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“She’s been seen sporting more than one black eye in the last month or so,” Hacker added into the discussion which only heightened the sense of urgency that was curling in my gut.
From the way the men around me tensed, I wasn’t the only one to feel it. None of us were okay with a woman being hurt. We might not always be choosing the legal side of life, but there are lines you don’t cross. Raising a hand to a woman’s one of those lines.
“Gonna take this asshole out who has been selling her while she’s so strung out she probably doesn’t know what the fuck is even going on?” The words I push past my lips, but I need to know.
“We’ll take care of the trash,” Lucifer promised.
“I’ve found some rehab options,” Hacker’s eyes were intense as he let me know he was one step ahead of me.
A lesser man might bristle at that. Not me. I was grateful as fuck that he’d thought ahead and wanted to make sure Jen could get help the club can’t provide.
We can bring the heat down on the people who are using her. We can muscle our way in and get her to safety. What we sure as fuck are not, or will ever be, are experts in recovery or dealing with trauma.
When the clubhouse door opens behind me, I don’t have to look over from where I’m sitting on a bar stool to know my woman has just walked in. As I meet her gaze, I can see the worry in her eyes.
Before I’m conscious of it, I’m up and closing the distance between us. I wrap her up in my arms, wanting to shield her just as much as I want to bring her comfort.
“I’ve been freaking out the entire way over here,” she admits even though her words are muffled by the way she’s pressing her face into my chest.
Even though her words are filled with worry, she melts into me.
It’s the sign I need to know that we’ll be okay. Eventually.
I’m willing to wait for her and I sure as fuck am willing to fight to keep my woman. There’s no doubt in my mind now that I would never survive another three months without her in my arms, in my life, in my bed.
While some of my brothers look on, I bend slightly and then lift my woman into my arms, bridal style. The small, unsure squeak she lets out has me fighting a smile. She makes the cutest fucking noises.
It doesn’t take me long to make it to my room, but I don’t stop until I’m sitting on the edge of my bed with my woman on my lap. I can feel the worry flowing off her in waves.
I hate to bring her any sadness, any pain, but Lucifer was right—she deserves to know this shit.
Emery’s voice is so small that it breaks a part of me, “Did you find Jen? Is she,” her voice breaks, but she powers through, “alive?”
Fuck. My woman is so damn brave that I can hardly see straight.
Granted, that might be because all my blood and mental faculties have gone straight to my dick which is begging to be buried inside our sweet woman soon. I swallow hard, knowing I have to do this. I’ll hold her together when she falls apart. As long as she lets me, at least.
“She’s alive,” my voice is gruff and thick. She sags against me, hating that I have more to tell her. “She’s in a bad way though, Ink.”
Emery pulls back from where she was just nestling in the crook of my neck. There are unshed tears in her eyes, even though she hasn’t spoken to her sister in a long time. Even if Jen does agree to get help, it doesn’t mean the sisters are suddenly going to share a bond or some shit.
Yeah, that is not going to be happening any time soon. I’m sure.
“I know that I probably don’t have a right to know because we aren’t close and haven’t been for years,” she started to tell me.
I shake my head, needing her to know I get it and understand. “Doesn’t mean she’s not your sister.”
She sighs and tucks back into my body. As much as I want to fist bump and do a fucking victory dance, this isn’t about me and how fucking good it feels to have my woman in my arms.
“A year and a half ago she was assaulted and beat the hell up. Cops never found out who did it,” I grunt, wishing I could go track down the assholes who were supposed to help save and protect my woman’s sister. “That led her to some serious addiction issues and a pimp who treats women like shit. Jen is no exception to that either.”
“Fuck,” she sighs out softly. “I knew it was probably bad, but I was hopeful.” She shakes her head and whispers, “I had almost convinced myself that she was out there happy and healthy. It’s not like she’d reach out to me if she needed help or if she were on cloud nine.”
“Just because we found her, and she’s gone through some shit doesn’t mean you need to take that onto your shoulders or do anything more than listen to what we’ve found.”
She nods, not lifting her head. “You’re going to go and get her to bring her back?”
“We are,” I answer her honestly, not willing to hide it or try and lie.
