Текст книги "Under Locke"

Автор книги: Mariana Zapata

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Yet the idea of not talking to Sonny on a regular basis, or laughing at Slim and Blake's antics, or just anything relating to Dex made me sad. It made me yearn for that easy familiarity. I finally had people that I trusted. So couldn't that be the same thing with the man that shared so many of the same hang-ups I did?

I rolled onto my back in bed next to Dex and looked at him.

He was face-up, one hand tucked under his head and the other was on his bare chest, just to the side of one of the loops that pierced his nipple. He was so damn good looking with all that ink that darkened those sinewy muscles and skin, it was unreal. If I’d seen him on the street back in Florida, I probably would have kept to the edge of the sidewalk. Well, I would have done that while eye-screwing the crap out of him.

I'd never been a big fan of that saying, "Everything happens for a reason," but maybe, sometimes, every once in a while, things coalesced into a complex, intangible reason. With tattoos and piercings and bad words and unfailing loyalty topped with a temper.

And in its own imperfect way, it couldn't have been any better.

Chapter Thirty-One

"I think one of us needs to stage an intervention."

I looked over at Slim as I wiped off the frames by the reception desk and tipped my chin up. "For who?"

The soulless ginger—Blake’s words, not mine—widened his eyes like I was dumb not to know. "Blake, Ris."

"Oh." I went up on my tip-toes and looked around the shop.

The bald man wasn't in the main room, luckily. He had been acting weird. Extremely weird. The day before, he'd spoken maybe five words to all of us, which was completely unlike him. Today had been even worse. He was remote and even someone who didn't know him could sense the desperation pouring out from him.

We'd all tried to give him his space but earlier in the evening, Slim had walked over to me and said he was pretty positive he'd heard Blake crying in the restroom. "I think something's going on with his son," he claimed. "There's nothing else that would make him sour up so much."

His son. The same son that had been in and out of the hospital since before Houston. I had a terrible feeling that it was Seth, also known as Blake Junior, giving his dad so much anxiety. The poor kid was too young to get into real trouble. There was only one thing that would make a grown adult—a parent, a loved one—cry.

Illness.

Shit.

I hoped more than anything that it wasn't the case but it'd be naive to think otherwise. Or maybe I was just that pessimistic.

I blew out a breath. "What do you think we should do?"

He looked pensive for a moment before scrunching up his nose in a way that made his lightning bolt tattoo move. "Let's take him out. You think Dex will be up for it?"

"Maybe." How the heck should I know for sure?

It turned out that Dex was up for it. Right before setting the alarm to the shop, I heard him invite Blake out to Mayhem.

"Not tonight, man. I'm not up for it," was Dumbo's creaky, hoarse answer.

Blake saying no to a drink? Unheard of.

"C'mon," Dex argued back. "My treat."

It took a little more coaxing but eventually, like the freeloader he was, Blake finally agreed. We met up at Mayhem a few minutes later, piling into the same booth we'd used on our last trip to the bar what seemed like forever ago. This time, there were more people—Widows, men who weren't members of the MC, and other random clients. I waved at the handful I recognized and slid into the booth beside Slim, with Dex following after, slinging an arm over the back of the seat.

The guys and Blue blasted through two beers each, with Slim and I carrying the majority of the conversation as he tried to convince me—again—to get a tattoo.

"Just a little thing," he insisted.

I lifted a shoulder. "I don't know."

"Tiny." He pinched his fingers together so that there was only about an inch between them. "Smaller than that heart you did for me."

I grimaced. "I don't know about a heart though."

A huge grin swept his face. "I can make you a mini dragon."

He was talking about the electric blue dragon with rainbow fire. "Where?"

"Anywhere but your lower stomach," he said confidently. "If you have kids that thing'll end up looking like a life sized one."

I burst out laughing, watching as a small smile crossed Blake's features. "With my luck, it'll look like it’s trying to eat my baby."

Dex nudged me with his shoulder. His facial expression careful. Did he look jealous? Jealous that I hadn't told him I'd started considering it? Jesus. There was enough I needed to tell him, but I'd been too much of a coward to. "You wanna get some work done, babe?"

"I think so, but Gingervitis over here wants it more than me." That earned me an elbow from Slim that I returned with a laugh. "Maybe though. Just maybe."

"Don't know where?" Dex asked.

I glanced over at my favorite redhead and smirked. "I know where I don't want it."

