Fire Inside: A Chaos Novel (40 page)

My eyes got wide. “You packed me a bag?”

He smiled. “Sure I missed something, seein’ as the bag I packed for you doesn’t weigh as much as normal. But if I did, we can pick it up in Vegas.”

I hated it when he was amusing when I was ticked off.

“I’m moving in and we’re living happily ever after, Hop. I’m also keeping the ring because it’s gorgeous. But we are
not
getting married.”

“Yeah we are.”

“No we aren’t.”

He turned back to the wheel, put the truck in drive and moved back onto the road muttering, “We’ll see.”

“We’re not!” I shouted, yanking on my wrist cuffed to his.

He caught my hand and pressed it to his thigh. “Don’t want my bride on her wedding day havin’ bruises on her wrist.”

Argh!

I went silent.

Hop drove.

I stewed.

We were heading into the mountains when I stated, “This isn’t going to work if both of us pull dramas, Hopper Kincaid. You’re supposed to be the mellow one.”

“Rethinkin’ that ’cause this is fun,” he replied. “Now, get me a donut, babe.”

I growled and noticed Hopper grinned.

But I was hungry and, if I had the donuts, I could throw one at him.

With difficulty, since my wrist was cuffed to Hop’s, I twisted to the backseat and got the donuts. I also didn’t throw one at him because the minute I opened them, their sugary, doughy goodness wafted out and it would be a crime to waste even one.

I handed Hop his and started snarfing mine.

“Babe?” Hop called.

“As of now, I’m not talking to you,” I announced with a mouth full of donut.

“Love you more than life.”

God.

He just kept killing me.

I went back to silently stewing.

But after what he said, my heart wasn’t in it.

* * *

That night, the Flamingo Hotel, Vegas…

“Oh my
God,
” I breathed, digging my heels into Hop’s back. My wrists, cuffed to the bed, jerked and suddenly Hop’s mouth wasn’t between my legs.

He’d shifted and I felt him kiss the sensitive skin where my leg met my pelvis and my head shot up to look down at him.

He’d lifted up on his forearms, my legs still over his shoulders, and I got a good look at the new tattoo that was inked in his skin over his heart. Something he caome home with as a surprise a couple of months ago.

It was a shield, its outline made of a kickass length of chain, its inside in beautiful script that said
For my Lanie
.

I loved that tattoo almost as much as I loved my shield.

But right then, I couldn’t think about how much I loved his tattoo.

“Don’t stop,” I begged.

“You gonna marry me?” he asked.

Totally killing me.

“Yes,” I stated instantly, and he smiled a sexy smile.

“You sayin’ that ’cause you wanna come or are you gonna marry me ’cause you want my name?”

“Both.”

“Promise that, Lanie.”

I held his eyes even as I squirmed. “Promise, Hop.”

“You love me?”

“Until I die.”

His face got soft but his lips ordered, “Say it.”

Again. Killing me.

“Hop, please—”

“Say it, baby.”

“Say what?”

“You want my name.”

“Uncuff me.”

“No. Say it.”

“I want to touch you,” I told him quietly and I did. I definitely wanted to touch him when I told him I wanted his name.

“Burying my face back in that pussy then fuckin’ it, all with you at my mercy, babe. You can touch me later. Say what I want to hear now.”

I dropped my head back to the bed and looked at the ceiling as I let the heat his words caused flash through my body. At the same time, I quickly sorted through my thoughts.

He was mine, I was his, he wanted this.

And I wanted him to have everything he wanted.

So I could let go of this one last thing and give it to him.

At the same time, having it myself.

When I had it together, I lifted up again and locked eyes with my man.

“I want to be your wife. I want your name. I want the name our son is going to have. I want to get married.”

His face got dark, his eyes hot, but his lips curved before he corrected, “Daughter.”

“Son.”

He shook his head then I watched him dip his face between my legs.

Yes.

My heels dug into his back.

Hop slid his hands under my behind and he pulled me deeper into his mouth.

Keep hold of happy.

I was.

Every second.

Even if I had to do it with just my legs.

