...or something: Ronacks Motorcycle Club (23 page)

"Bring him here," she whispered. "Please."

His mouth hardened and disappeared underneath his beard. She hated asking him, and she'd never willingly leave him, but she refused to stand by while Battery got himself killed saving her.

"I'll take my father somewhere far away and hide where the Russians can't find him," she said.

Battery looked at her and stepped away from her, refusing to listen. She stepped forward and grabbed his vest again, stopping him.

"Please," she said.

He shook his head. "I know what you're doing, carny-girl, and it doesn't work that way."

She yanked his vest. "It does."

"No."

"You can't leave me." She held tightly on to him. "If you go out there, you're willingly leaving me. You swore you'd never do that."

"When I said that I had no idea shit was going to blow up, and I'd have to take you down the fucking nightmare of a past you had no idea you lived through. I wanted to keep you untouched by the filth that killed your mother and ruined your father." He sucked in air. "I will not put you in jeopardy again. I swore on my life, Bree. When you were just a baby, and I handed you away to be raised in foster care I was doing so to make your life better and to keep you safe. Look at what has happened? You were almost shot. The Russians found you."

Battery's nostril's flared with his breathing and he stared down into her eyes, his pain written all over the lines etched in his face. More truth hit her hard and fast. She arched inward, hand to stomach. Her breath wouldn't come, and she swore her heart stopped and when it restarted it hurt.

It wasn't her father that loved her, watched over her, and unselfishly let her go so she could have a more normal life, it was Battery. And when she ran away and joined the carnival, it was Battery who found her, saved her, and gave her a home.

"Bree?" he whispered. "My whole life has been for you. If I die...if I die ending this for you, I will be doing what I promised all those years ago, and you
will
be safe for the rest of your life."

"And then what, Battery? I'm alone without you," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "I will never forgive you. I will never forgive myself."

Unable to stand there any longer, she walked to him, raised on her tiptoes, and kissed him hard, deep, and with every bit of love he'd filled her up with since the day she was born and then whispered, "You've already loved me a lifetime. I really wanted a chance to love you for my lifetime."

She walked out of the room and back upstairs. Dry-eyed, calmer to the point of comatose, and curled up in Battery's recliner. She closed her eyes.

Time was a cruel reminder of how little she had in her life.

B
attery climbed the stairs and shut the door quietly behind him. He stopped, bent over, and took his boots off. If there was a chance of Bree sleeping, he wanted to keep from waking her. It'd been a long three days since burying Duke and telling Bree the truth, and she'd fallen into a low, quiet existence with very few words thrown in his direction.

Richard was still nowhere in sight. He'd tracked two peaks and the east side of the mountain at the back of his property, and there was no sign of him.

Boykov and his men were also a no-show. No black Escalade around town, and no visits to Pine Bar and Grill.

He walked into the living room to shut the light off and found Bree curled in his recliner again. She never went to bed without him but stayed in his chair until he got home.

With her long legs crossed and bent in the chair, her head propped up on her arm, and her eyes closed, she looked young, untouched by the harshness of life. And yet, he knew differently. She never escaped the hardships and the abandonment issues he'd hoped for her.

Somehow, even before she knew her story, she'd sensed she was different. She carried around the strength of people twice her age and built the endurance to withstand too many losses in her young life.

Every day he went without finding Richard, he only added on to her worries and prolonged the inevitable. One day, he wouldn't be here. She'd go on never knowing how he felt. How incredibly deep she'd imprinted herself in him or how he'd loved her from the beginning.

He strode over, slid his arms underneath her, and carried her to bed. His body relaxed the moment he touched her. He quickly stripped, putting his pistol on the nightstand, and crawled into bed, pulling her against him. His front against her back, every part of their bodies molded. Her bent legs fit against his. Her ass tight against his crotch. Her back snug against his chest.

An urgency to tell her everything in case he never had another chance set his hand to rubbing her stomach until she stirred.