Slim elbowed me again. "Sucks we can’t do it by your scar."

My stomach felt the equivalent of a plate shattering on concrete. The blood drained from my face and I lost my breath. The urge to squeak was right there, slithering its way up my vocal chords.

The arm over my shoulders tightened a fraction. "What scar?"

Oh crap. Crap, crap, crap!

I forced a smile onto my face, and there was no doubt in my mind it was shaky and weak.

I could lie. It would be easy enough to change the conversation. The only problem was, the instant I thought about lying again and having to divert the topic to something else, guilt pinched me right in the kidneys. Maybe it was because I knew Sonny was still mad at me, but maybe it was because these were people that I cared for more than I had others in a long, long time.

But the answer, the realization, was right there.

I didn't want to. I shouldn't have to keep hiding something that was as essential a part of me as my name.

It was bound to happen, I knew that. Otherwise, it'd only be a matter of time before they found out. Keeping my cancer a secret hadn't been a permanent plan.

When I looked over at Blake, sensing the deep sadness and wariness in his features, it reinforced my vertebrae and reminded me that I had guts. That I'd used my guts throughout my life. And if Blake really was suffering because of something going on with his little boy, I could do this. It wasn't that big of a deal.

There were worse things in life than having people I cared about babying me. Feeling sorry for me. And I needed to quit being a sneaky jackass that kept things to herself. Would I have ever kept things from yia-yia? No way.

I looked over at Dex and pointed at my arm, my fingers shaking as I did it. There was nothing to be nervous about. Nothing to be scared of. "I have this gnarly scar on my arm." Easy, right?

His eyes hooded over as a frown crossed his features. "From what?" he asked carefully.

You can do this, Ris.

It wasn't a big deal. It really wasn't.

I reached for the hem of my sweater and started pulling it up and over my head, careful to keep my arms perpendicular to my body so that I wouldn't give an impromptu arm-flash. I heard Slim chuckle, "Strip show? I need change for a ten."

A snicker escaped me as I peeled it off my arms before balling the material on my lap. I took a deep breath and planted another shaky smile on my lips as I raised my bad arm in a way that made it look like I was going to flex my muscles. Not that there was much left there anymore, more than half of my bicep had been removed.

I watched Dex as I did it. Watched him as he shifted in place, dropping his arm from around the back of the seat and settled his gaze on the silvery white twisted tissue that laced the inside of my bicep. That familiar nerve under his eye started popping instantly.

"I had cancer when I was little," I told them, looking at Blake as I said it. Maybe my story wasn't the best one to try and relate to him. If Junior was sick, hearing that I'd gone through four different surgeries wasn't a fairy tale. But I was alive and I was here. Alive and here were much better words than the simple word—not. Not here. Inexistent.

Back when I’d been sick, I’d always dreaded hearing other words. Spread. Lymph nodes. Amputation. Those words, those possibilities, make you grow up quick. They made me remember to prioritize correctly, to value and appreciate. But mainly the branches of those words scared me so much, I wanted to live even if it wasn’t always going to be fun and games.

I’d forgotten that along the way somewhere. There was a difference between living and surviving. And this place, these people, reminded me of that.

After a second I dropped my thinner limb, and let out a breath. Dex watched me with a blank expression while Slim's eyes went wide.

"No shit?" he asked, reaching out to grab me. He lifted my arm up and touched the desensitized skin there with gentle fingertips. "What kind?"

"A form of soft tissue sarcoma," I explained. “Cancer in my muscle, pretty much.”

Slim's wide expression drooped before a frown crossed his lips. "Why didn't you say something?"

That wasn't exactly what I was expecting. "I'm telling you now."

"But you could've said something before," he shot back solidly. "Hey, Slim, I used to have friggin’ cancer. Just thought you should know."

I opened my mouth to argue back with him when Blake made a noise I hoped to never hear from him again. Ever. "JR has acute lymphoblastic leukemia."

Any argument in my mouth or Slim's died quickly.

It was Blue that spoke first. "Sorry, B," she said, throwing her arms around the much bigger man.

"Dude," was the one thing Slim muttered harshly.

Oh shit. I slipped my knees onto the seat and leaned across the table, careful not to knock over any of the bottles, and put my hands on Blake's arm. "I'm sorry."

He let out a weak, worried exhale. "The doctors called to say his red blood cell count was off. They ran a few tests to figure out what was wrong," he explained from Blue's shoulder. "I'm scared outta my mind."