* * *

The next night…

“We need to have dinner as soon as possible,” I told Tyra, my phone to my ear, my cheek to Hop’s chest, my naked body entwined with his in our bed at the Flamingo in Vegas.

We’d been married by a fake Liberace.

We both wore jeans.

We found Hop’s wedding band in an outpost on the way (though we did this shopping while I was under fake duress). It was wide, silver, with a thick ebony band in the middle. It didn’t look like a traditional wedding ring but it did look like a biker one.

Perfect for Hop.

He bought me a bouquet of red roses at fake Liberace’s wedding chapel.

And when Liberace told Hop he could kiss the bride, Hop dipped me in an arched-back make-out session to end all make-out sessions. When he was done, he pulled me straight, crouched in front of me, wrapped his arms around my thighs, lifted me up and roared,
“This is my woman!”

I burst out laughing at the same time I burst into tears. It was the happiest moment of my life.

Bar none.

I’d done the right thing, marrying Hop.

And evidence was suggesting it was the same for my man.

Liberace told us no one had ever shouted like that after a ceremony. He did this making it clear he wished everyone did.

Liberace with his purple pompadour was also in some of our wedding photos. He was grinning like a lunatic. It was hilarious. But there was no doubt he genuinely loved his job.

Hop was right.

The dress, ring, flowers, all of it terrified me because that was what had led me and Elliott to Kansas City.

But jeans, roses, and Liberace were
perfect.

“Is everything okay?” Tyra asked.

“Yes,” I answered in a massive understatement. “Just, can you call Tabby and Shy and ask them to watch the boys so you and Tack can go out to dinner with us?”

“Sure, honey.”

“I gotta go,” I told her and I did. I had to call my assistant at home on a Sunday and tell her I wouldn’t be back in the office until Tuesday.

But first, I had to cuddle a little bit more with my husband.

“Okay. See you soon.”

“Right. ’Bye, sweetie.”

“ ’Bye, Lanie.”

I tossed my phone on the bed then moved my fingers to Hop’s forearm and traced the pattern of fire. After I did that a while, I moved my finger to trace my shield.

“My name is Lanie Kincaid,” I told his chest.

“Sure the fuck is,” Hop replied on a growl and I lifted my head to look at him.

His handsome face was set hard, determined much like he looked when he talked about what he did to get Chaos out of the bad place they were in to a good place of family.

Family.

“Are you genuinely happy, Hopper Kincaid?” I asked softly.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely, Lanie Kincaid,” he stated firmly.

Wow.

That sounded beautiful.

I lifted a hand to his face and traced the side of his mustache with my thumb, watching it go before I lifted my eyes to him.

“For the first time since I was eleven and for the first time in my whole life, it being totally honest and completely real, I am too.”

He knifed up, his arms going around me, and he rolled us so he was on top then he kissed me.

“I think I have a clue how much you love me now, Hop,” I told him when he broke the kiss.

“Good to know, baby,” he said through a grin.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“So far from a hardship, it isn’t funny, lady, but you’re welcome.”

I lifted my head, sifting my fingers in his overlong hair, smelling his spicy scent, feeling his ’tache tickle my skin and I kissed my husband.

It was the best kiss of my life.

Up until then.

I would find that Hop, as ever, would keep making them better.

One week later…

His phone rang and Hop opened his eyes feeling his wife’s weight pressed to his side, their legs tangled, and her cheek on his pec.

She shifted sleepily as he reached out a hand to the nightstand to grab his phone, seeing from the alarm clock it was early morning. As in
way
early morning. He looked at his display and saw it was Tack calling. They’d had dinner with him and Cherry the night before, where they shared their good news.

All of it. Tack and Tyra had been happy for them, Tyra over the moon. So much so Hop didn’t know if she was happier about the baby than the marriage.

It didn’t matter.

His woman had beamed through dinner, showing off her ring, touching her hand to her stomach, and Hop again didn’t know if Lanie was happier about their baby or their marriage.

That was what mattered.

All was good in the family.

But a middle-of-the-night phone call was never good news.

Ever.