"Your dad has red hair like yours. He wears it long past his shoulders. He's a quiet man, whether that's because he learned to live by himself away from society or he was naturally not a man who liked to talk, I don't know. He's smart, Bree. Like you." He closed his eyes and continued. "You have your mother's eyes, nose, and mouth. She was beautiful, slim, and graceful. A kind person who liked to take care of others. Her name was Jane. Your real last name is Murphy. I changed it on your birth certificate before I had to hand you over to social services. Bree Ann Murphy."

She remained still and sniffed.

"When Richard was recuperating from the gunshot wound to his upper chest, I took care of you twenty-four/seven. I'd never been around babies until you, and even then I had no idea how to take care of you. You weren't talking much, only saying a few words." He squeezed his eyes. "You'd call me Batt, but it came out more like Bah."

Bree stopped his hand from rubbing her stomach, and she twined her fingers between his and held tight. There were so many memories wanting to come out and prove that he never forgot her. He never totally walked away.

"You never liked to sleep or nap and cried something awful trying to stay awake. I'd take you out on the dock and let the rocking of the water sooth you." He ignored the dampness rolling down his cheeks. "The last day I had you before I traveled to Washington to give you a better life, I was playing with you on the dock. You tumbled right off the side and into the water. I scooped you out, and you laughed your little giggle and wrapped your arms around my neck, and I swear to God, Bree, right then, you owned me."

"I remember," she whispered. "The night I freaked out and thought I was drowning, I saw you. The you from back then. You looked different, younger, but the same."

He kissed the back of her head. "Loved you from the beginning, carny-girl. Wish I could go back and make different choices and do things differently, and you could've had a better life. It was a fucked up time. I was scared. Your dad was scared. And, then there was you. All I could think of was making sure you were safe and would be protected. Never thought it would go this long or Boykov would come after you. Even when I brought you back to Montana, I never thought he'd be around or find out. I regret it all."

"Don't say that." She turned and wrapped her arm around him. "I love you, Batt. I've loved you since before I even knew what love was. We'll figure something out, or we can run. Run far away."

"That's no life for you. I'm not running," he whispered. "I can't do that to you. I already gave you away once, and I'm not going back on my word. I'm going to make this right and finish the business the Russians started. You can hate me. But at least I'll know you're alive, and the threat is off you."

"I'm never going to forgive you if you die," she said, capturing his mouth.

He rolled her to her back and yanked on her shorts until they moved over her hips. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth, he greedily kissed her while he pulled her shorts off completely and settled between her legs. On his knees, he plunged into her pussy in one stroke, holding still and memorizing the tightness, warmth, overpowering comfort he only found in her.

He hooked his hands around the back of her knees, spreading her more. His cock sank another inch inside of her, and he fisted the sheet in his hands as his balls constricted in pleasure that felt a lot like panic.

Panic that he'd only have tonight with Bree.

Panic that he hadn't done enough.

Panic that he'd lose the one person who loved him unconditionally.

Bree slipped her arms up his shoulders and held on to his hair, arching her back and pressing her breasts against his chest. Her tongue caressed his, and his body trembled in desperation.

It could be his last time inside her, with her, sharing their love, their life, their commitment to each other.

He moved inside of her.

Back and forth.

Slow and deep.

He ground his pelvis against her clit and swallowed the moan he elicited from her. Her sweet sound like her voice always settled right in his chest, killing him, loving him, reminding him of everything she'd survived.

He sped up, taking and giving, needing her as much as she needed him tonight. His pulse boiled inside of him until his heart hammered his chest. His breath kept them both alive as he growled in her mouth and she murmured his name against his lips.

Shifting his body, he rocked against her. Steady, not in a hurry. Pleasure would come when the timing was right.

Dire dreams. Diligent dreams. Dying dreams.

He'd held on tight, afraid to let her go. Afraid of what would happen to him if he lost her. Afraid he'd ruin her if he stayed.

His beautiful, beautiful heartache.