"They have all kinds of treatment for cancer now," Slim piped up.

Blake nodded just a little bit. "Yeah, that's what the doctors said. They told us his kind is one of the most treatable, but it still scares the shit out of me."

Of course it would. We sat around, trying to offer our best words of comfort and reassurance that Junior would get better. No one drank anything else while we talked to him but by the time we left over an hour later, it seemed like he was a little more calm.

I didn't have the heart to say that he'd probably freak out a hundred more times over the course of the next few months, but I hoped he'd turn to one of us for moral support.

What did get me was that Dex didn't say anything on the walk to his bike, his hand on my hip. When we got home, I'd barely sat on the couch when he came to stand in front of me. Four fingers flicked up. He growled, "Take it off, babe."

I raised an eyebrow slowly. "Excuse me?"

"Your shirt," he said like he was telling me to get on the back of his bike.

"Why?"

Dex ducked enough to grab the bottom of my sweater, slipping it up and over my head while I squirmed.

"What the hell, Dex?" I swung my hand out toward him, catching him on the stomach.

He wasn't fazed at all by my pathetic swing. Dex dropped to his knees in front of me, lifting my arm without another word. A crease lined his eyebrows, his mouth set into a grim line. He brushed a tapered, neatly groomed finger over the inside of my arm. One, two, three times. I couldn't feel it well but the act itself seemed more intimate than what we'd done on his bed the day before.

When was the last time I'd let anyone look at my scarring so closely, let alone touched it? Never.

His breathing grew labored, the pressure of his pad increasing before he finally spoke in a low grumble. "You didn't think to tell me about this?" he asked, eyeing the knotted skin. "You didn't think to tell me you're sick?"

"I was sick, Dex." I tried jerking my arm away but he held it too tight. "I haven't been sick in a long time."

"How long?" His voice was low, hot and seeking.

"I've been in remission for five years."

Dex's body jerked. "A long time is ten years ago, twenty years ago. Not five, Ritz." He shuffled forward on his knees, ducking his head closer to mine. "Not five fuckin' years ago."

"I'm fine, I promise." The assurance fell on deaf ears based on the look he gave me. "My chances of getting it again are pretty slim."

"I don't care," he rasped. The words sounded ripped from his throat. “You had cancer, not the goddamn flu.”

“Dex, it’s nothing.”

“Baby, it’s not fuckin’ nothin’. You wouldn’t be missin’ half your bicep if it was nothin’. You wouldn’t have been hidin’ this if it wasn’t a big deal. This shit is not nothin’ to me.”

Leaning forward, I grabbed his shoulder and pressed my forehead to his nose. "I'm sorry for not telling you before but it's not that big of a deal. I'm okay, and hopefully I'll be okay the rest of my life."

He repeated the last sentence so low I missed half the words. His breath washed over my face, minty with just a hint of cigarette smoke. "Babe, is there somethin' else you haven't told me?"

"No. Nothing important."

Dex shook his head. "You're gonna give me a fuckin' heart attack. You sure?"

I reached up to place my hands on his cheeks. "I'm positive. I promise. That's all."

The tip of his nose drew a line from my forehead to my temple. "Don't do that shit to me again," he pleaded. "Swear to me, Ritz. Tell me you won't drop some shit like that on me again."

His tone. Christ. The tremble in his voice pulled at the threads of tissues in my spine.

My body started shaking. "I swear."

Dex's hands went for my ribs, kneading the skin and bones. "You'll tell me if you start to feel bad? Anything, babe. Any time you start to feel sick, you swear you'll say somethin'?"

I didn't know where this was all coming from. His need for me to tell him something so simple, but I could feel the tension under his skin. He wouldn't take anything but yes from me. Dex wouldn't accept anything less than a promise. "I swear."

He nodded so slowly it seemed painful for him. The breath that left his mouth was a wisp and a flutter, shaky and emotional. “I’ll put you on the insurance plan first chance I get tomorrow. It ain’t that great but I’ll see if I can get you a better policy. You know, in case...” he trailed off, nostrils flaring, face tight.

It made every blood cell in my body redirect itself to my heart, filling it with so much blood, so much life-giving sustenance, that I thought it was going to burst out in a bloody explosion. I wanted to tell him right then everything. About my surgeries, about the timeline of my loved ones' lives, about the sacrifices made that had shaped the outcome of my life.

Tell him everything that had led me here. To him.

