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Scott kept stepping out to take calls from his colleagues at Ballina Police Station. Abby kept replaying the event in her mind. She’d been losing the battle to close the door, when he’d suddenly disappeared? Scott told her what she thought was a car backfiring had actually been a gunshot; her would-be attacker’s blood was on the front step. Who fired the shot? The police hadn’t arrived for what felt like an eternity.
Nausea rose in her belly every time she pictured the stranger at the door. Who was he? How did he know her name? Had he been following her?
The police had questioned her, and Scott had repeated their questions on the drive to the hospital. She had no idea who this man was or what he’d wanted with her. Her thoughts drifted back to the sketches. Did it have something to do with the man in the sketches—the biker from the pictures on Scott’s laptop?
Rachel sighed in her sleep, drawing Abby’s attention back to the room. She’d been adamant with Scott that she didn’t want her mother to know, not yet. Not until the doctors had worked out what was wrong with her, and she was feeling better. Scott agreed to wait until tomorrow before saying anything to Rachel, but as the intruder had shown up at Rachel’s home and threatened her daughter, he was insistent she needed to know.
Abby looked up as Scott gestured for her to join him on the other side of the curtain.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice low.
“Are you sure the man at the door was not any of the men I showed you from The Devils MC?”
The nausea roiled, remembering the drawings she’d found. “No.” She was certain he wasn’t, but was he connected? “Why do you ask?”
“Because police have found a witness that may have seen the shooter. His description could be a match for Brodie Jones.”
Abby vaguely recalled the image of a man with a buzz cut and an ugly scar above his eye from Scott’s computer. She shook her head, none of this made any sense.
From down the hall, the heavy double doors whooshed open and the steady monotone of a paramedic briefing ER staff sounded. Abby and Scott moved to the side as a stretcher was rushed past them.
Scott touched her arm to get her attention as he answered his phone and stepped away. She turned back to rejoin her mother, looking up as the stretcher was wheeled around and she caught sight of the patient’s face.
Heat swept through her body, threatening to take her legs from beneath her. The patient’s eyes flickered open and for a second her gaze locked with the man who’d confronted her at her mother’s front door.
Abby and Scottstepped inside the house, their footsteps echoing softly against the hardwood floors. Thanks to Scott’s earlier efforts, there was no trace of the uneaten barbeque or Rachel’s collapse. Abby felt numb. She shrugged out of her coat and let it fall to the floor, the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. She didn't know how to process anything that had happened today. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, but she felt nothing else. Numb. Like her entire body had become desensitised.
She was aware of Scott moving from room to room, checking every corner for unwanted guests. She was standing next to the dining table when he returned. The house was empty, no threat lurking in the shadows. Scott wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
"Are you okay, baby?" he asked, his voice rough with concern.
Abby nodded, still unable to speak, but grateful Scott was with her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she pushed them back. She didn't want to cry. She just wanted to forget, even if it was only for a little while. To feel something other than fear.
"Scott," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I need you. I need you to make me feel something."
He pulled back, confusion furrowing his brow. She held his gaze as she toed her shoes off. She pulled her t-shirt up and over her head, letting it drop to the floor.
“What are you?—?”
She silenced him by placing her fingers over his mouth, her eyes never leaving his. She unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down, finally stepping out of them. She stood before him in her underwear and bra.
His lips crushed against hers, hungry and demanding. Their tongues tangled as he lifted her onto the cold, hard dining table, his hands roaming over her warm flesh. She moaned softly, finally responding to his touch. This was what she needed. She leaned into him like a drowning woman reaching for air.
Abby spread her legs wider, allowing him better access. He kissed his way down her neck, nipping at her earlobe as one hand roughly squeezed her breast while the other slid between under the soft fabric of her underwear, finding her wet and ready. He groaned in approval, his fingers pushed inside, moving hard and fast. She rocked her hips against him, meeting his rhythm. They were both breathing heavily now, desperate for more.
She unzipped his jeans, tugging them down until his cock sprang free, hard and ready. Abby arched her back, inviting him inside. Scott didn't waste any time, pushing against her underwear until he was at her entrance. She gasped as he entered her in one swift motion, filling her up completely. Their bodies moved together, their skin soon becoming slick with sweat as they found a rhythm that left them both panting.
Her climax hit her like a freight train, the pleasure so intense she thought her heart might stop beating. She screamed his name as her body convulsed around him, her nails digging into his skin. He followed, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside of her. They collapsed against each other, breathing heavily.
A moment later, Scott withdrew and pulled his jeans into place. Wordlessly he picked her up, her head resting against his chest. She could hear his heart still beating frantically in his chest. He carried her into their bedroom and laid her beneath the covers. Abby closed her eyes and let sleep take her, before her thoughts could return.
Chapter 10
In the expansive backyard of the Broulee property, the hearty aroma of barbequing beef filled the air as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the sprawling lawn. Music competed with the ocean, and an impressive collection of empty bottles and cans were already filling the forty-four gallon drums.
There was still plenty of movement as supplies were delivered and the brothers arrived while guests were screened by the security detail. A couple of prospects heading into town in a utility didn’t look out of the ordinary. They pulled into the parking lot behind the liquor store, complying with the order to pay no attention to their president as he slipped out of the back seat and unlocked the waiting SUV.
Throwing his backpack into the passenger seat, Zep removed the gun from his waistband and stored it in the glovebox, beside the extra rounds that were already in there. He felt exposed without his cut, but it was better not to attract any unwanted attention. Instead, he wore dark jeans and a collared shirt. He’d drawn the line at switching out his boots for sneakers—a man had his pride.
