Page 64 of Devil's Own: Roughneck

That idea makes me smile. Then I’m hit with another one—I wonder if she’ll let me knock her up. My mind fills with images of my beautiful Gia, middle swollen with our kid. Jesus, could anything be sexier than moving inside my wife while she’s carrying my baby? I start to get hard just thinking about fucking her like that.

Even though I talked to her earlier, I press Gia’s contact. She picks up on the second ring.

“Rough? Everything okay?” she asks. It fucking sucks that this is how she answers every call from me now. The idea of me calling just to hear her voice shouldn’t shock her, but it does, and it shits me that what I have to say is bound to keep that habit going for a while.

I take a beat to breathe, savoring the sound of her voice before I answer. “Shit’s gonna go down tonight.”

Now it’s her turn to hold back. I know she's thinking the way the silence mixes with her tiny breaths. Then she hits me with, “I love my brother and I love Waite. Those are the only two people in my life who got that from me.Until you. I get the things you have to do. I accepted everything about you the night I went back to your house the very night we met.”

She pauses and I suck in a sharp breath. She gets what I have to do. She accepted me and my life that night. Fuck me. I watched brother after brother fall hard for that one woman who got him more than anyone else in the world, even more than the brothers, because these women got in deep. To the places that each man kept hidden from even themselves. I loved it for them. Wanted it for me. But doubted that woman existed for me. I was open to finding her and never did. Then the universe decided to walk her fine ass into the same bar I’d eventually find myself in on a really dark night for me.

“Come home to me,” she finishes. “Finish this and come home to me.”

“Let’s do a long weekend in Gatlinburg. Find out how far in advance we need to apply for the marriage license. Then we’ll do it. I don’t want to wait.”

“I’ll get on that,” she whispers, and I hear her holding back tears. Gee’s got the biggest heart. How did I get so damn lucky?

“Gotta get some sleep now.”

“You promise?” she asks. I know exactly what she’s asking.

“I promise.”

“Good. Love you, Rough.”

“Gee?” I ask sternly and wait a beat. She better remember.

She lets out a long breath. “Love you,Griff. You know I’ll never get used to calling you Griff.”

Chuckling, I whisper, “Love you, too, Gee,” before hanging up the phone.

She’ll get used to it.I damn well guarantee she’ll get used to it…Building a fucking life with that woman…I close my eyes, willing myself to drift off to sleep.

Far too soon, Cut pounds on my door, yelling at me to “get the hell up.” I wipe at my eyes with the palms of my hands, stand and then stretch, then slip on my boots before heading to the bathroom to take a piss. Finished with that, I strap on my holster, load a new clip in my Glock, and slide it in securely. Then I join Cut while we make our way out to the living room to meet up with the rest of the men.

Each of the Raiders dressed like they’re going on a mission. All black. Shirts, cargos, boots, gloves, and helmets with night vision goggles strapped around the wide brim of each helmet, ready to pull down.

Sarge steps into the middle of the group, and I notice that he’s taped over the giant Bedlam Horde rocker on the back of his cut and his name patch on the front with black tape. “Brothers, we’re Horde. I get that we want to end this wearing our cuts, but if we want to end this and not risk being identified, as in not continuing this shit and bringing it back home to our women and children, then you need to black out your patches.”

“Where’s the tape?” I ask, and Sarge slices a glance at me like he thought he’d get some flak for this suggestion. “What?” I ask next. “I’m getting married as soon as I get home. I’ll never do anything to put Gee in danger purposely.

The other brothers get me. I know they do by the way their heads nod. Not one man complains. Our priorities have shifted again. I’m fucking glad they have. We went from being a brotherhood to a family, and I don’t think we could turn back now if we wanted to. As I stretch a length of black tape across my rocker, I laugh under my breath, shaking my head as I think about how far this club has come from back when I prospected.

Back then, all I cared about was riding, making bank, partying, and banging as much pussy as I could fit into a day, every day. Now I’m hoping the woman I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life with will agree to give me a kid.

Trouble hands out night vision goggles and walkies to me and my brothers.

“Every man knows their hit,” Sarge says in full commander mode. We each nod our understanding. “Keep sharp. Stay together. Watches are in sync. Take the shot if you have it. Something goes wrong—anythingfucking goes wrong, you abort. We’ll figure out a plan B.”

Roscoe and I take off for an old pickup truck. She’s a rust bucket. Roscoe must know what I’m thinking because he turns to me with a smirk. “She ain’t much to look at, but she purrs like a fucking kitten.”

We climb in the front and damn, if I misjudged this girl. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he forgot to start the engine. Once we’re off Carter’s property, he says, “I keep her for missions to fly under radar. Plates link back to a jackhole in lockup for the next twenty-five to life.”

That’s the last we speak, going into mission mode. It’s a good three-hour drive. Both of us, well, at least I know I’m deep in my head. We’ve gone through shit as a club, fighting our own brothers, traffickers, and serial killers. We’ve suffered through life-threatening injuries and lost brothers along the way. Now, tonight, we’re going to end a rival club. I have no reservations. This needs to happen. None of us are safe, especially not our women and children. Tonight, the Horde and the Lords are safe from the Death Bringers.

The closer we get to our target, the more unease weaves in smoky tendrils throughout my body. Once we hit the neighborhood we were aiming for, Roscoe finds a spot to ditch the truck in the lot of an abandoned warehouse. He and I get out. It’s black. All streetlamps got a bullet to the bulb years ago. Blackness fills every available space around us. Nothing good happens in this part of town. It’s falling down. Decrepit.

We purposely chose an overcast night to attack. Roscoe and I slide our night vision goggles down over our eyes.

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