Truly, Madly, Whiskey(59)
She wanted that, too.
When their lips finally parted—a minute, or twenty, later—she longed for his to return.
“I was wrong.” Her words pushed urgently from her lungs. “You do own me.”
“No, baby. We don’t own. We are one. We share, we love, we protect, but we don’t own.”
Chapter Thirteen
THE DARK KNIGHTS’ clubhouse was located behind Whiskey Bro’s in a similar building in need of updating. Bear sat at a table with Bullet and Bones Monday night at church as members discussed prospects, an upcoming charity ride slated for the fall, and the situation with Scooter, which seemed to have calmed down after they made their show of support. While Bear was glad to hear it, his mind wasn’t on the meeting. After the weekend he’d had with Crystal, he wanted more time with her, not less, which was what he’d have if he helped with the bar expansion. If that wasn’t enough of a distraction, he’d received a call earlier in the day from Jace Stone. He and his business partner, Maddox Silver, were ready to finalize their offer.
Bear stuck around after the meeting, waiting for his father to come over and discuss the bar. While the guys shot pool and played darts, talking about their last ride, or their next, Bear wrestled with his future.
Bones took a swig of his beer, eyeing him. His brother had come directly from doing rounds at the hospital. He’d changed into a Dark Knights shirt. His discarded dress shirt lay over the back of his chair. He was Dr. Wayne Whiskey by day, the epitome of the clean-cut professional, covering up his tats and careful with his language, and by night he became Bones, the die-hard biker Bear knew him to be.
“Bullet said you’re having a hard time over something that went down with Crystal,” Bones said. “Want to talk about it?”
Bullet leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard and giving Bear a look he knew too well. The one that said, Spill your guts. We’ve got your back.
“I made her a promise,” Bear said, wishing he had been born with a better poker face. “I’m not breaking it to satisfy anyone’s curiosity.”
Bones tipped his chin down, giving Bear a serious stare. “Is she still in danger?”
That was the worst f*cking part of this whole situation. The guy was still out there. Bear fisted his hands beneath the table. “Not imminent. Maybe not at all. But I still want to track down the motherf*cker and kill him.” He pushed from the table, needing air.
Bullet grabbed his arm. “Do not take vengeance, bro. You’ll end up in prison, and Tru can tell you how f*cking fun that is. And that pretty little filly of yours won’t enjoy waiting for conjugal visits.” He pushed to his feet, sliding a dark look to Bones and tightening his grip on Bear. “And whatever you do, you don’t do it alone. You go down, we go down. Got it? You don’t take care of whatever this is alone.”
Yeah, he got it all right. Now he was on Bullet’s trouble radar, which meant any move he made, his brother was keeping tabs. Gotta love the brotherhood.
Bear wrenched from his grip and stalked outside. Inhaling a lungful of cool night air, he paced, trying to calm his roiling gut, and sent a quick text to Crystal.
How’s my girl?
Waking up with her in his arms had kept him going all day. He’d cooked her breakfast, which she’d reluctantly admitted she liked more than cold pizza. They’d had the hardest time saying goodbye when he’d dropped her off at her apartment this morning, but a text from Gemma reminding her to get to the shop early to discuss their schedule had pushed them along.
Her response came quickly. Busy loving up Harley and working on the costumes.
The door to the clubhouse opened and Bones stuck his head out. “Let’s go. The old man’s ready.”
“I’ll be right there.” His phone vibrated again, and a picture of Crystal kissing Harley’s nose popped up. Damn he missed them both. He sent another text, wishing he didn’t need to hurry back inside. Still have time for your boyfriend Friday night?
His phone vibrated with a response before he even reached the clubhouse door. Yes! Your fuzzy little girl misses you.
He stepped into the clubhouse and made his way toward a table in the back, where his brothers and father were talking. The sounds of cue balls rolling, hearty laughter, and the dense plunk of darts hitting the dartboard were as comforting as a home-cooked meal. Or maybe a last meal, given the conversation they were about to have.
He pulled out a chair, ignoring the inquisitive glare Bullet was giving him. Guess what, B. This one’s not under your thumb.
“Pop was just telling me about his plans to expand Whiskey Bro’s,” Bones explained.
“He’s in,” his father said in his slow drawl, as if there was anything Bones needed to be in with besides investing capital. Bones was the only one in the family who didn’t work at the bar or the shop, but as an equal partner—and a male—he was included in major decisions. He’d attended medical school after college, and after graduating, he’d gone right into practicing medicine. Bear had no doubt Bones would give up everything to help his family, if need be, which was why he’d never made a big deal out of being the one to take over the bar after their father’s stroke. There was no way he would have stolen either of his brothers’ dreams out from under them.
His father sat back in his typical relaxed state, his cane hanging off of his chair. Bear wasn’t fooled. His old man was a thinker, a planner. Bear knew that even after his stroke, if push came to shove, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw his body in the middle of a fight to protect those he loved—or strangers who needed help.