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“Oh, you’ve had enough?” I laugh. “Too fucking bad.” I stab him again and again, rage taking over until I’m so crazy with it, I’m almost blind. “Fuck!”
The guy is still breathing, but just barely.
“Give a message to Trey. Tell him I’m coming for him.” I spit in his face and get up, glaring down at him. “I’m coming for all of you. Consider this your one and only lifeline.”
The rush of that ass-whooping sticks with me all the way back to the ranch.
To Ivy.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ivy
Pacing up and down the length of the bunkhouse for the fifth night in a row may make up for all the barbecue chicken and potato salad I’ve been inhaling at the big house, but it’s not doing a damn thing to calm my shaky nerves.
The man is working himself down to the bone, spending all day pitching in where he can on the ranch, dealing with MC business before spending his evenings with me. Mostly, we curl up together in the bunkhouse since it’s empty right now, and we have the place to ourselves.
I'm excited over the past few days as Stone opens up and lets me inside. It’s like I’ve gotten to know him all over again. We laugh just like we always did. He tells me his stupid jokes, and then it changes in an instant. He’ll take my hand and hold it to his heart while I tell him my stories of life during our time apart.
It's a lot of togetherness, but I’m not sick of him. The little things, like the way he grumbles when he eats or the mess he leaves in the bathroom after a shower. None of it bothers me. It doesn’t annoy me at all.
It’s Stone. 100% Stone.
But I’m pacing around the bunkhouse like a wild kitten trapped in a barn. After all day on the ranch and then working with the Reckless Bastards, and after all night laughing and fucking me, Stone slips out of bed. Every damn night.
He thinks I’m sleeping when he presses a soft kiss to my forehead and leaves, but I’m not.
I listen to his careful moves as he gets dressed and pushes his bike far enough away that it’s a low hum when he starts it up. And the moment the engine sounds in the distance, I’m wide awake until I hear his bike return. I let him wake me up after his shower with kisses and soft touches, letting him lose himself in my body to wipe away whatever sins he’s committed.
And I can pretend to myself that I don’t know what he’s doing, but even if I don’t know the specifics, I know enough. His raw, angry knuckles. The bruises on his chest and back. The slash across his forearm. The blood on his clothes.
I see it all and pretend I don’t, but I can’t deny my worry any longer. Stone is out there exacting revenge, which is hot as fuck, but he’s doing it on his own. He’s going at it alone when he has tons of people here who would gladly stand by his side, have his back if only he would fucking ask.
Gorgeous, stubborn, arrogant asshole.
It’s just past three in the morning when the bike stops a few hundred feet away. This time, I don’t scurry to the bed and slip under the covers to pretend I’m asleep. Tonight, I sit in the middle of the bed, fold my legs, and wait.
He stops abruptly when he realizes he doesn’t have to sneak. “You’re awake.”
“I am.”
“Something wrong?” He kicks off his boots and jeans and then hangs his kutte on the empty hook by the door. He’s slowly undressing, and I eat up every inch of his beautiful body even as my anger stews.
“Yeah, Stone, something is wrong.”
He lets out a heavy sigh, but it’s not frustration. More like resignation. “Can we talk about it after I shower?”
“Sure,” I say and wave toward the bathroom. “Go wash off the blood and all the other evidence of what you’ve been doing tonight.”
He opens his mouth to speak but reconsiders before disappearing into the bathroom.
I wait, and I stew, worry bubbling inside my gut. I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t want to fight with Stone, but I have to. If I don’t fight now, I might as well give up because I’ll lose him anyway.
Stone strolls out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel. He looks so damn good my mouth goes dry, and all I want to do is scrape my tongue over every inch of his delectable body.
I’m lucky my good sense kicks in, or maybe my eyes simply focus on the details, such as the bruises marring his six pack abs, the butterfly bandage on his left pectoral muscle, the shadow of fingertips seared around his throat. “So?”
“So?” My tone is shrill and incredulous. “Stone, have you looked in a mirror over the past few days?”
