me, holding me captive. His grip is firm, possessive even in sleep. I tilt my head, looking up at him. He looks peaceful. Completely at ease. I haven't seen him like this since more than five years ago.
My fingers tingle with the urge to trace the sharp lines of his jaw, to skim over his lips, to memorize the way he looks when all the weight he carries isn't pressing down on him. But I stay still, unwilling to wake him.
Except a certain part of him is most definitely waking up.
I feel it. Still inside me. And I have to wonder how the fuck that's even possible. Is this some kind of supernatural ability he has? Dark magic? This can't be normal. This is some romance novel-level shit.
My eyes catch on the tattoo inked on the skin of his throat. My fingers itch even more now. I want to touch it. I always want to touch it. It calls to me every time I see it, like a siren's song I have no power to resist.
"You can touch it if you want, baby." His voice is rough, thick with sleep. His eyes remain closed.
I startle slightly at the sudden sound of his voice, and the movement makes him groan, shifting just enough for me to feel every inch of him, still buried deep inside me. Heat floods my body, a quiet gasp slipping past my lips before I can stop it.
I lift my hand and finally trace the ink, running my fingers slowly over the letters.
"Don't you wish you could make this disappear now, you dummy?" I whisper.
He cracks one eye open, watching me, before lifting his own hand and brushing his fingers over my neck.
"No," he says simply, his voice steady. "I deserve to wear it." His thumb skims over the scar on my throat, his touch reverent, delicate. "I wish I could make this disappear, though."
A small, knowing smile plays on my lips.
"I don't," I say softly. "I don't want to live in the past anymore, but it's still mine. You told me something like that once, not long ago. And you were right. I am who I am today because of everything I've been through. The good, the bad, the ugly."
I tilt my chin up, meeting his gaze, wanting him to see the conviction in my eyes.
"Bones, you've been doing a lot better with handling your guilt, but you still have work to do. If we're really doing this — if we're going all in, if we're trying for a real future — then you need to start thinking clearly. You can't let the past blind you. I may not want to cut you anymore, but knowing you, you'll find a way to piss me off one day and offer me your fucking throat just because you think you deserve it."
My lips quirk at the corners, teasing, but my words are laced with truth. "Therapy helped me. I think you should try it. See if maybe it'll help you, too."
His expression shifts, something warm settling into his features. His smile is small but genuine, and fuck, it looks good on him.
"I'll do it, baby," he murmurs. "If you say it helped you, I'll do it. It can't fucking hurt, can it?" His lips twitch into something almost smug. "But also, this is a really weird fucking conversation to have while I'm still inside you."
Before I can react, he flips me onto my back, knocking the air from my lungs. A burst of laughter spills out of me, and his grin turns wicked, dark amusement dancing in his eyes.
"We could be doing something much more fun," he whispers, before his mouth crashes onto mine.
Two hours later, we're stepping out of my shower, steam curling around us. My legs feel like jelly, my skin flushed and overheated, and my body? Completely spent. We can't seem to keep our hands off each other now that we stepped over the boundary.
At some point, we found ourselves lost in something deeper than just the physical — he kissed every one of my scars, reverent, unhurried. In return, I did the same. I pressed my lips to each mark I left on him, my mouth lingering over the jagged one that cuts through the ink on his arm. It felt like a ritual, like some twisted, cathartic act of absolution neither of us spoke about but both of us understood.
And then, we fucked like rabbits. Again.
I groan, tightening the towel around my body. "If we keep going at this pace, I'm gonna need actual food. Otherwise, I'll die. Soon."
Bones chuckles behind me, completely unapologetic. "I'll make you something, baby." His voice is full of satisfaction, low and rough.
I whip around so fast my towel almost slips. "NO! Fuck no!" I burst out laughing, pointing a finger at him in warning. "You are not touching anything in my kitchen. Any kitchen!"
He rears back, arms crossing over his chest, looking deeply offended. "I'm not that bad at cooking. I can make a fucking sandwich!"
My expression is as serious as a damn heart attack. "Bones. You really can't. And at some point, you need to accept that."
He narrows his eyes, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, "Your loss." Then, before I can react, he leans in, kisses me stupid, and walks out of the bathroom.
