Undeniable (Undeniable, #1)(66)

“That’s good, babe,” he whispered back. “Real f*ckin’ good.”

We fell onto our bed in a tangle, kissing feverishly, tearing at each other’s clothing. “Love you,” I breathed, “so, so much.”

He pushed the straps of my dress down my shoulders and spread kisses along my collarbone. His mouth traveled lower with his hands pulling my dress down as he went. I threaded my fingers through his hair, moaning and begging him for more.

Using the tip of his tongue, he traced the scar from my C-section.

“Fuckin’ love you, baby,” he rasped.

Then he got to his feet and tugged my underwear off. Lifting my legs, I rubbed my grass-stained feet over his bare torso and giggled.

Grinning, he unzipped his jeans. “You want it hard?” he asked gruffly.

I bit my lip and shook my head. “I want it slow, baby.”

His eyes went soft. “Fuck,” he murmured. “I just wanna look at you, babe. I just wanna stand here and look at you until I can convince myself you’re really f*ckin’ here, and you’re not goin’ nowhere, and you really want me.”

I closed my eyes, letting his words sink inside of me.

“Get the f*ck off her, motherf*cker, before I blow a hole through your f*ckin’ skull!”

My eyes flew open. I knew that voice.

Frankie appeared from behind Deuce and moved to his side, pressing the barrel of a gun into Deuce’s temple. He was a mess. Filthy. His hair was greasy, his beard was long and unkempt, and his clothing was full of holes and covered in stains.

“Horseman!” Frankie bellowed. “I said back the f*ck up!”

Nostrils flaring, his expression murderous, Deuce zipped up his jeans and backed slowly away. I hurriedly pushed myself into a sitting position and pulled my dress up.

“Don’t f*ckin’ move, cunt,” Frankie hissed at me. Turning, he tossed a pair of handcuffs at Deuce, who caught them one-handed.

“Cuff yourself to the radiator,” he demanded.

Deuce stared at him. “No f*ckin’ way,” he growled.

“No?” Frankie grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me across the bed. The barrel of his gun felt cool against my neck. “You want her to die?”

Shaking with fury, Deuce bent down beside the radiator under our bedroom window, clasped a cuff around one of the steel bars and the other around his right wrist.

Frankie turned back to me, grinning.

“Been watchin’ you, baby,” he said. “Been watchin’ you a long f*ckin’ time now.” He leaned over the bed and got up in my face.

“Been watchin’ you f*ck this *!”

Trembling, I stared into Frankie’s dark eyes. “You killed Chase. You butchered him.”

“Yeah,” he sneered, standing up straight. He shook his head and laughed. “Fucker screamed like a girl, too.”

I felt the acidic burn of bile rise in the back of my throat.

“You didn’t think I knew, did ya? But I did. Every time he’d come to f*ckin’ talk to me, I saw it in his eyes. Him thinkin’ he was pullin’ one over on me. Thinkin’ he could get away with f*ckin’ my wife.”

“I did it for you,” I whispered.

Still gripping my hair, Frankie yanked me to my knees and slapped me across the face. “You f*ckin’ the Horseman for me, too?”

Holding my cheek, I stared up at him.

“Frankie,” I whispered, “please don’t do this.”

“Get on your f*ckin’ stomach, bitch,” Frankie snarled, releasing my hair and shoving me down. “Gonna show you and this f*ckin’ * who really f*ckin’ owns ya.”

Deuce made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and my eyes shot to him. He was six feet four inches and two hundred and fifty pounds of murderous rage. He pulled on the handcuffs so hard his hand was bleeding. His body was strung bowstring tight, his veins were bulging out of his arms and neck, and his eyes were bugging out of his skull. He was vibrating—literally vibrating—with hate.

Trembling, trying to blink back the tears burning in my eyes for Deuce’s sake, I shifted onto my stomach and turned my head to the side, keeping my gaze on Deuce.

“Been gettin’ sloppy f*ckin’ seconds from this f*ckin’ * for too f*ckin’ long,” Frankie muttered as he shoved my dress up and spread my legs apart. “That’s gonna f*ckin’ stop today.”

I heard his belt buckle open, the slide of his zipper, then I felt his weight, and he began pushing inside of me. I bit my lip to keep from crying and kept my eyes on Deuce.

His eyes never once left mine. He kept me with him and held me tight inside his eyes, where it was safe and warm and no one could hurt me.

? ? ?

Deuce had been beaten within an inch of his life.

He had been strangled, stabbed, and shot.

He had shot, stabbed, strangled, beaten, and killed.

He’d been hurt, scared, mad, angry as f*ck, and homicidally inclined.

Fuck, he had been so f*cking pissed off he had his old man killed. His own flesh and blood.

But never, NEVER, had he felt like this.

There wasn’t a word powerful enough to describe what he was feeling or to convey what was happening inside of him. It was beyond words and surpassed all emotions.