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  “We’re here for you, Jo,” Knuckles was saying softly. “Mickey loved you, we love you. We’re taking care of you so you gotta deal with that.”

  “Will you sit here until I fall asleep?”

  “Of course.”

  Fritter quietly left them, returning to the living room just as Buck arrived. Jayce was on him immediately but Buck was slumping onto the sofa next to Gertie, who slid under his arm, letting him kiss her forehead.

  “Cause of death was gunshot to the head. They beat him up really bad, he got a few shots in, too. So anyone who was there likely got some hurt laid on them. Signs of a robbery but they didn’t get anything, maybe something spooked them. And as far as I can tell, the Sheriff’s Department is keeping this as their investigation. No sign of organized crime involvement. Mickey wasn’t even in his kutte.”

  They all watched as Buck took his sleeping son from Gertie, holding the little squirt to his chest and closing his eyes, nuzzling the kid’s hair and breathing in. Gertie snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around his waist as water rose in her eyes.

  “Did you see Downey?” Jayce asked quietly, sitting on a footstool.

  “She’s getting calls from the FBI, that’s what that Martin kid said. They want this case, they’re trying to connect us to the Mazari hits and are salivating at the thought that this might be retaliation. I guess she’s had a hell of a time keeping them out of the garage.”

  Jayce was frowning, planning even through these horrible, horrible circumstances. Fritter paced to the front window, staring out at the fading night and trying to sort his head out.

  Seeing Jolene had been the last support on his self-control. His head was buzzing again and his skin was crawling. He knew where else he’d rather be, he just had no idea why.

  They sat around talking for a while, then Knuckles joined them. Jolene was finally sleeping. He offered to stay, sleep on the couch, so Buck could get his family home. They took Gertie’s vehicle, Buck leaving his bike behind. Tiny and Jayce headed back to the clubhouse, and Fritter excused himself. They likely thought he was going to his mom’s, but he had a bizarre urge that sent him in the other direction.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “And fuck you,” Sharon muttered as she slammed down the receiver. Agent after agent from the Federal Bureau of Investigations were trying to get into her crime scene, but she’d pulled her sheriff authority for the first time ever. Without a US Marshall they couldn’t make her do fuck all, this was her investigation.

  Staging the robbery had cast doubt on this being retaliation for anything. It was completely plausible that this could have been a botched robbery.

  It was the first time she’d really stuck her neck out like this for the club, but it felt as natural as anything. She hadn’t given it a second thought.

  When the calls stopped and she had her official cause of death signed off she called Brayden to tell him what had happened, essentially letting him know the garage was not going to be open. He was understandably shocked and asked her when she’d be home. She honestly didn’t know, so she told him she’d be there in a few hours. He said he’d call friends to hang out. For want of something to numb her brain she hit the gym.

  It was the kind of mindless routine that felt good and still had a purpose, but it left her alone with her thoughts. And that’s when the professional detachment wore off. She was back at the garage again, crouching and staring into the face of someone she knew and liked who had no idea that she’d been that fond of him. Not in a sexual way, she just knew that Mickey was a good man who really loved his wife and was loyal to his brotherhood.

  The part about Jolene hurt her heart the most. She had never thought, through her first marriage, that love could be so fucking obvious. But when she’d first met the Graingers there it was; the realization she’d been wrong. And for some shitty reason that was the relationship that was ending so horribly.

  Life was really fucking unfair.

  Since then she’d watched Jayce fall for Trinny, and that was the same. All over each other all the time but also clearly head over heels. Then there was Buck and Gertie, one of the sweetest relationships she’d ever watched develop. And Tank and Rose were the same. Obvious, right in-your-face affection, respect and adoration.

  It made her heartsick. She hadn’t thought it was real, and these supposed cretins were falling in love all over the fucking place.

  After an hour and twenty minutes of weights she had to shower. It had been over twenty-four hours since she’d slept, and as she stepped out of the hot steam of the tiled stall exhaustion took quick hold of her. It took the last of her energy to dress, drag her ass to the car and drive home.

  At the front door she had a hell of a time sorting her keys. Eventually the right one fit and she shoved the door open, giving a little whistle for Earp. There was no reply, no galloping feet running to greet her.

  Something was wrong.

  Her tired state fell away, and her senses went on high alert as she palmed her Colt, pulling it smoothly from the small of her back. She rounded the corner into her living room, revolver pointed down along her thigh as she side-stepped to a spot where she could peer into the room.

  The sun was lighting the room, the golden shine flooding through. And on her couch Fritter Horton was on his back, sleeping. Earp was curled up along his side, wedged between the back cushions and Fritter, nearly pushing his human sleep-mate off the furniture.

  She blinked, rubbed her eyes. No, they were still there.

  It took a few minutes for her to approach. It was surreal that he was there, she wasn’t sure how she should handle this. He was in her space, interfering with her domain. And none of that bothered her in the least.

  “Fritter?” she whispered, and Earp made a weird whine as he woke and looked up at her. She had to smile as his whip of a tail started smacking the back of the sofa and Fritter’s leg in quick succession, which woke the biker with a loud snort. He sat up straight and she reared back, not sure what he was like when he woke up.

