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Liss stopped breathing.
“I had no bullets, baby,” I said. “Your brother didn’t know that, so I was bluffing. But I couldn’t hold out forever. You saved my ass. You protected me.”
Her fingers traced over my chest as she grappled with that realization.
“I promised I wouldn’t run anymore,” she said. “I couldn’t lose you.”
“That’s what family does for each other. We fight bloody. And you proved you’re just as tough as the rest of us. You’re a Blackjack, sweetheart.”
Liss’s breath hitched and her mouth crashed against mine—needy, desperate. My hands roamed her body, pulling her tight against me. Her fingers slipped beneath my shirt, straying over my bandages. I pulled her panties aside, stroking her clit until she was wet and hungry.
I tasted the salty tears of her relief on my lips as I unzipped my fly. Liss grasped my cock with her quick fingers, nuzzling into my cheek with a flurry of kisses.
“I love you,” she murmured against my skin, over and over.
It took every ounce of self-control to tear myself away and fumble in the nightstand drawer for a condom. I barely had it on before Liss was guiding my cock home into her hot, slick heat. With slow languid thrusts and tangled tongues, we were lost in each other.
***
Two weeks after the fire, Kingpin called a meeting in an unofficial capacity so we could regroup. Since we didn’t have a clubhouse anymore, I volunteered my backyard as a place to meet up. It wasn’t much bigger than my house, but it served as the perfect excuse to make Liss feel welcome among us.
By the late afternoon, ten bikers traipsed through my backyard and took over. Tex manned the barbecue, grilling steaks. Baby Doll picked up two dozen cupcakes from the local bakery, and Crash carried in enough beer to get half the damn town drunk.
Even though we looked like a ragged group—bruised and scarred with bullet holes—there was camaraderie in the air. Despite losing our clubhouse, we still had each other.
After food had been passed around, and beer had been consumed, Kingpin finally cleared his throat and made the announcement we’d been waiting for.
“I think we’ve had enough time to lick our wounds,” Kingpin said. “It’s a damn shame that we lost the clubhouse. But now we have to get back on our feet and rebuild.”
Crash whooped. Credence raised his beer in a salute.
“Hear, hear.”
“Spike and Big G, you’re in charge of organizing a fundraiser to bring in the money we need for supplies,” Kingpin said. “Baby Doll will write up a budget for us to work with.”
“I’d like to help,” Liss put in. “It’s the least I can do after putting you all through so much for my sake.”
“No offense, little girl,” Vlad grunted. “This is club business.”
He looked like he’d been shoved through a meat grinder—a broken wrist, a constellation of fading bruises in various shades of purple, blue, yellow, and green marked his face, and he walked with a limp.
Liss dropped her gaze, poking at the remnants of stake on her plate with her fork. I hooked an arm around her shoulders with a squeeze.
“I’m afraid he’s right,” Kingpin said. “You’re welcome to join the fundraiser, but we can’t ask you to lift a finger when it comes to organization. Club rules. No outsiders behind the scenes.”
Liss looked annoyed.
“I tended bar for you when I was a stranger you picked up off the streets. That sounds like behind the scenes work to me.”
“We’re living together,” I pointed out. “Liss is practically my old lady by now.”
Kingpin clucked his tongue.
“Doesn’t make it official though. There’s a process for this sort of thing, you know. Standards. Protocol. You get the idea.”
Liss frowned and pushed her plate away.
“Like what? Name your price. What kind of hoops do I have to jump through before you finally make it official that I’m part of your little band of misfits?”
