Rushing at him, I slap furiously at his chest. I’m barely aware that I’ve done it until I’m already on him. He doesn’t move to stop me or to shield himself, not that I’m strong enough to actually hurt him. I grab at his cut and pull myself up against him. Yanking on the worn leather in jerky motions, I tip-toe as close to his face as I can get. Still, he doesn’t move.
“I got Jeremy’s permit for him,” I say with a shaky voice, still clawing at the leather. Grady’s eyes bore into mine curiously. “Mr. Beck didn’t want to, but I made him. You think I’m so good and so normal? I blackmailed a man today— could ruin his career. And it’s so fucking easy. Justifying what I’ve done. It’s like this switch I just turned off.”
“What the fuck are you even talking about?” he barks out. Finally, he moves. His hands squeeze at my upper arms so hard that my skin heats from the pressure. My pulse races. If I stop panting so hard, I’d be able to actually hear the beating in my ears.
“It’s always been like this. I just do things that aren’t exactly right but they’re not entirely wrong either. I don’t know!” I’m shouting now. “I just needed to help!”
“You got any fucking clue what kind of charges that shit brings?”
“Does it matter?” I ask. “It’s on me, not you.” Mr. Beck won’t say anything. He has too much to lose and no proof, or so little, that he would be taking a huge risk to even mention what I did to someone else. I made sure of it. If he talks, it’s going to end him. Grady must see that. He has to. We’re safe, and Jeremy’s safe now. It was the right thing to do.
“Holy shit,” he says quietly. His eyes are full of disbelief, narrowing slightly and then relaxing. His jaw is slack, lifting just enough to make an effort to speak, but he doesn’t make a sound. He appears to be slipping into some kind of circular thought process that’s rendered him speechless. “You did that for us?”
“You don’t get to be the only one who puts their ass on the line here,” I whisper.
“Seven,” he says. His eyes divert from mine, but otherwise he’s still. I’m not sure what seven means, but it’s important for a reason I don’t think I’m going to like. If I’m going to live in this world with him, I’m going to have to hear it.
“Yeah?”
“Men. Seven men,” he says. I think I stop breathing with the next words out of his mouth. They’re quiet, but it’s all so foggy. “The first wasn’t the hardest. He shot at me first, so I just shot back. The second pulled a knife on me, got a few slices in before I took him out. With my bare hands. It’s how I earned the nickname Bloody Knuckles. I remember every single one of the men I killed. Two were during a bar fight with another club, and one was a junkie who Layla had hooked up with. He’d beaten her for taking more of his blow than she was supposed to. He broke her arm. The others are inconsequential. Now, how do you like my world? How do you like me? Is this the man you want fucking you every night? Is this how you want to live?”
Now I’m the one who’s speechless. I can barely process what he’s said, let alone let it sink in. This man who plays Monopoly with his daughter and takes her out for pizza even though she ignores him half the time is a killer. The first place my brain goes is to sorting out what to make of the information he’s given me on each kill. They sound like they were done in defense and out of protection, but what do I know? I think I can justify anything, because I’m not running. How else do I explain the fact that I’m not afraid?
“You should run,” he whispers, but he doesn’t let me go.
“No.”
“I’m going to end up destroying you. I learned that shit with Layla. She fucked up, I fucked up. It got ugly. I don’t want that for you.”
“Destroy me,” I say with the saddest, most faint smile. “Just don’t leave me. Love me even when I do stupid stuff. Please.”
His lips crash down on mine and he hoists me up into his arms. With every passing moment that he lovingly assaults my senses, the more secure I feel. Our frantic kisses fade into soft pecks with each of us whispering that we love the other. It makes no sense, not that it has to. Love never does.
There’s a knock on the door, surprising me. I pull away, despite his urges to ignore it. The rapping gets louder and louder until I hear Tall’s voice from the other side. “Sarge,” he shouts.
With me still hoisted in Grady’s arms, he walks to the door, unlocks and then opens it. Tall scratches the back of his neck and looks down the hall. His voice is rough when he says, “You told me not to leave without telling you first, but I have to pick Mindy up at work.”
“Mindy doesn’t work today,” I say in confusion. Grady kneads his hands into my ass, which gives me ideas about slamming the door in Tall’s face and getting busy with my Old Man again.