Wring: Road Kill MC #5 Page 4

  I hear a little kid racing to the door, footfalls like a herd of elephants. I smile.

  “Aunt Rose!”

  “Don't open it.” Noose says in a menacing low-voiced command.

  “Duh,” the boy says from the other side of the door.

  His smile is tight. “That's right. Good boy, Charlie,” Noose mutters with a genuine grin of pride.

  I frown. It's all too weird.

  Noose leans against the door, fingers spreading across the surface. “It's me, baby.”

  His hands drop as the door opens, and a woman about my age stands there, with a baby on her hip. Noose pushes his way inside and grabs the young woman, sweeping her and the baby against him.

  “Noose!” she laughs.

  He kisses her so thoroughly, I look away, cheeks heating.

  My savior smirks, rolling his light-blue eyes. “Get a room, pervs.”

  Noose pulls back. “Fuck off, Wring.” He leans in for more, pecking and kissing her.

  Wring. I turn to look at him.

  “Is that your name?”

  He gives me a speculative glance. “Yeah.”

  I shift my eyes to my shoes.

  “Who is she?” the woman asks, giving me a curious once-over.

  I focus on the baby girl, while a boy who appears to be about six years old races around.

  We recognize each other at the same moment.

  “Charlie!” I say in surprise.

  “Miss Shannon!”

  Wring turns to me, frowning. He appears so tough, so scary. But not when he looks at me. “You know the kid?”

  I nod. “He's, ah, he's one of my kids for story time.”

  “You're Miss Shannon?” The woman's smiling now.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, who the fuck are you, and what's going on?” Noose glowers.

  “Noose,” the woman says and gets right up beside him, transferring the baby to the other hip. She thwacks him on his big bicep. “Stop being a butt. Can't you see she's freaked out?”

  Yeah. Can't you see it? I fold my arms, giving out dirty looks to the two men like candy.

  “Miss Shannon?” Charlie asks me quietly.

  I sink, resting my butt on my heels. I smooth my skirt over my knees and tuck the excess fabric under my butt. I meet eyes that are as brown as the girl's and wrap my arms around my shins. “Uh-huh.”

  “Why weren't you at story time today?”

  Great question. I wonder who filled in.

  I wonder if I still have a job. Tears burn the back of my eyes. I rub them viciously. No crying.

  “Again, who the fu”—the woman belts him again—“are you?”

  Wring stares at me, not saying a word.

  “I'm sorry. Noose is being rude.” She sticks out her hand.

  I stand, taking it. We shake.

  “I'm Rose, and this big lug is my husband, Noose. You've met Charlie, and this beauty is Aria.”

  The baby's beautiful, like her mom.

  The little girl seems to know her name and coos. Then she proceeds to wreck Noose's tough-guy image by grabbing at the end of his hair.

  “No, no, princess, don't pull Daddy's hair.”

  I smile, suppressing a giggle at the Big Bad Biker dude being put in his place by an infant. “I'm Shannon.” I look down at my feet again. “I guess you know who I am.” I glance up at Rose and include Charlie in the look. My inhale is sharp, regretful. “This gang guy stopped me today and was hassling me—”

  “Hurting you,” Wring corrects.

  I give him a sharp look, nodding at his honest assessment.

  I swallow hard, throat suddenly dry in response to the memory of my fear. “He was.” Fighting the urge to rub my aching wrist, I quickly look away. It occurs to me that I haven't really used it, favoring that hand.

  “Anyway, Wring here… he, uh… he punched him pretty good and—”

  “Oh fuck.” Noose’s mouth drops open, and he whips his head in Wring's direction.

  Wring grimaces. “Yeah. Couldn't stand it, man.”

  “Gotcha.” Noose shakes his head in disbelief.

  I give a helpless shrug. “So here I am, and I missed work today because of him.” I can't finish.

  “Pancakes?” Rose interjects, and I give her a grateful look.

  My mouth waters. I didn't have breakfast. I don't most days. Giving in to hunger is a luxury. Usually, I just wait until supper and have something. Mom’s meds tear up the lining of her stomach if she doesn't take them with food.