He put the phone to his ear and muttered, “You got me.”

“Callout, brother,” Tack replied. “Benito.”

Fuck,
he thought

“Be there in fifteen,” he said.

“Later.”

“Later.”

He tossed his phone to the nightstand as he felt Lanie stretch, pressing into him.

“Is everything okay?” she murmured, her voice drowsy and sweet.

“Yeah,” he lied.

His woman was good in all the ways she could be. The short-term therapy counselor had suggested long-term therapy and Lanie had found someone she liked working with. They were winding things up seeing as his woman… no, his
wife…
had moved beyond the heavy shit and had been given the tools to deal with how her thoughts and memories twisted themselves and tortured her.

She still threw dramas but they were not embedded in dysfunction.

She came home from work and ranted about shit that was fixable, thus mostly unimportant, but was important to get off her chest.

She hilariously lost it when she got caught up in something and burned her first attempt at making Cody’s birthday cake.

And she bitched while he bit back laughter at the antics of her mother and father; strike that, her
sober,
seriously pissed off mother and her asshole father. Lanie and Lis were Team Joellyn all the way as Joellyn made maneuvers to take her husband to the cleaners. Edward had backtracked, saying he wanted her back, and none of the Heron women could tell if he said that because he knew he’d lose a vast chunk of his fortune or he was falling back in love with the woman he’d married now that she was sober. None of them cared, either. It was an all-out female Heron offensive to make that dirtbag pay.

Hop was loving it and, even if she bitched, he knew Lanie was too. She had one parent back and she’d learned the hard way how precious life was. She wasn’t wasting any of it on an unnecessary grudge.

But the business with Benito Valenzuela was something else.

He wouldn’t let her worry. He wouldn’t let her think anything about Benito if he could control it.

So he was going to control it.

Even if he had to lie.

But he was worried about it. The one thing that could set her to sliding back was this, if she found out how bad it was, and how it kept getting worse.

“Gotta go do something with Chaos,” he told her, rolling her to her back and leaning in to kiss her throat but bracing for her reaction.

“Okay, honey.”

Okay?

He lifted his head up and looked at her shadowed face.

She turned to her side, curled her legs up but stretched her neck to brush her lips against his collarbone.

Then she settled back in.

He stared at her.

Fuck. She trusted him.

Fuck. She was good with letting him go out in the middle of the night on unknown business for Chaos.

Hop gave it a beat to let that settle then bent and kissed her neck again, smoothing a hand over her hip then in, up her nightie and to her stomach. “Take care of Ellie while I’m gone.”

“Happy to take care of Butch while you’re gone,” she mumbled dozily, and he felt his lips tip up.

He wanted a daughter who looked like his wife. His wife had informed him she wanted a son who looked like her husband.

God would decide but it was fun arguing about something that meant everything knowing neither of them really cared which way it went.

But “Butch” was new.

“Butch?” he asked.

“Ty-Ty took all the cute baby boy biker names. I’m calling him Butch until I can come up with something else.”

Fuck yeah, she was sleepy and joking.

She trusted him.

Hop stifled laughter and told her, “Ellie’s a girl, Lanie.”

“Butch is a boy, Hopper.”

“We’ll see,” he muttered, leaning in to give his wife another light kiss.

“Yeah. We will,” she replied, cuddled deeper into the bed and he rolled out.

Hop got dressed and went back to find his woman sleeping. He reached out, pulled the covers high and tucked her in.

Then he grabbed his phone, went downstairs to the locked cabinet, got his knife, moved to his safe and tagged his gun.

Then he walked out to his garage and hopped on his bike.

* * *

“Do not fire! Chaos, do not fire!”
Tack roared and Hop, crouched behind a hospital bed on a goddamned fucking porno set of all fucking places, with his arms up and resting on the bed, gun pointed at one of Benito’s men, stayed still but kept his finger on the trigger.

He took his eyes off his mark to look at Tack who had his mouth tight. His gaze was on Shy, who had blood oozing down his neck because he just got winged by a ricochet bullet from one of Benito’s men’s guns.