Completely naked.
It's not even a minute later when I hear the unmistakable sound of a high-pitched girly scream, followed by Layla's horrified voice.
"My eyes! What the fuck?!"
Then, slam! My front door shuts so hard the walls shake.
Oh, no.
I bolt down the stairs, still clutching my towel, and find Bones standing in the living room, holding a box like it's the greatest treasure he's ever seen. He looks entirely unfazed.
"She dropped this," he says casually, lifting the box. "It's donuts. Food, baby." He grins like he just won the lottery.
I slap a hand over my face. "Put some fucking clothes on, Bones! Is she still outside?"
He glances toward the door before looking back at me, completely unbothered. "Nope. Heard her cage start up and then tires screeching out of your driveway. Not my fault. She should've knocked."
I glare at him. "She has a spare key, dumbass. And she probably didn't think this—" I gesture wildly between us, "—was happening yet. It's not like I announced it to the world."
He shrugs, stepping toward me with that lazy, cocky smirk. "She'll live."
I roll my eyes, but he doesn't let me stay annoyed for long. His fingers tuck a damp strand of hair behind my ear, his voice dropping into something smooth, coaxing.
"I wanted to ask you last night, but we got...distracted." His smirk deepens, eyes flashing.
Heat coils low in my stomach. Yeah, distracted is one way to put it.
"There's a poker game at the clubhouse tomorrow. You in? It's Texas Hold'em." His grin is pure fucking mischief. He knows me too well. Knows exactly how much I love taking his brothers' money at poker.
My lips curve in a slow smile. "You bet your ass I'm in."
And then? An idea strikes me.
Something devious.
Something evil.
Something that will give me a little extra edge over the boys at the table.
I step closer, sliding my arms around his neck, going on my toes to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. When I pull back, I pout a little. Just enough to entice.
"But... I wanna do something first," I murmur, blinking up at him through my lashes. "Before the game. Will you grant me a tiny little wish, pretty please?"
I bat my lashes at him, eyes wide, doing my absolute best to look soft, innocent.
The exact opposite of what's actually running through my mind.
His lips quirk, amusement playing across his face. He tucks another strand of hair behind my ear, watching me a little too knowingly.
"I'd grant you anything you ever wanted, baby," he murmurs.
I grin, slow and wicked. He just made a mistake.
"You might regret those words," I whisper under my breath.
His brows furrow slightly, suspicion darkening his gaze. But he still smiles at me, still plays along.
I smile sweetly right back.
When I step back and admire my handiwork, the spanking paddle now hanging dead center on the trophy wall at the clubhouse, the reactions are priceless.
Bones is grinning like a lunatic, shaking his head, full of fond exasperation. Meanwhile, the rest of the brothers? Horrified. Especially Luca Romano. The man looks like someone just slapped him across the face with a dead fish.
A mafia guy turned biker. How the hell did that even happen? That's messing with my head a little. I'll have to ask Bones later.
But for now? I turn back to the room, throw my arms in the air like a victorious gladiator.
"Let's play poker!"
Ria claps her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet, eyes locked on Tank like a predator.
"I'm about to be a rich bitch!" she yells, her voice dripping with anticipation.
Tank's eyes go wide. Like she just threatened his very existence.
Three hours later, Ria is a broke woman. Turns out, her poker skills are absolute trash. Tank's aren't much better. Pops? His might actually be the worst.
And me? Well... I have a sinking suspicion that I've been played.
No one has accepted my all-ins or even my regular bets all night. Not once. Not even the small ones. And the worst part? Bones is sitting across from me with a mountain of chips, looking smug as hell. He's been ruthlessly sweeping the table, taking chips from everyone, yet somehow, I still have most of mine.
The math ain't mathing.
Whenever I raised, they all just folded. Let me have the pot without a fight. The only idiot who actually called my all-in was Domino at one point. And he had a two and a six in his hand with absolutely nothing else going for him. I took his chips with a pair of fours.
A pair of fucking fours.
I used to win against these guys all the time. Every time. And now I have to ask myself — were these assholes just letting me win? Especially the asshole in front of me.
My gaze narrows. I lean back in my chair, arms crossed, and stare at Bones, who's sitting there looking way too composed.