  Confused, that’s what he was like. He looked from her to the room to the dog then back at her again, emphatically opening and closing his eyes before scrubbing his face with both hands. Earp stood, moved up the sofa and licked Fritter’s hands.

  He laughed, giving the dog a scratch behind both ears. “Good mornin’. Or, afternoon,” he said to the dog, then looked up at her. “Hey.”

  “Hi.” She looked awkwardly at her feet as he loved on her dog. “He’s uh, he’s not actually allowed on the furniture.”

  “Oh shit, really. He never said a word.”

  She laughed at that, then turned her eyes to Earp. “You know better. Down.”

  With a harrumph the dog bounced to the area rug and trotted through the kitchen to make use of the doggie door.

  Then it was her and Fritter, alone in a stilted, silent room.

  “I uh, showed up here as your kid was leaving. He said I could wait inside.”

  Well, that explained how he got in and cuddled up close to her so-called guard dog. “Oh. Was ... was it something specific you were looking for?”

  He stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked odd, not his usual self. His smile was now gone, and his mouth was turned down at the sides. She knew why he was here; it was the same reason she’d reached out to him after finding that horrible human storage shed in Hazeldale. Comfort, someone to talk to. She liked it, she couldn’t deny it, but she wanted him to say it.

  They’d both felt the hurt of this bad news day.

  “Um. Jayce heard how you’re keeping the Feds off this, keeping it local. And ... we really appreciate that.”

  She nodded and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Yeah, of course. How’s ... how’s Jolene?”

  He shook his head and looked up at her now, dropping both arms, sliding his hands into his jeans pockets. “Not good. I heard she was a bit inhospitable. Sorry about that.”

  “Can’t take that personally. I can’t imagine what she
must be going through. They seemed good together.”

  He was nodding, still staring at her. She had no idea what the expression on his face meant; she didn’t know him well enough. “Yeah, they were,” he finally replied.

  “Mickey was a good guy, you could just tell, the second you met him,” her voice caught and she stopped talking, willing him to ignore the water that rose in her eyes.

  “He was.”

  “I’m sorry, Fritter.”

  In horror, she watched as his face crumpled and he covered it with both hands, his shoulders curling forward and in, body shaking as he began sobbing.

  Shit, she thought, looking around like there was some kind of tool that might help her deal with it somehow. There was nothing, and even the dog had left them here. So she stepped forward, took his hands away, and moved them to her sides. Then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he engulfed her, arms tight around her back, chest snug up to hers, her face sitting into the side of his neck just right. Just the perfect spot to smell him.

  Sweat, male, sun on skin, and dirt. They had been on a run, she remembered. Jolene had said that. She closed her eyes, resting her cheek on his shoulder and breathing out. As he wept she joined in, quieter, tears soaking the T-shirt under his kutte as he did the same to her top. His hands felt large and warm, strong, his arms ditto as they were wrapped all the way around her back, fingers clenching her sides. He made her feel almost small.

  As the sounds grew softer and his grip loosened a little bit, she pulled back to look him in the face. Now he had a readable expression, and it resembled embarrassment.

  “Hey, I mean it. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded and let go with one hand to wipe his eyes, but his other arm kept her close. “Sorry. Fuck, I didn’t think I’d come in here crying like a pussy.”

  “It’s okay. He’s your brother, right?”

  “Fuckin’ loved that guy.”

  “I know. You’re entitled to some emotion.”

  He looked her in the eye finally. “You came to me when you were upset, and I ... I wasn’t upset but I just wanted to see you. I was an ass the last time we talked—”

  “No, you weren’t.” She had to cut him off. “I ... I panicked. I thought you were trying to work me or something.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I know.” It was the truth. He’d come looking for her when he was hurting. This was all real, he wasn’t full of shit. “But I was an ass. I said things I didn’t mean.”

  “Me too. I don’t just like what we meet for, Fritter. I like you, too.”

  There was a beat while his focus went from one of her eyes to the other like a human lie detector. “Yeah?”

  “I got the call and Martin was saying it was a Rebel at the garage. I almost had a heart attack, thinking it might be you.”

  His grip tightened up. “Really?”

  She nodded, lip quivering again. “And back when the Gypsys rode up on the clubhouse. We were told there were bodies, and I didn’t know what I’d do if you were one of them because—”

  He cut her off in either the best or the worst way possible. He kissed her.

  Sharon didn’t even waste time worrying that this could change everything between them. It was a stupid thing to worry about. Things had changed with or without this, her seeking him out and vice versa. That was different, that wasn’t part of the unspoken agreement.

  His mouth was aggressive on hers, but his lips were so soft at the same time. Their kiss was give and take, and she realized she’d been clinging to the front of his kutte with both hands, not wanting him to stop. His tongue slid on hers, so warm, and the stubble on his chin scraped her skin raw. Both his hands were on her back again, fingers splayed and digging in. With a moan she fed one hand up his neck, into his hair, grabbing a handful. He groaned back, overtaking her physical play by rolling his shoulders forward, making her arch into him. He was making a puddle out of her, she snaked herself around him to stay upright.

