“And Carlos?” Cade asked.
“We have nothing on him, I regret to inform you. But shall he crawl out of whatever hole he’s been hiding in, I’ll let you know.”
Cade nodded, holding his hand out for the folder.
Tucker held it at arm’s length. “And we have your word that you’ll forget that we made questionable business decisions, and understand that we had nothing to do with this horrible event?”
Cade nodded once. “My word is my bond.”
Tucker looked relieved and handed him the folder. The minute Cade had it in his grasp, Bull and Brock stepped forward, planting two bullets in his son’s brains while Lucky did the same with the white-haired piece of shit.
Gage and the rest of the brothers were exterminating the rest of the Tucker family off the face off the earth, making sure to leave Dylan for Lucky.
Cade stepped over to the jerking body in front of him. “My word’s not my bond. Fuckin’ bullets are.” He lifted his piece and the man stopped jerking.
Brock rubbed his hands together. “One lot down, three to go.”
Carlos and Devlin were likely to be harder to pin down, but they’d get them.
Bull stepped forward, lowering his phone from his ear. “Got news.” His gaze was fixed on Lucky.
“What the fuck happened now?” he gritted out, his mind immediately going to Becky.
“They got all the Tuckers. Except one.”
He knew who it was before Bull confirmed it.
“Dylan.”
“Fuck!” he roared in frustration.
He found a sense of calm. They’d get him. He’d get him. Because he had to.
It was that simple.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Love her, but leave her wild.”
-Atticus
One month later
“I want you to move in with me.”
I shifted my eyes from the skin that was turning into something beautiful, covering the ugly—on the outside, at least—to Gabriel’s honeyed gaze. “What?”
He frowned at me. “You heard me.”
I frowned back. “Yes, I heard, but I was giving you a chance to rectify your Tourette’s.”
He grinned at me, reaching out to play with my fingers.
That was okay, that touch. We’d worked our way up to it, and his patience was reminiscent of a monk. Night spent watching stupid movies at opposite ends of the sofa, that invisible glass between us. There were moments, a lot of them actually, when he caught himself about to stroke my face, bring me to his body, kiss me. He stopped himself before contact was made.
Every time, every single time, I was both relieved and disappointed.
And each time, there was a little more disappointment and a little more relief.
I was healing.
It was a slow process.
Snail’s pace.
A frustrating one at that. Even now, a month later, I still had the constant itch, constant need for nothingness when I woke up and went to sleep overflowing with the weight of it all. Of everything. And no matter how much sleep I got—which ranged from not enough to too much—I couldn’t beat the exhaustion. Because from dawn till dusk, I was fighting. And the battle was rough, and gritty, and ugly.
But I was winning.
I think.
Obviously I didn’t go back to stripping after the whole fiasco that everyone kindly pretended didn’t happen.
Cade had walked up to me in Gabriel’s kitchen the next morning, his eyes soft. “You good at math?”
I frowned at him through my coffee mug. “Math?” I repeated. I’d only had two coffees, but even at full Bex I reasoned I’d still be confused by the greeting. These macho bikers had their own language that I needed to become fluent in if I planned on living in their world.
I was finding I kind of was.
Maybe.
“Accounts, expenses, that type of shit.”
I nodded slowly. I had been premed, and I had a logical brain. All that chemical and number crap had come easy to me. It had rules, limitations. I liked that in the limitless world I was living in. It was comforting.
He gave me a small smile. “Good. We need someone since our current bookkeeper is useless.” His gray stare flickered to Gabriel, who was leaning against the stove, sipping from his own cup and wearing low-slung sweats. And nothing else.
I should have gotten an award or something for maintaining eye contact with Cade the entire conversation.
Okay, not the entire conversation. Maybe like eighty percent of it.
“Words hurt, you know,” Gabriel shot back in a faux wounded voice.
I rolled my eyes and focused on my coffee.
“So?” Cade asked, looking back to me.
My eyes, which had crept back to Gabriel’s abs, snapped to Cade. “So?”
He did the mouth twitch. “You want the job?”
He had my full attention then. A job where I didn’t have to sell my body? I didn’t want to seem too eager, like jump up and down or anything, so I took another sip. “What’s the pay like?” I asked, playing it cool
“More than what you got on the stage.”
“I got pretty good tips.”
“Including tips. It’s still generous.”