"Are you letting me win?"
The other tables have already cleared out. It's just us now. The rest of the guys are either playing pool or throwing back drinks at the bar.
Bones smirks, completely at ease, and shakes his head. "No chance, baby. Your winnings are all yours," the bastard lies.
Then, his smirk turns into something slower. Darker. Hungrier.
"Are you getting psyched out?" he taunts, leaning forward slightly, voice dropping just enough to make my stomach flip. "Losing your confidence?"
I huff. "You wish! I'll take everything you have, big man!"
His chuckle is lethal.
"Ok, tiger. Settle down." He tilts his head, watching me closely. Then he leans in, voice dipping even lower. "Let's make this interesting, shall we?"
My pulse spikes.
"If I win...," he continues, pausing just long enough to make the air thick between us, "I get to strap you to my bed tonight and have my way with you."
He leans back in his chair, stretching, completely relaxed. Smug. Like he already knows how this is going to end.
Oh, hell no.
"You can name your terms," he adds, his voice all smooth and confident, like he's got this in the bag.
My stomach flutters. And for a second, I have the insane urge to let him win.
But then? My pride rears its head. I arch a brow, leaning forward myself.
"If I win," I purr, running a slow finger over the rim of my glass, "I get to strap you to the bed tonight."
His grin is all teeth. Predatory. Amused.
"You've got a deal."
Ten minutes later...
I'm glaring daggers at him as he drags every single one of my chips into his pile.
It was a goddamn trap.
My mouth opens. Closes. I have no words.
Bones leans back, looking positively fucking victorious. His fingers drum against the table, slow and taunting.
"Don't worry, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction. "I promise I'll make it so good, you'll never want to win at poker ever again."
My entire face goes up in flames.
He's turning me into a damn fangirl.
I sit at the bar, legs crossed, waiting for Grizz to hand me my whiskey sour. Bones had to step away, something about a conversation with Ghost. Ria? Nowhere to be found. Which is suspicious as hell. Tank's also vanished. My suspicion climbs another notch because I know there's something between those two, even if Ria refuses to acknowledge it. I never press. She'll talk when she's ready.
I'm lost in my thoughts when Domino and Fang come up to the bar, their voices rising as they argue. Fang is gesturing wildly, while Domino looks ready to strangle him.
"You were supposed to be my fucking wingman, asshole!" Domino snaps, arms crossing over his chest like a pissed-off bulldog. "Instead, you fucking blew it for me completely! Why the fuck would you tell her I read romance novels?! Huh?"
Fang blinks at him like he's the idiot. "Dude, chicks love that shit! I thought she'd fall at your feet!"
Domino's face turns red. "I'm supposed to be a badass biker, not some lovesick college puppy! You completely destroyed her fantasy! And don't even fucking pretend you thought that would help! I saw you smirking, you fucking jerk!"
I choke on nothing, barely containing my laughter. "What the hell are you two even arguing about?"
They both freeze and turn to me, like two kids who just got caught breaking into a candy store. Then, slowly, Fang's face lights up with a shit-eating grin.
"Let's ask Ace here, shall we?" he says, nudging Domino. "She's a chick. She'll agree with me."
I raise an eyebrow. This should be good.
"So," he continues, leaning in, "we both went to a bar last night. Domino starts hitting on the bartender. It was going great. But to help him score, I — being the amazing friend that I am — casually let it slip that he loves reading romance novels."
I bite my lip, trying not to laugh.
Fang throws up his hands. "Which is true, by the way! And isn't that something chicks love? You guys fall all over that stuff, right? I helped him!"
Domino looks like he's about to burst a vein.
I lose it. Full-on cackle.
"You're such a little shit, Fang!" I wheeze between laughter. "There is no way in hell you thought that would be the right move. No fucking way!"
Fang mutters a curse under his breath. Domino's face shifts from murderous to victorious.
"I told you, fucker!" He claps Fang on the back. Hard. "I'm breaking your fucking bones in the ring tomorrow for this!"
Fang immediately starts backpedaling. "Okay, okay, let's not be hasty—"
I cut in, grinning. "Why break his bones? Maybe you should just make him read a dirty passage from one of those books of yours. Out loud. In the middle of the common room. With all the brothers gathered around."