  “You hungry?” Wrings asks into the sudden silence.

  “Fuck yes, she is. Looks like a candidate for a food funnel.” Noose grins, and Wring frowns.

  Rose just shakes her head and begins to walk off. “Follow me, Shannon.”

  Charlie runs ahead of me, bouncing all the way to the opposite end of the house. “Yay! Pancakes!”

  “Lots of energy,” Rose comments in a dry voice.

  I stifle a smile. “Yes.”

  Two separate huge pancake stacks are piled sky high on a platter beside heated syrup and a dish of what looks like real butter. A chilled pitcher holds orange juice.

  I swallow past the lump of grateful in my throat. “Wow, this is quite a spread.”

  “Noose doesn't require much,” she says with thick sarcasm.

  “Food and fucking,” Noose replies nonchalantly, and throws an arm around her neck. The baby squeals as Rose blushes furiously.

  I'm embarrassed for her, this crude guy. I glare at him.

  Then he leans way down, nuzzles her neck, and kisses her temple. “She's fucking great at all that.”

  He smiles at her like she's the most precious thing in the world, and they touch foreheads.

  My embarrassment moves right into envy. Wow, it's so obvious they're in love. He might be crude and rough, but clearly, he adores his family.

  Wring takes that moment to lean over the granite countertop on his elbow and pop a grape from a nearby fruit bowl into his mouth. “Pussy whipped,” he comments as Noose and Rose have their moment.

  I blink. What have I gotten myself into?

  “You're next,” Noose says smugly, pointing a finger at him and pretend shooting.

  They exchange a private glance.

  “I'm sure Shannon is all worn out after her ordeal and needs food.” Rose slips out of Noose's grasp and hands him his daughter. He picks her up and lifts her high into the air. “Better not barf on Daddy,” he says, squinting.

  Looks like maybe that's happened before. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing.

  “Aria probably needs fresh pants.” Rose cocks a golden-brown eyebrow high, and he sighs, resigned to diaper duty.

  “Man, I used to be cool!” He trudges off to do the deed, and Wring rolls to both elbows on the countertop and props his chin in his hands.

  “You were never cool, Noose,” he comments in a droll voice.

  “Fuck off!” he yells from another room.

  I smirk. They act like family.

  Or the family I remember from long ago when Dad was alive. Of course, ours was a more sedate rendition. Mom would die if this many F bombs blew up around our house.

  I grab a fork and knife off the countertop, stab a plain dinner-plate-sized pancake, and drop it on an empty plate. My fork hovers over the second stack. Not sure what fruit is in there.

  “Fresh blackberries,” Rose says proudly, guessing at my hesitation. “I can still find a few patches around here. Kids and I like to pick.”

  There used to be wild blackberries growing all over our property. It makes me sad they're gone. My eyes rove to the fruit pancake pile again.

  The hell with it. I stab a fruit pancake and lather it all in real butter, pouring maple syrup over the whole load.

  Wring watches my movements like a hawk sighting prey. I'm almost too hungry and strung out with fatigue to care. Almost.

  I find a seat at the kitchen table and plop down, digging in. As I chew my food, I look out the huge win
dows at the view of Kent from the top floor of the condominium complex.

  I groan over the taste and close my eyes. Heavenly. A stab of guilt takes me out of the moment. Mom would love these. She's so skinny. The RA has stolen her appetite and dampened her sense of smell and taste.

  “Like that sound,” Wring comments quietly at my elbow, and I startle, my eyes snapping open.

  My face heats. I set down the fork and put my hands to my cheeks.

  “Hey,” he says, voice low, “I didn't mean anything by that.”

  I can hear Rose clanking dishes in the background. It's just me and Wring.

  Our gazes lock. “Yes you did.” Defiance laces my words.

  He nods really slowly. “You're right. I did.”

  My blush flares to life again.

  Wring turns, digging into his own pile.

  I watch him eat for a few seconds, then laugh.

  One of his pale-blond eyebrows shoots up. “What?”

  Eyeing up his six-pancake stack, I ask, “Hungry?”

  He nods. “Fuck yes, starved. Feel like I just woke up after a ten-year nap.”

