Page 40 of Property of Rattler

I had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t so focused on the club intrigue—which was laughable—or the bikes but rather was more interested in the bikers themselves. It didn’t bother me. It kept her quiet.

She’d kept the beers coming, which unfortunately had an effect I should have foreseen. I needed to piss. Badly. With nothing else for it, snarling in embarrassment, I’d had to ask for her help, unable now even to wear the unzipped boot due to the swelling of my ankle. I had to resort to leaning heavily and hopping as she helped me out to the bathroom shack. To her credit, she just got on with it as if it were a normal everyday occurrence and didn’t take the opportunity to tease me about how I’d only fallen because of my fucking boots.

We ate her pot roast, and it tasted just as good as the aromas that had been escaping from the kitchen suggested. Then we’d gone back to watch another season.

I had more beer, and she’d drunk wine. Then it was time for bed, and another torturous trip to the outside facilities. When we’re both back inside, after once again making up my bed for me, she’d disappeared upstairs.

Surprisingly, I’d fallen quickly asleep but had a fucking nightmare. Ames and I were married for real. I woke up just as she was spitting out a kid, and shock, horror, it was fully grown and looked just like me.What the fuck?There’s no way I can go back to sleep.

Moments later, I heard her clomping down the awkward stairs, greeting me as she reached the bottom with, “How’s the ankle?”

She’s appeared, all glowing and bouncy. Fuck, I hate morning people. “Fine,” I snarl.

“Can you put your weight on it?”

First, I eye it. Even the numerous poultices of frozen peas hadn’t helped much. If anything, the swelling looks worse than it did last night. It’s also a rather unpleasant shade of purple. Cautiously, I place it on the floor and see if I can stand. It fucking hurts.

She pulls out something. “I, er, looked in the first aid kit and found a bandage. Do you want me to wrap your ankle? It might help.”

“You know what you’re doing?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

She sighs. “Malachi once knocked me down the stairs, and I sprained my ankle. So yes, I know what to do.”

I rest back on my makeshift bed. “Do your worst.”

Surprisingly gently, she wraps the elastic bandage around my foot, then fastens it somehow. This time, when I try to put a little weight on it, it holds. I know I’m not going to be able to putmy boot on over the swelling and the binding. But once again, I need to pee. I wave off her help as I take myself out, barefoot, limping heavily, and watching the ground carefully. At least, I’m somewhat mobile again.

When I come back inside, she goes to make use of the facilities. I manage to hop around and get coffee started.

It’s after we’ve eaten a delicious breakfast that my phone rings. Seeing it’s Bullseye, I hop/limp out the front door to answer it.

“What’s up, Prez?”

“She still breathing?” he asks, without preamble.

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “Thought I’d have throttled her by now. But she’s actually a good fuckin’ cook.”

“Good choice for a wife then.”

I growl. That’s a step too far even for him. “Ain’t fuckin’ married except for that piece of civilian paper. And Pippa can probably wipe that from the records when the time comes.”

He laughs loudly. “Betting pool on here as to how long it will take for you to go stir-crazy and fuck her.”

“Make that never. Don’t want to get anywhere near that snatch.” I think for a second. “Hey, do I get conjugal rights or something? Can you smuggle Star up here before I get blue balls?”

“Conjugal means fuckin’ your wife,” he explains patiently as if speaking to a child.

“Not going to fuckin’ happen,” I snarl.

“Well, if it looks likely, give me a heads-up, will ya? I’ve yet to place my bet.”

I snort. “Insider fuckin’ trading?”

“Hey, I’m the prez. Surely that gives me some rights.”

He’s fucking with me. He’s a damn good prez. He’d never use intel to one-up the brothers. Or would he? Could it win me points? “If I ever get blind drunk and desperate enough toconsider placing my dick in that hole, then I’ll let you know.” I grow serious. “Any closer to finding Stone?”

He sobers. “Got feelers out. And your marriage got a byline in the local paper. ‘Heiress marries’. Should get his attention. So far, Genie and Pippa haven’t gotten word he’s in town. He seems to have disappeared. Can’t fuckin’ understand it as he came so close to flushing her out at Royals.” He breaks off to sigh. “Can’t rule out that he’s left some men in town, but at least they won’t find hide nor hair of her. And there’s a chance he’s pulled back to regroup. But promise you this. As soon as we locate him, we’ll tell you, Rat. For now, you’ve just got to sit tight.”