Reign of Wrath (Dirty Broken Savages #3)(61)

The end game is Julian, but it’s starting to feel pretty good to fight against the rottenness in Detroit too.

I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling a little bit more of the pain that’s been lodged in my heart slip away.

Priest reaches over and puts an arm around me, tucking me against his side.

“You should get some rest,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I can feel as well as hear. “It’s late, and it’s a long drive.”

I hum an affirmative and settle in against him, letting my eyes close. It usually takes me longer to get comfortable or feel relaxed enough to sleep, but right now I feel safe in a way I haven’t in a long, long time.





We make good time heading back to the city, traveling even faster than we did on the way to the mountains. That means fewer stops, which makes us all a little restless and cramped, but it’s worth it when we finally pull into the driveway of the house. It’s started to feel like home in a way I never expected, and I’m so grateful to be back.

Once the car is stopped, I get out and groan as my knees and legs unbend for the first time in hours. I stretch them out and then stretch my sides, bending this way and that to shake the cramps from them.

Ash wolf whistles, giving me a long once over, and I roll my eyes at him.

The house is quiet and familiar, and after so long in the car, it feels damn good to just step inside.

“I need a shower,” I tell them, stretching my arms over my head. “I feel like I’ve got road trip grime all over me.”

“And yet, you’re still the hottest thing in the room,” Ash says, grinning. “I guess we should unpack the gear and shit. That’s the worst part of coming back from a trip.”

“Better to do it now than let it sit in the bags until we have to take another trip,” Priest points out.

Ash makes a face at him. “Is it, though? Because if it’s already in the bags, then we don’t have to repack it.”

Priest rolls his eyes and hauls Ash off to start unloading the car.

“I’ll go get the dog,” Gage replies. “Since I’m sure no one wants to get back in the car to go pick him up.”

“You’re the best,” I call out in a sing song voice as I head for the stairs because he’s absolutely right. The thought of getting back in the car after just getting out of it is terrible. I hear Gage huff a laugh under his breath and then make my way to my room.

I strip off my clothes with a grateful sigh, rolling my shoulders and stretching out my arms and legs. The stiffness from being cooped up in the car is starting to fade, but it’ll be even better when I get in the shower and the hot water can work its magic on my muscles.

My nail polish from the trip is chipped and not in the best shape, so I get a new color from the drawer, choosing a bright orange just because it feels right in the moment. I see the razor that I use to cut myself in the same drawer, and I stare at it for a long moment.

Actually, I don’t have the impulse to use it right now, and that’s a nice feeling. I know it’s not like the urge will go away, but in this moment at least, I don’t want it. I don’t need it. And it occurs to me that maybe the next time I get that itching feeling under my skin that makes me want to cut, I can get Knox to help me again.

I’m not sure a psychologist would say that wanting him to mark me up is any better than wanting to mark myself up, but I think I’m pretty far beyond the help of any psychologist now anyway.

When I finally get into the shower, the hot water is definitely a revelation. I sigh with pleasure as it beats down on me, working out the kinks from sitting in the same spot for so long and sleeping in uncomfortable positions. I wash up quickly and then change my nail polish with smooth, practiced strokes, smoking a cigarette while I let the polish dry. I get dressed in clean clothes and then head downstairs to see if the guys are done with their shit yet.

I’m barely halfway down when I hear a chorus of happy barks that indicate the dog is back and pleased about it. I can definitely relate.

I head into the living room to greet him, and notice right away that he has a collar with a tag on. That’s definitely new, and I kneel down to check the tag. Before I can get a look at it, I’m greeted with nuzzles and some very determined attempts to lick my face that I barely manage to avoid because I don’t want dog drool all over me.

“Yeah, I’m happy to see you too,” I tell him, batting him away. “Calm down for a fucking second so I can check this.”

His tail wags so hard it thumps into the floor over and over again, and Gage laughs under his breath, standing there watching.

I glance up at him, but he’s not giving anything away on his face.

I finally manage to get the tag in hand and check the name. It says Harley.

“What’s this?” I ask, turning to look at Gage again.

He shrugs. “Since the dog is clearly a permanent fixture at this point, I figured it’s about damn time he had a real name. Knox and Ash taking turns calling him whatever weird or offensive shit they can come up with is probably fucking the poor mutt up.”

“Why Harley though?”

“You and Knox had that whole argument on the drive back about whether Harley Quinn or The Joker was a better name for the dog, so… I sided with you.”

My heart swells just hearing that. I like it a lot. Not just the name, but the reasoning behind it and why Gage got the collar and tag in the first place.