Page 7 of Taboo Perfect Storm

His eyes widen. He takes a step backward and opens the door, standing to the side to allow me to pass. I don’t bother moving toward his office. Instead, I head straight for their church room. Bond appears seconds after I slip inside.

Turning around, I press my lips together in a thin line. I lean over the table, placing my palms down flat on their wooden table, and inhale a deep breath before I release it slowly.

“I signed the contract for Raul’s sister. The girl will be my wife. Unfortunately, that contract states that I can’t hurt Dutch. It doesn’t say anything about Cyrus, though it’s heavily implied that I won’t do anything to him either. But it doesn’t specifically state anything about someone else taking care of Dutch or Cyrus either.”

“That’s a thin goddamn line,” he murmurs. “Dangerous line to toe.”

“Got a nomad you can use? Has to be someone not closely connected to any of us.”

“Who says we want any part of this?” Bond asks with a snort.

I arch a brow as my lips curve up into a grin. “You do,” I say.

Duke and Bond share a glace between them, and I watch as they both let out a sigh before swinging their gazes back to meet mine. They’ve wanted those assholes dead just as badly as I do. It’s not a big fucking secret.

“I’m willing to wait for Dutch as long I get my shot with him. What about Cyrus?” I ask.

Bond lets out a laugh, then shakes his head a couple of times. I stare at him, wondering what the fuck he finds so funny. Nothing about this shit is comical at all. Not a goddamn thing, but he’s still laughing, so I stare at him until he’s finished and hope he gives me some sort of explanation.

“I’ve already put in a call to our man on the inside. He can’t do it himself. They aren’t at the same place, but don’t worry. It’s making its way through the grapevine, and so are the rewards for the man who gets the job done.”

Good.

I don’t ask them what the rewards are. Instead, I clear my throat and dip my chin in a nod. “I like the sound of all of this. I can’t rest until they’re taken out. I need them gone.Fucking gone. All the goddamn way gone. Forever.”

Bond lifts his hand, wrapping his fingers around my shoulder, and gives me a gentle shake. “I get you, Itch. Totally fucking get you. Now, let’s have a beer. Tell us how you ended up with this woman.”

My lips curve up into a grin. “She claimed me the second she kept me alive. When she kept me from dyin’ on Cyrus’ floor.”

Bond reaches across the bar to take a beer from the bartender and hands it to me before getting one for himself and Duke. Closing my eyes, I suck down half of the contents, then let out a hiss.

“Fuck,” I grunt. “I’m going to marry this girl. I’m too goddamn old for her.”

Bond snorts. “You ain’t, and considering what Cyrus had planned for her, you are her fucking savior. Build a life with her. Keep her as a citizen wife or whatever the fuck you want, but find your happiness, however that looks with her.”

I think about his words for a moment. He’s right. Besides, she’s been through hell. I doubt she wants a real marriage immediately anyway. She probably needs to just feel secure—to feel safe. To adjust. I can give that to her.

Ain’t nobody ever going to touch her again while I’m fucking breathing.

I stay at the Hell’s Souls clubhouse and drink, then I drink some more. I should go back to the shop to work on some cars, or at least the clubhouse. I have a ton of shit to handle, but I do none of that. Instead, I drink.

I don’t know how much I consume, but when we switch from beer to tequila, I know I’m done for the night. I shoot shot after shot, then drink some more. The night eventually fades away, and then everything goes completely dark.

When I wake up the next morning, it’s with a groan. The light is too bright. It makes my fucking hair hurt. A noise next to me of someone moaning is too fucking loud. Throwing my arm over my face, I feel a hand slide across my belly.

Shifting my arm slightly, I open one eye and find nothing but bleach-blonde hair with black roots in my vision. That hair, those roots do not belong to Thunder or anyone else at the Devil’s Hellions clubhouse, and then I realize they don’t because I’m notatmy clubhouse. I’m still at the fucking Hell’s Souls.

Fucking hell.

She moans again, moving a bit closer, her soft tits pressing against my side. I turn my head, force my eyes open, and look around the room. I’m in a bedroom. Thankfully, I’m not passed out on the hard floor of the bar. I’ve done that a dozen times or so in my life.

Shifting from beneath her body, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and rub my palms against my eyes trying to force the hangover away and wake up all at the same time. Then I feel a hand on the center of my back.

I look over my shoulder and take her in. She’s beautiful. Her features are soft. She’s young. Too young, but she’s stunning. Though, I have to admit that she doesn’t look like my Piper.

My Piper.

What a fucking joke. Mine because I’m a dirty fucking old man and I’m keeping her, not because she’s giving herself to me willingly, and she shouldn’t.

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