  The heat grew from the inside out, starting in her chest but dropping much, much lower in her body. His hand tucked under her top, hitting her skin and making her whimper into his mouth. With another grunt he shoved his hand down under the waist of her shorts, under her panties, manhandling her ass.

  It was an effort but she broke off the kiss, panting, blinking to clear her head just a little. He tried to follow her mouth but she held his head back by the hair. “Upstairs,” she whispered.

  He nodded, breathing ragged through his mouth as well. She stepped away from him and turned for the stairs, pulling her hair free of her ponytail. The narrow stairway seemed even smaller with him behind her, his footsteps seeming to be so much heavier, louder. But she liked it.

  At the top of the stairs she turned for her room, only pausing to flick on the bedside lamp. As she turned to the door Fritter was closing it, looking around her private sanctum with another odd look on his face. It made her fidget.

  She couldn’t remember the last time a man had been in her room. It really had no personality. The baby blue walls and white trim were from the former owner, and the blonde wood five-piece bedroom suite had been on sale. Her closet stood open but other than a few uniforms there wasn’t much inside. Certainly nothing of interest. But he was looking at it all like it held a secret.

  As he walked past her dresser, eyes on all the shit strewn about on top, he let the kutte fall down his arms and he folded it, setting it on one end. Then he moved past her closet, stopping again in front of the tall boy dresser. Her graduation photo was on top—graduation from the academy, that is. He turned back to her, smiling with just one side of his mouth. “You’re hotter now, by the way.”

  She snorted but noted how her cheeks warmed, and she stared down at her feet. Jesus, she was acting like a fucking tween.

  When she looked up again he was coming towards her, shoulders rolling from the natural motion of his walking, and she had to swallow. The way he was looking at her was downright predatory.

  One hand caught her chin, tilting her head up, then he was kissing her again. His taste, his smell, the feel of his hands sliding around her waist were all enough to intoxicate, and before long her head was swimming. Hot and dry, his palms were suddenly skimming up her ribs, and she felt her nipples harden to the point of pain. She moved away again and lifted her arms as he pulled her T-shirt off, then he stared down at her. He trailed his one hand down the center of her chest, stomach, then tucked a finger into the front of her shorts to reel her in again.

  She put out a hand to stop him, reaching for the hem of his shirt. With a smile he pulled it off himself, then all she could do was stare. She mimicked what he’d done to her, flattening her palm under his throat and then sliding it downward. He breathed in with a hiss, which made his abs jump into view all the more. When she stopped with a hand resting over the fly of his jeans she looked up into his heated blue eyes and licked her lips.

  With both hands she did away with the belt buckle, button and zipper. The jeans dropped and he was naked. One hand closed around his erection and he grabbed both of her elbows.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. But he didn’t try to stop her. His voice was coarse, and his whole torso was tense. She was as much his undoing as he was hers.

  Shaking free she reached behind to undo her bra and let it drop. His hands were on her breasts before the bra hit the floor but she slid down, out of reach. There was a noise of frustration but she took him in her mouth and the noise changed.

  One hand and her mouth worked his cock, her other hand sliding under to cup his sack and he made another fantastic sound, his hips jerking as though out of his control. He was trying to keep himself from mouth-fucking her.

  She was smiling as he came, swallowing what he gave her, then backing off and licking her bottom lip, wondering what the fuck she’d just done.

  He saw it on her face, and stooped to pull her up by her arm. “Last time I was tested I was clean. And I always wrap up, swear to God.”


  She nodded, a little dazed, but when he started kissing her again she went with it, melting into him again and winding her arms around his shoulders, loving the sensation of his skin on hers. He walked her back to her bed, and her knees hit the edge before he gave her a little shove back. She hit the bed on her ass and tried to scramble up but he grabbed her hips, again with that smile. Then he was undoing her shorts, and she had to plant her toes on the floor to lift her hips and help him get her naked.

  When he was on his knees in front of her she realized what he was doing, and she knew she couldn’t say no. The last time he’d gone down on her had been exquisite, her body would not—could not—resist.

  He didn’t wait for her to recline. He lifted her legs up to his shoulders, then she fell back onto the bed with a low moan because he was kissing and nibbling at her with his lips, teasing her. Delicious torture.

  “Fritter,” she gasped, squirming as his hands had her hips pinned. “Please, you’re killing me.”

  With a low chuckle that she felt throughout all her erogenous zones he did as she begged, closing his mouth off on her clit, suckling and licking at her with dangerous intensity. With anyone else this would be too much, but with Mark Horton it was absolutely perfect.

  She enjoyed the build, the brain-scrambling worry something would prevent her from reaching that peak, then the breaking sensation of the orgasm washing through her, from the top of her head to her toes. Her head wrenched back, jaw cracking as her mouth was forced open in a silent cry.

  With a few more long licks Fritter made her wriggle more. “Please, stop.”

  He looked up at her, the same one-sided smile on his face. “You wanna stop already?”

  She had to smile back. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Oh, okay. Good.” The smile got a little wider as he crawled up over her. Her skin warmed again from the way his arm muscles bunched as he did it.

  “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” she breathed, then realized she’d actually said it out loud.