Domino's eyes go wide. Then he starts laughing like a man possessed. "Holy shit, that's much better!"
"I'm not fucking doing that!" Fang yells, panic creeping into his voice.
Domino just smirks. "It's either that or I rearrange your pretty face. Let's see how many chicks fall at your feet when you're bruised and bloody."
Fang groans and stalks off, muttering about betrayal. Domino follows, grinning ear to ear.
I shake my head, still chuckling when a low voice rumbles behind me.
"You really are a vicious little creature."
I turn in my seat to find Luca Romano, sitting beside me, a fresh drink in his hand. His dark eyes are narrowed, studying me like a puzzle he can't quite figure out.
I smirk. "Yes, yes I am."
I watch him for a second, then I tilt my head slightly. "How the hell did you become a member of this club? I thought the mafia was for life."
His lips curve, amused. "It is. Bones got that pesky deal back. And me along with it." He takes a sip from his drink and then looks at me again. Analyzing. "Does it bother you? That he got it back?"
I frown slightly. "No. I never cared about it. Not really. I just wanted to hurt him back then. Any way I could."
He watches me closely, searching my face. It makes me squirm a little. This guy is way too intense.
"He's lucky," he finally says, voice quieter. "That you gave him a second chance."
I blink. Where the hell is this coming from?
Luca exhales, looking away for a brief second before continuing. "He's never going to admit this. Not to you, not to anyone. But he was making arrangements. It was fucking obvious. The rest of us could see it clear as day. He got that deal back because he was planning to leave the club. For good. He wanted to leave his brothers with all the advantages he could get for them before he made his exit."
I freeze.
"What?" My voice is barely above a whisper.
Luca makes a gun with his fingers, presses it under his chin, and my stomach plummets.
"Don't tell him I told you." He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "he'll probably order my spanking again" before looking back at me. "I just thought you should know the full power you hold over him. Like I said, he's lucky that you gave him a second chance."
He downs the rest of his drink in one go, voice raw when he speaks again. "Some of us don't ever get that lucky."
Then he stands up and walks away.
That night, I hold Bones tighter than ever.
I know his choices are not my burden to bear. But I also know I would've mourned him my entire life.
The next morning, I'm settled in the clubhouse kitchen, coffee in one hand, a sandwich in the other, minding my own damn business. It's Monday, but I cleared my schedule — because I can. I'm ahead on my projects, my clients are happy, and I decided to gift myself a guilt-free pause. Bones had to step into his office for a call, leaving me alone with Mama, who practically force-fed me breakfast.
Pops strolls in, his morning energy way too perky for my barely caffeinated brain.
"Hey, girlie! Whatcha eatin'?" he asks, beaming at me.
I swallow my bite and point a lazy thumb toward Mama. "Sandwich. From Mama. Delicious."
"Do you want another one, sweetie?" The woman in question asks, already moving like she's about to make one whether I say yes or no.
I shake my head. "No, I'm good. Thank you." I sip my coffee, then tilt my head at her. "Do you need help with anything?"
Mama beams, practically glowing. "Oh, no. We're finishing up here, then heading out for a ride. There's so much beauty around here, and I want to see as much as we can today. The weather is perfect, and I can finally take my girl out!"
Before I can answer, chaos enters the room.
Mindfuck drags Tank into the kitchen, his expression somewhere between righteous fury and theatrical indignation.
"Temperance!" he calls out loudly, making me jump a little. "I heard from Domino that you have a sharp mind for cruel and unusual punishments." He pauses, squinting like he's reconsidering every life choice that led him here. "In hindsight, I probably should've realized that sooner. But no matter! I need assistance with this asshole right here." He yanks Tank forward like an offender before the court.
Tank sighs, looking to the ceiling like he's asking for patience. "It was just a fucking prank. Get over it."
Mindfuck glares. "Nuh-uh! Listen here, Judge, this fool thought it would be hilarious to put hot sauce in my personal whiskey stash! First of all, I fucking hate hot sauce. Second, he ruined my goddamn whiskey!" He crosses his arms, completely scandalized. "What's your verdict?"
