Page 74 of Lucky's Trouble

“Yeah, okay.”

“And keep it quiet for now. We don’t need everyone getting their panties in a twist if it’s just a looky-loo trying to build up the courage to walk in.”

I rap my knuckles on his desk. “I’m on it.”

As I walk home, I unzip the top half of my coveralls and push them down, tying the sleeves around my waist. The fall chill is setting in, but after that talk with Cy, I’m running hot. If the car does belong to Neal, and he’s scoping out the property for an attack, I’m in deep shit.

When my cabin comes into view, I push all thoughts of Neal away. Tinleigh doesn’t need to know about this. Not yet, anyway, because things are finally feeling settled.

It’s been two weeks since I brought her home and decided I’m keeping her, and I’ve fucking loved every second of it. We have a routine where we wake up and have a cup of coffee before I head out to work. Then, while I’m either at Honey Pot or the Garage, she hangs out with Sugar, or Judge if he’s there. Sugar loves the extra help, and she’s developed a strong friendship with Judge.

Still not sure how I feel about that, but he seems to be helping her through some religious trauma, so I’d look like a royal dick if I tried to put an end to it. Can’t say I don’t get jealous, though.

After I get home from work, we have dinner at the clubhouse before coming home to fuck like rabbits. I love that part the most. I’m trying not to freak her out, so I’ve been taking it slow, watching for her cues, but tonight, I’m ready to ramp it up a little. My cock twitches at the thought of what I have planned, but first, I have to make it through dinner.

“Honey, I’m home,” I call out, getting down on a knee to untie my boots. When I don’t hear a response, I pull out my phone and shoot her a text asking where she’s at.

No response.

That’s weird. She’s usually quick to return my texts. Pushing my feet back into my boots and trying not to lose my shit, I walk over to the clubhouse. Apparently, the recent mention of Neal bothered me more than I thought, and now all I can picture is him taking her. It’d be virtually impossible for him to get on the property, but what if he did somehow?

I pick up my pace to a near jog until I reach the back door and fling it open to find no one hanging around. Not unusual for this time of day, but still, it makes me nervous.

“Sugar?” I call out to no response. Popping my head into the kitchen, I find it as empty as the bar area.

My heart pounds a little harder in my chest as I jog through the building and out the front door. I look to the left and the right and see Riot and Judge’s bikes but no one else’s. Maybe one of them knows something, so I sprint through the building and back out the back door.

The second I’m outside, I hear women laughing and slow my pace. To the right, Tinleigh is walking out of Dutch’s cabin with a basket full of laundry. Relief floods my system as I bend forward, bracing my hands on my knees and slowing my breaths. I feel like I just ran a marathon.

“You okay, babe?” Tinleigh asks as they draw closer.

I stand upright, placing a hand on my chest. “Fine.”

“You don’t look so good.” She hands the basket to Sugar and rubs my back.

I feel like my heart just broke into a million pieces and then put itself back together in the wrong order.

“Just tired,” I say.

“I’ll help you wash all that tomorrow, Sugar. I think I better take this one home.”

“Sure, honey. Will I see you both for dinner?”

“Of course. I didn’t help make those braised ribs to turn around and not eat them.” Tinleigh waves goodbye, then takes my hand and guides me to our place.

Once inside, I kick my boots off, still feeling off. It occurs to me that this will keep happening no matter how much time has passed. As long as Neal’s out there, and if I don’t know exactly where she is, my mind will always assume the worst.

“Get over here,” I demand.

Dutifully, she comes close. I wrap my arms around her middle and squeeze her to me, lifting her off her feet. Fuck, I’m falling hard and fast. I don’t like it. Actually, I fucking hate it. Having someone you care about who’s fragile as fuck, walking around in the world where I can’t be there at all times to protect her, makes me sick.

“I need you,” I say, lowering her to the ground.

She pouts. “But, dinner.”

“Dinner can wait.”

“No, you can wait.” Her tone is teasing, but I’m not in a teasing mood.

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