But instead of remembering how to string along the twenty-six letters in an alphabet that suddenly didn't seem so important, I tipped my mouth up to brush my lips against his. He let out a long, shuddering exhale that wafted across my mouth, dragging me in deeper to the vortex that was Dex Locke.

To have this man care about me, not just a little bit, but enough that it tipped the axis of his temperament, calmed me. It was an anchoring acknowledgment. Because I cared about him too and I wished in that moment that I would have had the opportunities to show him that I felt the same way. But all I'd done was keep things from him.

Just like I kept things from Sonny. My beloved half-brother that was so mad he hung up on me—not that I could blame him but still.

I didn't want to push people that I loved and valued away because I made decisions that were well-meaning but stupid.

"I'm sorry," I whispered just a millimeter from those firm, full lips that graced his beautiful mouth. "I don't want to keep things from you, but it's a bad habit to break." I kissed his top lip for just a moment, closing my eyes as the reality of what my bullshit could lead me to set in.  "Please don't give up on me, I won't do it again."

Two large hands cupped my cheeks. "Iris," he purred in that silky voice that made me lose my breath all over again. "I already told you I don't give up what's mine." Dex kissed my bottom lip like I'd done his. "Ever."

It was me who closed the distance between us, pressing my mouth to his. The kiss was sweet and slow. His mouth opened mine with a gradual slide of his tongue, hot and insistent.

I palmed the flat, muscled plane of his pectorals. The heel of one of my hands rested just above one of his ringed nipples.

We kissed and kissed like there was no rush in the world. There was no nipping like there had been in his bed, no teeth, or roughness. So when his hands swept their way down my throat, over my collarbones to land directly over the neckline of my tank top, I didn't hesitate when his fingers curled into the material. He pulled it down with a light ripping sound, bringing my bra cups along with it.

I must have made a startled noise that told Dex I was on the verge of freaking out because he didn't let me. He pulled his mouth away from mine and immediately dipped down to draw a nipple into his mouth with a soft suck. Those highly capable fingers shoved the bottom hem of my shirt up to a tight bunch beneath my breasts.

How the hell had I gone my entire life without this?

I couldn't think, I couldn't move, I couldn't do a damn thing but moan and arch myself against his suckling. Holy moly. The draws and pulls were too good, way too friggin’ good. He moved his mouth over to lick at the other peak and I swear my nervous system shut down.

In no time, he'd pushed me to lay against the back of the couch, his hands holding my ribs as he hovered his lips and tongue over the vulnerable place between my rib cage. "Goddamn, baby."

Slow, slow, slow he went, ghosting those hot lips and hotter breath down the center of my stomach before stopping at my bellybutton. Dex licked the gold jewelry before sweeping his tongue in a circle around my navel, making me squirm and arch beneath him.

I made some kind of noise that was mostly a moan but had a squeal mixed into it.

"You know this is the first piercing I've done in three years?" He rimmed the piercing with the tip of his tongue again.

I didn't even know the fifth letter in the alphabet in that moment.

Dex replaced his mouth with his nose, making the contact even more intimate for some reason before humming low. "All this sweet skin just for me." He kissed right below my belly button. His fingers slipped into the band of my khaki pants. In a quick move, he undid their button and slid a hand inside over the cotton of my underwear.

Ohmigod!

"Dex!" I gasped and sat up, pulling Dex to me in a hard kiss that was all warm tongue and soft lips.

He moaned and slipped his hand deeper into my pants, his fingertips resting over the start of my slit.

We kissed and kissed and kissed. Dex laid me against the back of the couch, his mouth was possessive, nipping my lips while his fingers redrew soft lines over my underwear. His mouth went straight to my neck, biting the column just hard enough to make me cry out once.

"Fuck, baby," he whispered against my throat. "So sorry." Then he bit me again just a little to the left of where he'd done it before, this time pressing the flat of his tongue against the skin as he did it.

Holy crap, I was going to die.

I tilted my chin back to give him more room and smiled like a drunk prostitute. "You're not sorry."

Dex chuckled. "No, I'm really not."

I didn't realize my hips were wriggling beneath him, searching for his weight. My legs spread to let Dex's slim hips between them. And my hands...they'd managed to work their way beneath the black t-shirt that stretched over Dex's form. His skin was smooth and firm. The defined muscles contracted under my touch. His belly button tensed and his abs contracted as I spread my fingers wide, touching as much of him as I possibly could.