  Noose comes around the corner, securing Aria in a football hold at his side. “What nap? You sleep like shit.”

  Aria's chubby feet dangle, and she giggles. Noose chucks her underneath her chin, tipping her upright and high against his hip. Her arms curls around his beefy shoulder.

  Wring runs a hand over his short buzz cut. “Yeah. Feel good right now, though.”

  “ʼCause you just pounded that Blood.” He shrugs like it's obvious.

  They grin and tap knuckles across the table.

  I take another bite then chase it down with icy orange juice.

  “So spill it,” Nooses says, eating a quarter of a pancake in one bite.

  Wow, he's aggressive with the food.

  Rose approaches the table, smirking.

  Noose breaks off a little bit of pancake and pops it in Aria's mouth.

  “Num-num!” she yells into the feasting.

  I laugh. “She's adorable.”

  Rose beams, and Noose says to her, “You're welcome,” dragging Rose in for another kiss.

  She whacks him. “I had something to do with it, you know.”

  Noose winks. “Oh, I know. I so know.”

  “Noose…” she says in warning.

  He ignores her, pulling her into his lap. “Great food, wife.”

  Rose's cheeks get pink, and he feeds her a bite from his fork, kissing her again as Aria scoops up a second tiny section of pancake. Her hair is dark, but her eyes are like her dad’s, light gray. Syrup gets all over her chubby fingers.

  “Ah, she's a mess, Noose,” Rose chides.

  He shrugs a muscular shoulder, his leather vest creaking with the movement. “She's a baby. They're dirt magnets.”

  “Amen,” Wring says, cleaning the last of the syrup from his plate with a half pancake.

  Rose sighs, getting up, and Noose slaps her butt. “Love the view, babe.”

  She gives him a long-suffering look, but underneath that is happiness. Rose loves him.

  Noose turns back to me like a dog with a bone, steepling his fingers underneath his chin. “Why's that Blood prick after you?”

  He gives Aria a little bit more pancake without missing a beat.

  She mashes it between her fingers and stuffs it into her mouth. “Num-num!”

  Both men stare holes through me. “I don't want to involve you in my…” I struggle for a few seconds to explain and finally settle on simple. “Troubles.”

  “Too late,” Wring says, mopping up one last drop of syrup and grabbing his glass of OJ. He swallows half a glass, and I watch his powerful, thick throat work.

  God, he's a handsome man.

  He wipes his mouth with a napkin then crumples it before tossing it on the plate.

  My heartbeats stack, my body flat out responding to his.

  Wring watches my face and leans forward, pupils dilating. His lips part.

  I concentrate on his mouth, sliding my damp palms underneath my thighs.

  “Yeah,” Noose agrees slowly. “Road Kill mess right now.”

  I turn to him in a semi-daze, food coma and lust undertones coming on. “What? Road Kill?”

  He nods slowly. “We're motorcycle club men, Shannon.” Noose says the words like they hold weight or mean something I should know.

  I look to Wring.

  The room seems to be holding its breath.

  “I don't know what motorcycle club means.” I lift a shoulder. “Like what? You guys like riding together?”

  Noose starts braying like a donkey.

  Wring doesn't join in.

  “This is fucking rich,” Noose says, slapping a denim-encased thigh with his hand.

  “Cut the shit, Noose,” Wring says, glaring.

  “What am I missing?” I divide my attention between the two.

  “Wring here”—he flings a thumb in Wring's direction—“went all white knight and shit, saving you from whatever that Blood had in mind.” He tilts his head, clearly waiting for a response.

  That's true. I nod.

  “So the Bloods are going to look at that whole little event as a declaration of war. Unless you are someone important to Wring?”

  I vigorously shake my head. “I don't know Wring.” It occurs to me in that moment they have really weird names.

  Wring leans back in his chair, carefully lacing his fingers. He cups the back of his head, hooded eyes on me.

  I risk a look at his crotch. I don't know why. Because I'm crazy. Or curious. Both.

  There's a healthy erection seated between his legs.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh my God.

  “Wring?” Noose asks, and I manage to open my eyes and keep them on his face this time.

