Page 17 of Killer's Obsession
Morpheus’ mouth snaps shut, and he holds up his hand. “Easy, Killer. I’m just not used to seeing your girl all dolled up.”
I glance up at the raging beast beside me and pop a brow. “Seriously?”
The big man’s jaw clenches, before his eyes drop to meet mine. “He shouldn’t be looking at you like that.”
Oh, boy. My protector has gone all caveman on me.
And surprisingly, I’m not even mad about it.
Outside, Killer leads me over to his motorcycle. It’s a massive Harley that perfectly matches its owner.
He swings his leg over and settles onto the seat, then holds his hand out to me. “Left foot on the peg, right leg over the seat,” he instructs.
I do as he says, wobbly in the stilettos and somehow manage not to fall on my ass in the process.
“Here.” He hands me a helmet. I put it on, watching as he puts on his. Safety first.
“Now what?” There’s still a gap between us, and I’m not sure how close I’m supposed to sit.
“Closer,” he grunts.
I scooch forward an inch. “Like this?”
He makes an impatient sound and reaches back, grabbing me behind the knees. I squeal when he yanks me forward until I’m flush against his back. “Arms around me,” he commands.
I comply, circling his waist with my arms and resting my hands lightly on his stomach. The rock-hard abs beneath my palms have my insides tingling. “Better?”
He grunts his approval.
With a hard thrust of his leg, his bike rumbles to life. He twists the throttle, revving the engine. The vibrations come up through the seat, straight to my core.
Holy shit. He revs it over and over, and I moan.
Killer’s body shakes with laughter.
Asshole. He’s doing that on purpose.
Mortified, I smack his stomach with my palm. “Don’t laugh at me.” I’m so embarrassed, and what does the big jerk do?
He revs the engine again, making the beast rumble harder.
“Killer!” I squeal. My cheeks are on fire, and I’m glad he can’t see my face.
Chief is the first to pull out. Two by two, the Saints fall into line behind him. It’s quite the sight. More than half a dozen motorcycles moving in perfect sync.
As we cruise down the highway, the wind whips around us. I feel completely at ease. Then it hits me. This is the first time in months that I’ve felt free.
I get it now—the reason these strong men love the sun on their faces and the breeze on their knees. It’s this complete feeling of peace and freedom.
When we pull up at the hospital, we park in the garage and make our way to the bank of elevators. We draw quite a few looks as we make our way up to the maternity ward. Apparently, a bunch of bikers decked out in leather isn’t something they’re used to.
The waiting room on the fourth floor is already crowded with patients’ families when we arrive. Without paying any mind to the looks we’re getting, Killer claims one of the few remaining chairs and pulls me down onto his lap.
I lean into him. “This is so exciting.”
“If you say so.”
The elevator doors open again, and out pours another round of Saints. Cora and Beckett are the last ones off.