The fingers over my underwear slid a little lower, dipping beneath the band to outline one of my bare lips with a single finger. He ran it up and down just once before groaning.

Should I be embarrassed? Maybe. More than likely, but I wasn't. Not even a little bit.

Dex pulled away again, sitting straight up on his knees. In a quick move, he pulled his t-shirt over his head, and then went for my pants and underwear tugging both down my legs. He tossed them over his shoulder when he was done, shooting me a smile that was more reassuring and pleased than smug.

He grabbed the back of my knees and pulled me forward so that I was on the edge of the couch. His gaze was direct and intense. He looked down at me, my legs just slightly spread, my breasts hanging out of my bra and shirt. And I just laid there, a big pile of need and want. That big hand slid from my knee, making a slow trek across the inside of my thigh, his knee, his palm going up, up—holy crap—over the outlined ridge of his jeans inches from the apex of my thighs.

"I wanna fuck you so bad," he murmured, palming his hard cock roughly. He plucked at the zipper of his jeans, shaking his head simultaneously. "But not tonight. I'm just gonna lick your pussy tonight, baby. I wanna make sure you get this isn’t a one-time thing."

That was probably my cue to pass out, and I'm not sure what it said about me, but subconsciously I spread my legs even wider. Dex must have seen it because a smile spread over his mouth. He glanced up and fell over me, arms straight, kissing my lips once.

I'm not sure what was hotter. Whether Dex's immaculate body in general, or the smooth muscles beneath his colorful skin, or the way he slid down to his haunches before he lifted one of my feet up from the floor and draped it over his shoulder. Then his tongue was there, dipping between my legs to flick and lick at the moist skin. He sucked on my lips, on my clit, and then slid the tip of his tongue inside. In and out, circling, flicking, time after time.

I thought I was going to pass out. Or cry tears of joy.

It took all of no time before an electric tingling started at the base of my spine, expanding like a supernova, and an orgasm swarmed throughout my entire body, making my legs shake and my insides clench in satisfaction.

The sound of his zipper making its way down broke through the daze I was in. Sweat beaded on the back of my neck, my lower back, everywhere for all I knew. Dex dropped to his hands over me, caging me in. But it wasn't the tattoos or the piercings that caught my eye at first, it was his stiff cock bobbing that I couldn't help but stare at. The tip bobbed just short of my belly button as Dex flexed his hips.

Was he going to...?

He lifted a hand and wrapped it around the base of the thick shaft, angling it down so that I thought for a second that he was going to slide it in me but instead, he touched the tip to my slit and holy friggin’ crap. The mushroomed crown tapped that needy little button of nerves that screamed for this man, sliding the smooth head up and down the wet lips. Dex shuffled his body so that the length of his long, hard dick rested against me.

Was that me panting?

And then he moved, his hips and length going up and down. The underside of his broad tip brushed over my clit with each stroke. It was so thick, so unbelievably hot, I wiggled my hips for more. My body knew, it knew what to do even when my brain wasn't functioning, searching for memories of things I'd seen in the past. I tipped my hips up and watched him glide his shaft over me, coated in my juices, faster and faster. The tip hitting my clit every single time.

I couldn't stop watching.

"That feels so good," I whimpered as the thick reddened head peeked out from between my legs.

His breathing got heavier. A slow nod worked his neck. He thrust forward, those dark, tattooed fingertips gripping my thighs tightly. All that ink on his fingers shouldn't have been so hot up against my plain bare skin, but it was. Holy crap, it was. My insides clenched and wept when the meaty underside spread me around him.

I wanted him. Wanted him in me. Filling me. Helping me live. But the words wouldn't come out of my mouth.

Startling blue eyes flicked up to mine, lazy and unfocused. "Iris." He kissed me, closed lips on closed lips, lingering as he whispered into me, "Love this."

I came again with a cry. Hoarse and so loud I was just a little embarrassed, but the sensation was so friggin' fantastic it wasn't enough to regret it.

Dex yelled—yelled!—a split second later as long, white shots exploded in milky streams over my stomach and breasts. His hips pumped the air mindlessly, thick drops falling from the crown of his cock.

I'm not sure which one of us was panting more afterward. Those dark blue eyes slowly slid up my stomach and chest until settling on my face in a lazy smile. I couldn't help but smile back at him.

"You're amazing." The words just came out of nowhere and I felt silly.

