Page 36 of Providence

She let out a shuddery breath, and I resolved to make that fucker scream.

I whipped out my phone and called Shots. The man answered on the fifth ring, his voice husky with sleep.

“Sorry to wake you, man, but we need Sweetie over at Apocalypse. Tell her I’ll owe her one.”

“Got it, VP. We’ll be ten minutes.”

“Bring the truck, Shots.” With that, I hung up. I moved to the other side of the room, giving Billie space as whatever she was drugged with wore off. Sweetie bustled into the back office in eight minutes and thirty seconds, and if we could, I’d make fucking Sweetie President of Damnation MC. That woman was a force.

She took one look at Billie and turned cold-eyes to me. “Make him hurt,” she said, echoing Sera’s sentiments.

I smiled, and it was not a pleasant expression. “I intend on it. Make sure she’s okay, take her to the hospital if she wants to go. Let her know that Ricky won’t be walking this earth for much longer though. Take her home, generally make sure she knows she’s safe now. Find out why she took a job at this shithole in the first place and see if we can fix it.”

Sweetie waved a hand at me. “I’ve got it. Go do whatever it is you are going to do.”

I was thoroughly dismissed, and I shook my head. I walked out the back door, already on my phone to Trig. “I need you to wipe the cameras on Apocalypse for tonight. And then call De La Renta and tell him we are going to need a clean up tomorrow morning.”

Trigger grunted in satisfaction. “About fucking time. I hated that sleazy fuck.”

I couldn’t help the sinister grin that spread across my face. About fucking time, indeed.

19

Serendipity

It was four a.m. and I couldn't sleep, even though Solomon was curled around me in the darkness like a second skin. His soft snores belied the fact that he could be awake with a gun in his hand in less than three seconds. I’d seen him do it. Sleeping soundly, then on his feet, a gun pointed at the window in seconds.

If that raccoon had had higher thought processes, it would have crapped itself where it stood, going through our trash cans. Actually, it probably did crap itself.

The soft sound of Madoc’s snuffles from the other room were soothing. I wasn’t worried about the guys; there was something reassuring about them being immortals. I didn’t have to worry about them accidentally getting hit by a truck, or catching a stray bullet.

No, my restlessness centered on what they were doing. I didn’t fool myself. I’d seen the basement of the Clubhouse. Sure, it had been when Judas had chained Goliath to the wall and they were fucking, but I was assuming that wasn’t their regular purpose. I knew they were probably torturing Ricky, and even then I couldn’t bring myself to feel much remorse over his pain.

My problem lay in the fact that this was their life. Shady shit and torture. Strip clubs and back alley drug deals. Me stuck at home, being the Old Lady. Would that be enough for me? Could I reconcile myself to their lifestyle?

I sighed and tossed again, freezing as Sol’s arm tightened around my waist. He nuzzled my neck, kissing between my shoulder blades softly.

“What’s wrong, Babe?” he whispered in a sleep roughened voice that made my core clench tight.

I wove my fingers through his. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

He shifted away slightly, his hand on my hip rolling me onto my back. He lifted himself onto his elbow and looked down at me in the darkness. “It’s not nothing. You haven’t slept at all.”

I grinned up at him. “Were you watching me like a creeper?”

He leaned down and blew a raspberry on my neck. “Fuck yeah. But I can’t watch you sleep and progress to full stalker mode if you don’t actually sleep.” He laid back down and gathered me to his chest. His perfectly hard, warm, muscled chest.

I poked my tongue out and licked his nipple, just because I could. His answering groan gave me a smug sense of satisfaction, until he put his fingers under my chin and tilted my face up. “Enough of that. Tell me what's wrong.”

I sighed, and flung a leg over his. “I’m just struggling with being in a relationship, I think. Not being in total control. Giving up even a little of it to you guys has been harder than I imagined.”

He stroked his fingers through my hair. “Aren’t you happy?”

I frowned, looking up at him now. “I’m perfectly happy. I wouldn’t be anywhere else but with you.”

“But?” he prompted.

“But I’m struggling to fit into the Club life. To reconcile with the fact I will always be left at home. Being cared for, coddled, loved. Being someone’s mother. It’s all so different, and I guess I never prepared myself for you guys. For what I feel for you, what it would be like to be with five men. The worry that would come with that.” I drew in a shuddering breath. “Marco is going to die. Hopefully not tomorrow, or next year or the year after that. But in fifty or sixty years time, he’ll die of old age, because that’s what humans do. Then Cara and Sammie will die too. Then their kids.”

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