Protect (25 page)

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.

“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.