Rake's Redemption (Wind Dragons MC #4)(76)

“Dom who?” I ask, my eyes darting between her and the kids.

I try to keep myself calm.

She didn’t know what happened.

Only Rake did.

And Christa.

And . . . him.

Dom Rogers.

“Dom Rogers, I think,” she says, taking a sip from her straw. “I saw in the paper that he died. A car crash, I think. They mentioned he went to our high school.”

“Yeah, I remember him,” I say in an empty voice.

I’ll never forget him.

I’ll see flashes of his face for the rest of my life.

But now he was dead.

And I felt . . . not happy, not sad.

I felt . . . peaceful.

It was years ago, I know. But time doesn’t always heal wounds. Not a wound like that.

Nothing would heal it.

I look down at my hands, my clean hands, and somehow I just know that Rake’s aren’t as clean.

No, they’re bloody.

They are dripping.

They were dirty before I was reunited with him, and they’re even bloodier now. Feeling a little numb, as if I’m looking at my life from the outside in, I think over everything that’s happened.

Dom is dead. I can’t explain the liberating feeling that comes with knowing that. It might make me evil or whatever, but I don’t feel any guilt that he’s dead. I don’t feel any remorse. I feel like it’s finally over.

And now Rake’s taking care of Wade, the man who gave me Cara but tried to take her back for his own selfish reasons. A man who doesn’t give one f*ck about my daughter, only what he could get out of her.

It’s twisted, I know.

But I smile.

Because Rake is my guardian angel.

Or maybe my personal grim reaper.





THIRTY-THREE




SO . . .” I say, wringing my hands. “How’s things with you, Irish?”

He flashes me a sardonic smile. “No need to make small talk, Bails. Silence is perfectly fine.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I’d hate to make the night easy on you, then.”

He laughs and changes the channel on the TV. “Things are fine. Is this your way of prying? I hear the women have been speculating about me.”

I shrug my shoulder and risk a glance at him. His dark eyes are already on me. “We thought maybe you had someone special in your . . .”

“Bed?”

“I was going to say life, but bed works,” I say in a dry tone, crossing my legs on the couch. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” I give in, staring at the screen. “Rake hasn’t called today.”

“Probably busy,” Irish says, looking at his phone distractedly. “Sorting shit out. Possibly trying to kill Pill.”

My head snaps to him. “They want to kill Pill?”

He looks up from his phone and starts laughing. “Kill Pill.”

“Irish.” I sigh, giving up on him and watching the movie.

“So how come Vinnie got his favorite meal made but I didn’t get shit?” he asks after a few moments.

“What’s your favorite meal?” I ask him.

“Well that’s the thing. I have two. Are you going to make me both?”

This guy.

“No. Choose one,” I tell him, my mouth twitching.

“I can’t. It’s too hard.”

“That’s what she said,” I mutter under my breath, but he hears it and starts laughing at me.

“Fuck. And you’re a teacher. Wish I had a teacher like you when I was in school,” he says, rubbing the scar on his neck absently.

“You’re being awfully chatty for someone who claims to like silence,” I point out.

He grins. “You’re cute.” He pauses. “And you cook well. And you make my brother happy. And you have a nice—”

“Fine, I’ll make you your two meals. Just stop,” I interrupt, holding up my hand. “You think I’m great, I get it.”

“Fuck if I knew all I had to do was compliment a woman to get fed, I’d have been doing it for a long time.” He looks down at his stomach. “I’m kind of hungry right now, you know.”

I scoff. “I’m not cooking now, it’s ten p.m. and I’ll need to do a grocery run anyway.”

My phone beeps with a message from Rake.

I miss you so f*cking much.

I smile to myself and type back.

Already, huh?

He replies instantly.

Always.

I smile wider and send:

As much as the sky is blue?

Irish groans and shakes his head. “If you start f*ckin’ giggling like a schoolgirl next, I’m out.”

Rake replies.

More.

I grin and type back.

It doesn’t get much bluer than the sky.

Next, he sends me a picture of his hard cock, with the caption It doesn’t get much harder than my dick. For you.

ruining the romantic moment but making me giggle.

Irish throws the remote, stands up, and leaves.

Which only makes me giggle harder.

*

“I can’t stop thinking about Talon,” Tia blurts out as she walks into my living room.