  His expression is amused.

  He knows I was checking his dick out. I about die. I'm blushing so hard, I feel like my head will explode.

  “I don't want an old lady. Hell, I want easy tail.”

  I blink.

  Noose chuckles, beginning to drum his fingers on the table. “That's what I thought, too.”

  “Num-num!” Aria chimes, and Noose slides another piece of pancake onto her tray. She makes a fist, squishes the pancake and syrup into an unrecognizable ball, and crams it into her tiny mouth.

  “Tail?” I ask, feeling outraged. I stand, looking down on two amused faces and a startled baby. “I—ah!” I pivot on my heel and stomp out of there, intending to find Rose.

  And where is Charlie?

  I walk to where I hear faint voices, escaping their dumb conversation about old ladies, tail, and gangs.

  Idiots.

  Rose and Charlie are sitting together on his bed. A half-eaten plate of pancakes lies between them.

  “Hey,” she says softly. She sits up, reading my expression and getting kind of alarmed.

  “Where's Aria?”

  “She's out there, getting stuffed with pancakes.”

  “What's wrong?”

  So much is wrong. I open my mouth to tell Rose some of it, realize I don't know her, and decide against it.

  “The guys are so…” I waffle my hand back and forth.

  “I know exactly what you mean.” She kisses Charlie as he eats the rest of the pancakes and stands. “Time for Aria's nap.”

  Of course. Because my story hour was supposed to be at ten. And now it's almost one, and I can't—

  My mom.

  Fear goosebumps spread over my flesh. I wonder if Vincent tried to go by the house?

  “What?” Rose asks, searching my features.

  I look into her big brown eyes. Eyes that have seen a few things.

  “I better get home,” I say in weak response then remember my manners. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

  Rose grabs my arm as I move to turn.

  I look at her.

  “I know Wring—all of it, them—seems tough.”

  A laugh bursts out of me. No shit.


  She studies my expression, and her face turns rueful. “But they—MC men, our MC men—they're real guys. Treat women well. Protective. Wring won't let anything happen to you.”

  I shake my head. I'm sure I look as puzzled as I feel. “I think it's great he helped me out,” I say slowly. I put my wounded hand on my chest and cringe from the pain the movement fires off. “But he isn't responsible for me. I'm responsible for me.” I spread my fingers over my chest and suddenly wince at the motion. I finally give up and let my mess of a wrist fall to my side.

  “Oh my God.” Rose covers her mouth. “Did that Blood do that to your wrist?”

  I hold out my hand and really look it over. It's swollen, the little bone that normally pokes out where my hand and wrist connect is hidden in the inflamed flesh. “Yeah.” A weary exhale slides out of me.

  No health insurance. I'll just have to ride it out. I close my eyes. Tired over the challenges, taking care of my mom, and finances. Now this.

  “I was going to take her to Doc.”

  I whirl. Wring's there, leaning against the doorjamb, looking tantalizing.

  “I'm going home.”

  “No you're not. I'll take you by the club, get ya patched up, see what's what with your wrist, then you go home.”

  His eyes are flint, unyielding.

  I fold my arms, thrusting a hip out—body language for digging in my heels. “I can say no.”

  We stare at each other.

  He slowly nods. “You could.”

  I shrug, and it pushes my breasts up. His eyes cling to the view. Something deep and low pulls inside me at that look.

  Wring's smile is secretive. “I highly suggest you don't.”

  Chapter 5

  Wring

  “I don't need to be seen by a doctor.”

  I sweep my palm behind me, and Shannon sighs, hiking her leg over the seat and sliding in behind me.

  Grabbing her hand before she can protest, I gently rotate it. Finger-shaped bruises ring the narrowest part of her arm. It's a mess, flesh inflamed. Looks like she couldn't use it if she tried.

  “You're gettinʼ seen. Period.”

  I carefully place her wounded hand around me, and she tightens around my torso with her forearm but grips me with her other unhurt hand.

  “Hang on,” I say gruffly. Bitches never listen.

  She lays her head between my shoulder blades like she's tired. “I—can we go by my house first? I have to check on my mom.”