Page 56 of Steal

A deep tub, a walk-in shower, and a black and cream double vanity, for him and her….

Damn him.

Steal goes around me as I take everything in, but then he opens a cabinet beneath the sink and turns to me, holding out a red medical kit.

He tilts his head. “Want to cause me pain and stitch me up?”

I know he wants to make me smile, I know he wants to downplay the fact he kidnapped me and our daughter but, honestly, the thought of causing him pain sounds real good right now. So, I sigh and take the kit before nodding toward the bed.

He grins, not realizing what he’s got himself in for, and does as he’s told, taking a seat in nothing but his boxers. I can’t help my eyes as they look over his body.

Okay, I should have told him to get dressed first….

Taking a deep breath, I walk over to him. He opens his legs, and yes, his member is visible in his boxers, but I ignore it and not so gently unwrap his arm.

“I thought doctors are supposed to be gentler?” he asks, humor lacing his voice as he lifts his arm a little.

I roll my eyes as I grab the gauze and disinfectant before soaking the cotton. “Funny enough, you are not the first person to ask me that….”

He grins. “Let me guess, Acid and Piston.”

I shrug as I gently clean the wound, and admit, “They are my brothers in every way except blood.”

“And what am I?” he asks, and my hand pauses as I lock eyes with him. I reply, “My ex.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know I am more than that, Trouble. We’re not exes; you know we’re meant to be….”

I finish wiping the wound and clear the blood before I chuck the gauze in the trash can near the bed, grab the needle and thread, and huff, “Yeah, until the club decides I’m not trustworthy or when Faith calls.”

“Cassidy,” he snaps, and we lock eyes again. “Faith is on the run. Bull is dead, and so are the other four brothers who were involved, plus three more who didn’t realize we had the phones tapped.”

I swallow, then look down, threading the needle.

“It doesn’t change anything, Colt,” I whisper. “Everything still happened, and you can’t change the past.”

“No, I can’t,” he admits, and I look at him again, “but I can explain it all from my point of view so you can understand why I chose to hold a gun to your head.”

I shake my head. “Again, it doesn’t matter anymore, Colt.” I sigh and pinch his skin together, and not so gently dig the needle through, making him wince, but he doesn’t say anything. “You bringing me here, bringing Moira here, won’t magically change anything. I won’t be taking your patch, I won’t be moving into your home, and neither will our daughter. If you want access, then it will be supervised. Nothing has changed, and we’ll never be together again. I’ve spent the last four years raising our daughter alone, I’ve spent the past four years putting myself first and finally moving on from my past, our past.”

As I speak, I thread the needle through his skin, refusing to look at him. I know he’s angry, no not angry, furious, I can feel it, but he has no right to act this way with me, no right to be mad.

He held a gun to my head, and while, yes, I got to shoot him in revenge, it doesn’t change the fact that he did it after dragging me out by my hair, calling me a whore and a patch chaser, when I did nothing but put him before everything in my life.

And let’s not forget the four years where I was just an afterthought for him.

He missed my dad’s death anniversaries, my graduation, heck, he chose Faith on the day I walked into my dad’s gym to find my sister giving him CPR.

I love him, I always will, but we won’t happen again; we can’t. I respect myself too much.

Steal doesn’t say anything as I stitch him up, which I’m grateful for, and once I’m done, I gently cut off the thread and grab a new bandage, covering the wound. It’s not until I go to step back that he moves.

His hands grip my hips, keeping me in place, and I sigh. “Let me go, Colt, please. I need to get dressed and wake Moira.”

“You’re not leaving,” he says adamantly, and I glare at him, but he doesn’t falter. Instead, he grips my hips tighter and claims, “I was going to do this without even finding out about Moira, Trouble. I need you in my life, and the last four years have been fucking hell without you.”

I pull back, causing him to drop his hands and I sneer, “And whose fault is that?” I point at him. “You are the one who told me to leave New York.”

He stands and gets in my space and rasps, “Because I knew Bull would shoot you without any questions asked. I know you, Cassidy, I knew you then, and I know you now.” His eyes race between mine. “For four years you refused my patch, and I’m not fucking stupid, I know the first year was because of school but the rest was because of Faith, the club,” he cups my cheek, “don’t you see, if you had accepted my cut, then you would have been put first.”

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