Page 57 of Filthy Liar

“It looks good. I’m going to clean and redress it, but you’re almost done with this shit. I’ll come back in a few days and check on all of you. How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Sore,” I immediately reply.

“I would fucking say so. You were an eighth of an inch from death,” he murmurs.

A few moments later, he’s cleaned me up, cleaned himself up, and he’s gone. He does tell me not to stay in bed all day and that I need to move around and get some fresh air. I don’t ask him if that moving around can include sex. I decide I don’t give a fuck what he might say. I’m fucking my woman the moment I lay eyes on her again.

Forcing myself to my feet, I groan as I shuffle toward the door. Doc is right. I need to keep moving. I’ve been locked up in a car for hours and then slept for fuck knows how long. I need to move.

After tidying up and throwing on a pair of athletic shorts and a tank, I move toward the bar. I need some water, maybe some coffee, and definitely some goddamn food. Moving slowly, I am frustrated with myself for being so fucking weak. I never imagined something like a stab wound would make me feel this way.

The bar is fairly quiet. A few guys are around—a couple playing pool, a few sitting at the bar, and then several sitting at the tables that are in the bar floor area. Bypassing all of them, I head straight for the kitchen.

The smell of coffee slams into my senses, and I let out a sigh of relief. One of the three things I need is within arm's reach. Making myself a cup, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and walk over to the counter, placing my two drinks down before I go in search of food.

The door to the kitchen opens, and I freeze. There, standing in the doorway, a saving grace. It’s Shawn standing in front of me with one of her infamous pink bakery boxes. My eyes flick from her face to the box, and I swear to fuck I growl in hunger like a wild animal.

“I figured you’d all be tired and hungry,” she says, her voice oddly soft and almost wounded.

She makes her way toward me and places the box on the laminate countertop before she opens it and flips the lid back, exposing the sweet-smelling treats. As much as I want to, I don’t look down at them yet.

Lifting my hand, I wrap my fingers around her bicep and gently squeeze it to gain her attention, then release my grasp on her. Shawn turns her head slowly, lifting her gaze before her eyes find mine.

She presses her lips together and rolls them a few times before she lets out a long sigh. But she doesn’t say anything. It’s almost as if she’s lost inside of her own head. There’s something going on with her, and as much as I want to ignore it because it ain’t my place, I can’t.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “It’s stupid,” she whispers.

“Stupid?” I ask. “I doubt that shit.”

Shawn turns her back to me, her eyes watering as she does. “I almost lost my husband,” she whispers. “I almost lost the men in my family. I don’t like anything about this.”

“Shit ain’t easy, babe,” I murmur. “This life isn’t for everyone. But you’re strong as fuck.”

“I own a vegan-ish, all-natural organic bakery, Clink. Strong doesn’t really fit my persona here.”

I snort, clearing my throat as I move toward her slightly. “Strong is who and what you are, Shawn. King would never be with some weak-ass bitch. You’re the mother to his children. You’re his wife, his old lady. You are the fucking definition of strength.”

She presses her lips together, lifting her hand to wipe the few fallen tears away. She inhales a deep breath then lets it out slowly.

“Okay,” she says.

I don’t think she believes me, but she will eventually because it’s the fucking truth. Every single old lady in this club is strong as fuck. Including my own. I almost ask Shawn where my woman is, but I decide against it. She needs this moment, and I can find Dillion on my own. I know my brothers got her to safety.

Shawn and I stay in the kitchen, both of us eating a blueberry muffin, then I try a chocolate donut, and finally I have four crepes. I’m stuffed but, at the same time, unsatisfied.

Drinking my coffee, then my water, I find that I still feel dissatisfied, and I realize it’s got nothing to do with food and everything to do with Dillion.

I need my woman.

The door to the kitchen opens again, and I’m not sure who I expect to see, but it isn’t Atomic. His gaze finds mine, his attention sharp and his jaw set.

“Fucking church. Now,” he clips.

Fuck. Me.

Guess I won’t be going to find Dillion anytime soon now.

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