Page 52 of Bloom: Part 2

“Well, fuck me. I take it Crowe doesn’t know you’re planning to make a husband out of his little biker, does he?” Grimm’s gruff voice now held an element of amusement.

“Not yet, but we’ll tell him soon. So what do you say?”

“I’ll make the calls and arrange for everything. Can you send me details?”

“Sure. Can you take it over the phone now?”

“Hold on. Lemme get a pen.”

I filled in Grimm on the details. When I was done, Grimm laughed. “You got some balls giving him Crowe’s last name without asking permission.”

“Seems like the right thing to do.”

“If you say so. Interesting to see how all of this goes down. I’ll let you know the cost and arrange for you to send payment. My guy’s good, but he’ll need at least a week. You good on that?”

I wanted to ask for sooner, like tomorrow, but one week was already pushing it to create a whole life for someone.

“I can live with that.”

“All right. You’ll need a passport-size photo of Bloom too and his signature. He usually sends someone around to do it.”

“Sounds good. Thanks a lot, Grimm. I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it. You looked out for Jamie at the hospital. Once that boy’s fine, life is good.”

What must it be like to have such a simple love story with no need for secrecy? I ended the call and sighed. I should get back to the clubhouse. Maybe Jamie could use some help.

16

LOGAN

As I pulled into the clubhouse driveway, the first thing I noticed was my stolen car, parked in plain view as if it had been there all along. I slowed to a stop, my chest tightening. What the hell was it doing here? Had Bloom gone behind my back, ignored every word I’d said, and chased down the people responsible for taking the car?

I gripped the steering wheel hard. Disappointment settled like lead in my gut. I’d thought he understood, that we’d reached an agreement—no more recklessness. I could still see him at his makeshift altar, performing his little ritual, pledging himself to me. I’d believed him then, believed every whispered promise, but now…

Was it all an act? Was his so-called devotion nothing but empty words if he didn’t live by them?

Something happened. Someone got hurt.

Grimm’s words from earlier echoed in my head. My hands twitched against the steering wheel, but I was unable to let go. I felt as if someone was forcing me to remain seated in the carwhen all I wanted to do was run inside the clubhouse and find Bloom.

Dear god, he can’t be the one hurt. Not again.

I clenched the steering wheel until my fingers went numb, the anger turning into dread coiled so tight in my chest I could hardly breathe. With a harsh snap, I forced myself to unclip the seat belt and shove open the door. Every step toward the clubhouse felt like dragging myself through quicksand, my feet heavy.

The gravel crunched underfoot, but the noise barely registered. All I heard was Grimm’s voice. All I saw was the image of my car sitting there—a reminder of Bloom’s defiance.

I pushed open the front door and walked inside. A murmur of voices drifted down the hall, low and tense. I continued to the mess hall, each step heavier than the last.

I stopped cold. In the center of the room, Bloom sat slumped in a chair, his face pale, lips pressed into a tight line. His shirt was off, and Jamie was bent over him, wrapping a bandage carefully around his chest, his movements slow and deliberate. On the table beside them lay a pile of blood-soaked gauze.

My stomach dropped. Bloom shouldn’t be bleeding. Not at this stage after his surgery.

Bloom raised his head, and our gazes met. He at least had the decency to look ashamed. Good. He knew he was in the wrong.

“Logan…” Bloom’s voice was soft, his lips pulling into a weak smile, but he couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes. “I’m fine, just a little—”

I balled my hands into fists at my sides, every muscle in my body screaming to keep control. But all I saw was his pale skin, the bruises darkening around his collarbone, the pain he was trying to hide.

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