CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
*Lace*
Standing behind the closed door, my hand hovers over the knob for longer than I would outwardly admit to anyone ever. I have to show my face eventually, though. Or perhaps I could pretend to fall asleep again.
No. Time to go out there. As little as they want me involved, I was a part of this tonight and need to know which of my other men are unwell. What happened. Who I can help next.
So as not to wake up Vee, I turn the knob and slip out quietly. The light buzz of the washer cycle stopping is perfect. I divert to the laundry closet and transfer everything to the dryer before turning around and meeting two intense gazes.
Coty and Kio were talking, of course, but stopped as soon as I walked out. When my eyes fall on Coty, my body and emotions immediately respond, seeking a special kind of solace in his presence. My vision veils with tears and bottom lip trembles.
“Come here, little siren,” his deep voice lulls. A blur of movement through the accruing tears indicates he reached out for me. I walk forward, hand outstretched, and as soon as our fingers touch, he grabs my palm and pulls me onto his lap. I snuggle my head against his shoulder and chest, and he wraps me up tight.
I have no idea if he knows what happened here but assume Kio told him. After all, the club members are brothers, a unit, and there is little room for secrets.
Coty lets me stay like that for a while before encouraging me off his lap to the spot on the couch next to Kio. He then stands up, walks over to the bar top, collects a few items, and returns.
Sitting across from me on the coffee table, knees bracketing mine, Coty opens a new pack of cigars and removes one. He rests his elbows on the top of his knees and holds his hand out toward Kio.
Kio peeks up at me, dark eyes sparking dangerously. With an unexpected flash of movement, the strap of his belt opens with a leathery smack, and a gleaming silver dagger appears between his fingers. As though pulling a weapon out of a seemingly-average belt is the most normal thing in the world, he simply passes the item to Coty.
My hand darts out to the belt, and I start touching all the edges, practically shoving my face in his lap to get a closer look. A firm hand comes to the back of my head and playfully bobs me up and down. But then an even firmer hand swats the first one away. Kio laughs and gives me a sneaky grin. I want to ask him if he is ever not carrying something sharp, but I already have a pretty good idea what the answer would be.
Coty drags the tip down the cigar, opening its belly, then returns the dagger to its owner. Kio surprises me by allowing me to watch closely as he fixes the weapon back onto his belt. The handle camouflages as the buckle, and the blade slips into a barely noticeable sheath that lies hidden under the strap once threaded into his belt loop properly.
I kinda want a replay of the first part; that sudden slap of leather and how quickly he used those long fingers to maneuver the blade was pretty damn hot. When my rapidly heating gaze slowly lifts to his face again, Kio has a slightly raised eyebrow, and his tongue dips out to wet his lips.
With an exaggerated release of air between puffed cheeks, I return my attention to Coty. Coty pretends to not notice the flush creeping across my chest and lets out a quiet chuckle at my wide-eyed expression.
He dumps the guts of the cigar into the ashtray on the table, fingering it to make sure all the leaves are dusted out. Balancing the freshly emptied cigar on his thigh, he picks up the bag of weed, pinches out a hefty amount, then breaks up the leaves into the wrapper.
Edges pinched between the fingers of both hands and head tilted downward with that silver gaze overarching toward mine, he continues the process just like he did the first night we met. I was drugged up and having a bad trip. Past traumas surfaced, and my entire body and mind were in straight panic mode. I was working through it, barely. Coty noticed. He saw me in the saloon, paid for a personal dance, but then instead of me taking care of him, he took care of me. Starting with rolling a blunt in order to subdue the madness in my head.
Still to this day — this moment — watching him make one is a major aphrodisiac. Coty lifts the filled wrapper to his mouth and slowly swipes his tongue along the length of one long edge, eyes never dropping from mine while he wets the paper. Adjusting his fingers, he does the same to the other side before masterfully folding one edge under the other and rolling them together.
Those eyes twinkle, and he holds the newly-reformed cigar up to my mouth. I stick my tongue out flat, and he drags the seam across it. He then leans forward and steals his own quick kiss before straightening and thumbing over the line to make sure the blunt is tight and properly glued.
Coty places one end loosely between his lips and strikes the lighter. A lick of flame bounds upward and teases the opposite end as he sucks and puffs until the tip is rosy. Just like the night we first met, the orange glow temporarily highlights his handsome face and turns the peppered white-gray of his hair a matching amber.
He leans forward and places the blunt between my lips. I suck in deep and long, fighting against the tickle in my throat. A little cough breaks free, and my eyes water. He returns the blunt back to his own mouth, takes his first official puff, then passes it to Kio.
“Just hits different after your mouth has been on it, you know.” Coty winks at me, and I shake my head at him, smiling like an idiot. “Tastes sweeter, too.” He licks his lips, and the corner of his mouth curls deviously.
We pass the blunt around again and again in comfortable silence. The process is soothing, mostly because their partaking indicates they have clocked out for the night. They are not in danger nor causing danger. Their calmness means I can be calm, too. Slowly, one puff at a time, my curiosity about where all the other guys are mutes. Still there, niggling in the crevices of my mind, but the thought-noise is muffled. For now.
The front door swings open, and all our attention jerks that direction. Chaz closes the door at his back and freezes, sniffs, then narrows a glare at the three of us sitting quietly in the dark, eyes following the little blazing red nub as we puff puff pass.
“Goddamn, I have a phone you know. Couldn’t even bother to send me an invite?” With an abhorred huff, Chaz stomps into the kitchen.
A minute or so later, he reappears with an armful of goodies and dumps everything onto the coffee table beside Coty. A bright orange and green bag draws my attention to the pile immediately. I launch forward and pluck the item from the stack. Jalapeño cheese puffs. My giddy smile drops slightly. “Where did these come from?”
Chaz pulls off his gaiter and unzips the top of his motorcycle suit all the way from his neck to around his waist until the entire topmost part comes off completely, leaving his chest covered in only a tank top. He then plops down beside me, takes off his boots, and loosens the zippers above each knee, turning his convertible pants into shorts.
“They were just sitting on the counter in a grocery bag,” he finally responds.
Vee really went grocery shopping after all. “Was anything else in the bag?”
Chaz’s long, blond hair brushes his shoulders as he shakes his head. My eyes mist a little, but I rapidly blink away the emotion. He lifts my legs off Coty and haphazardly slings them across his lap. Body angled awkwardly, I have no choice but to lean against Kio in all of his bare-chested glory. Darn.