Despairing, he thrust hard, over and over.

Bree shuddered underneath him. Her pussy squeezed his cock, and he ground himself completely inside of her, putting his weight on her, and reminding her that he was between her legs, in her body, in her heart, and she belonged to him.

Her silky pussy sucked him in, and he let himself go. Everything he'd held on to gone. Everything holding him back gone. Everything gone.

She stared up into his eyes. He could barely see through the moisture, and he lowered his head into her neck and let her hold him. When his arms and legs gave out, he rolled to his side and cradled her.

Until it was impossible, he'd never let her go.

But, time pressed in on him. There were things that needed to be squared away. Tomorrow would come soon.

"You can trust Rod, carny-girl," he whispered.

"Shut up."

He closed his eyes and kept his mouth on her ear. "Everything is in your name, too. The house. The money. The club will look after you."

"Shut up," she whispered, crying.

"You lead the women, but rely on them to help you. Don't be afraid to open yourself up to them." He pressed his lips to her neck.

"Shut up, Batt." Her body convulsed with sobs.

Calmness came over him, and he simply held her. "Gonna do whatever possible to get back to you, but know I'm not coming back tomorrow without finding Richard. Whatever happens, when I find him, know that I did whatever I could to get back to you."

He laid there and held her. He talked through the rest of the night and left nothing unsaid.

B
attery carried his oversized duffle bag down the stairs. Bree, glued to his side, held on to him as if she had no choice but to hold on to him forever. She couldn't let go.

She physically found it impossible to let him walk out the door and search for her father. The one thing she could hold him accountable for was his promise to make it back to her. A promise she knew was made to appease her. The odds of the Russians letting him go were slim. They'd gunned down Duke for no reason, but to send a message that they were still out there, and they were waiting for the right person.

Boykov took advantage of her father's willingness to rent out a room at his business years ago, and lives were wasted. Her mother, father, Battery, Duke, and even hers if she lost the only man she ever loved.

"Everything is ready, Prez." Sander nodded at Battery. "Gas tank is full."

"Thanks." He stood in front of his men with his arm around Bree. "Okay, listen up, everyone. We've already gone over the shift changes. I want you to continue rotating out every twenty-four hours. Rod is in charge for the immediate future."

Heads lowered, gazes dropped, and Bree held on tighter. Battery would not let his MC brothers down if he could help it. Bree had to believe he'd make it back to her.

"I expect Ronacks Motorcycle Club to carry on without me." Battery's chest swelled, and he exhaled loudly. "Ride with purpose. Watch out for your brothers. Hold tight to your women."

She squeezed her eyes closed. He was saying goodbye to his club, his brothers, his family in the only way he knew how. Always the president. Always in control.

Rod stepped forward and cleared his throat. "Every night, we'll unload a gas can at the drop location. Two people go out together at all times. Two people remain in the house twenty-four/seven. Four stay on the property at the guard positions. The rest spread out along the property on your time and also make yourself available to Bree, Raelyn, and make sure your women, claimed and partiers, stay clear of the house."

Battery's arm tightened around her, and he kissed the top of her head. She listened to his heartbeat. Inhaled his rustic scent of man, leather, Irish Spring, and sweat. The heat of his hand permeated her shirt, and she noted the warmth, the size, the pressure. Her head hit level to his chest, exactly over his heart. Her arms fit around him until her fingertips touched.

She'd remember every detail.

"I love you," she whispered.

Her words were lost in the banging at the door. Everyone stiffened to attention, their hands moving toward their pistols. Bree looked up at Battery in worry. Her whole body rebelled leaving her trembling.

"It's Mel. Open up," yelled the prospect.

Everyone eased at a Ronacks member's call, and LeWorth opened the door. Mel came inside, panting hard, and frantically searched the room until his gaze landed on Battery.

Mel grabbed the wall and hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "Choke called me, and I ran the whole way so nobody would hear my bike. There's a walker coming in."