I gape at them, half choking on my coffee. Right then, Bones strolls in, catching the tail end of the madness. I meet his eyes across the kitchen and raise my brows.
"Did you hear that shit?" I ask him.
Bones barely spares them a glance. "Yeah, I did." He walks straight past, tossing over his shoulder, "Stop bothering my woman with your petty fucking squabbles. Figure it out between yourselves."
Oh, no. Absolutely not.
"Now wait a minute!" I protest, a devious smile curling my lips.
Tank instantly stiffens. "T... whatever you're thinking, don't."
I tap my finger on my chin, mock considering. "Now, Tank, that was not very nice of you. Ruining good whiskey." I turn to Mindfuck, my smile growing sharper. "Do you still have the bottle? The one with the hot sauce?"
Tank's eyes widen in pure horror. Mindfuck grins like a man who's just been handed divine justice. "Oh yeah, I do."
Bones sighs. Loudly.
I purse my lips, thinking theatrically. "It would only be fair for Tank to experience what he created, wouldn't it?" I glance at Mindfuck, who nods in immediate agreement. "Five shots should do it, no?"
Tank groans. "Goddammit! I won't—"
Bones doesn't even twitch a muscle as he throws one glare Tank's way. One.
Tank sighs, completely defeated. "Fucking fine. Give me the bottle. Let's get this over with."
Watching Tank turn lobster-red all the way up to the tip of his bald head was a fantastic way to start the day.
Later that day, we're tangled in bed, a lazy mess of limbs, skin, and warmth. Bones trails his fingers along my spine, slow and aimless, like he has all the time in the world to map me out. I'm spent. Wrecked. We decided today was going to be one of those stay-in-bed, do-absolutely-nothing days. But sleep? Not a single second of it.
I yawn, nuzzling against his chest. "I saw your dad with his cut on today," I murmur. "And his patch said his road name is Pops."
Bones chuckles, the sound deep, rumbling through me. "Yeah, baby. That's because it is."
I blink up at him, confused. "Wait. But... I thought you just called him Pops because he's your dad."
His lips pull into a lazy, satisfied smile. "Yeah, but it's also his road name. He's the father of this club. The founding member. He came up with the idea, fought for it, made it happen. Sure, there are other founding members, but he had to do some convincing to get them on board."
"Ohhh..." I chew on my lip, thinking. "Speaking of names..." I hesitate before tilting my head back to look at him. "How come no one, except your parents and Ghost, knows your legal name? That doesn't make sense. I don't understand how I didn't see it before, but you grew up in the club. How the hell would they not know?"
His smirk is pure amusement. "Because Mama is a vengeful creature who can hold a grudge like no other." He chuckles lowly, shaking his head. "When she was pregnant with me, the brothers kept throwing out name suggestions. Their own names, of course. They wouldn't shut the fuck up about it, and it pissed her off to no end. So she made Pops swear to keep my name a secret just to spite them. Until I got my road name, they called me 'kid' or 'boy' or 'son' in front of the club. By the time Mama's grudge went away I was already grown and it felt like something that belonged only to the people closest to me."
I raise a brow. "That's... actually kind of badass. I should've known your mom was behind it."
His smirk widens. "Oh, Mama plays the long game, baby. She always wins."
I run my fingers lightly over his chest, following the inked lines of his tattoos. "You were young when Pops left you in charge, weren't you?"
He nods. "Too young, by traditional MC standards. But Pops was fed up with the politics. He wanted more time with Mama. So he put me through hell to make sure I was ready. I had to prove myself, earn it, then stand for a vote. And that was that."
I sigh softly, pressing my palm over his heart. "You were lucky. To have Mama and Pops. And Ghost."
His grip tightens, pulling me even closer. "Yeah. I had a good childhood. But following Pops and the brothers around made sure Ghost and I turned into killers early on." He shrugs, completely unbothered. "Or maybe we were just born like that. Who the fuck knows."
Then he tilts my chin up, forcing my gaze to his. His expression is serious, weighted with meaning.
"All these people... they're yours too, Temper. If you ever decide to take them back. It's your choice. No pressure. No expectations. But I want you to know — you have that option. Always."
I search his face, feeling the truth in his words.
I stretch up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I know."
And I do. I just need to take it one day at a time.