But then he smiled even wider and the brief moment of awkwardness I felt was worth every second to get that in return. Dex lowered his face to kiss me gently, his breath washing over my cheeks and mouth unevenly.

He pulled away, reaching for the t-shirt he'd torn off and used it to clean off my upper body. I tucked everything back in and pulled my shirt down. After handing me my underwear and pants, I put them on while watching him clean himself off, too.

We ended up laying on the couch in the only way we managed to fit—me half on top of him. Like he needed to talk me into it. Ha. I laid my head down on his chest, over his Captain America tattoo and just a couple inches from the loops through his nipples. His skin was damp with sweat, his heartbeat pounding quickly into his ribs.

I traced my fingers along the lines of his abs, watching as the muscles there convulsed at the same time Dex let out a pleased little sigh. This friggin' guy...

If someone would have told me two months ago that he would be one of the most caring people I'd ever meet, I would have laughed in their faces. Yet, here I was. My virginity technically intact, my stomach a sticky mess, sprawled happy and warm over Dex Locke.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before that I'd been sick," I told him, trailing my fingers over the smooth skin of his abs. "I'm not embarrassed by it or anything—"

He rolled onto his side so fast it made me mutter, "Whoa" under my breath.

A deep furrow cut between his dark eyebrows, his mouth twisted down into displeasure. "Why the hell would you have anythin' to be embarrassed about, Ritz?" he asked.

I blinked. "Well, no reason, I guess. It's just an ugly scar."

It was Dex's turn to blink. "You had cancer," he hissed angrily. "And you're here. There's nothin' ugly about that."

The man who detailed his already beautiful body with even more gorgeous tattoos said that to me? I was torn in that split second between wanting to cry and accepting the fact that realistically, I was well on my way to being more than halfway in love with him. With him and his harsh words, and possessive touches, and quick temper.

Holy shit.

I was in love with The Dick.

I blinked again. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Don't cry, Iris!

I nodded to myself; I could do this. I could keep it together.

"I know. I know, trust me. I know that I’m one of the lucky ones." I slid my hand from his stomach up to his neck, touching the silky flesh there with nervous fingers. "But I've lived most of my life being 'that cancer kid'. I didn't want to be that person here too. I wanted you guys to like me for me not because of this."

It was Dex's turn to blink a slow draw of ink colored eyelashes that were too long for such a masculine face. "Babe, I think you got some of the worst luck I've ever heard of." He touched the tip of my nose with his index finger. "When I first saw ya, I saw a pretty little girl who got her bro to find her a job. A little girl who didn't grow up a Widow like the rest of us. Now, I know you. I know that you've gone through just as much shit, if not more, than the rest of us. You've survived a hell of a lot, Ritz. Your pa, your ma, your nana, and raisin' your bro on top of this," his thumb touched the edge of my scarring.

And then he blinked again. Once, twice, three times, and I swear, I swear, I swear that his eyes looked glassy between those eyelash flutters.

"And here you are. Life bein' unfair and all. I respect you, babe. Not just because you break my goddamn heart every single fuckin' time I see you smile but because..." He blew out a long breath of air from his lips, blinking blue eyes again and again and again. "I just do. You got me?"

I didn't. Not really. This feeling in my chest swelled and swelled to a size that made it painful to breathe. But I nodded anyway.

"I fuckin' wish you would’ve told me before you told everybody though," he admitted in a low voice. "Thought I was gonna throw up on the fuckin' table."

I cringed and ducked my face under his chin, nose to the raspy column of his throat. Slim's hurt face at the bar flashed through my brain. I didn't piss people off that often but when I did, I pissed everyone around me off. Ugh.

"Hopefully there won't be anything else for me to tell you anytime soon. I've told you more than I've told anybody else ever. Even Sonny." I sighed. Another person I pissed off. The one person who rarely ever got mad at me. "The last time I had to get radiation, I didn't tell him until I was almost done with treatment. He was so mad at me, Charlie. I thought for sure I wouldn't hear from him again."

Fingers tapped across my hip. "Was that right after his ma’s car wreck?"

"Yeah. That's part of the reason why I didn't tell him. He was already so stressed about her accident, and he'd taken off so much time from work. I didn't want to make things worse for him," I explained.

Dex hummed deep in his throat. Those long, artistic fingers tap danced across my pelvis. "Makes sense now. I remember him losin' his shit a few years ago. Trashed his place, got into a fight with half the Club. He was a fuckin' dick ‘til he took off. Didn't tell any of us where he was goin'."