Fire Inside (Chaos #2)(108)

She shifted sleepily as he reached out a hand to the nightstand to grab his phone, seeing from the alarm clock it was early morning. As in way early morning. He looked at his display and saw it was Tack calling. They’d had dinner with him and Cherry the night before, where they shared their good news.

All of it. Tack and Tyra had been happy for them, Tyra over the moon. So much so Hop didn’t know if she was happier about the baby than the marriage.

It didn’t matter.

His woman had beamed through dinner, showing off her ring, touching her hand to her stomach, and Hop again didn’t know if Lanie was happier about their baby or their marriage.

That was what mattered.

All was good in the family.

But a middle-of-the-night phone call was never good news.

Ever.

He put the phone to his ear and muttered, “You got me.”

“Callout, brother,” Tack replied. “Benito.”

Fuck, he thought

“Be there in fifteen,” he said.

“Later.”

“Later.”

He tossed his phone to the nightstand as he felt Lanie stretch, pressing into him.

“Is everything okay?” she murmured, her voice drowsy and sweet.

“Yeah,” he lied.

His woman was good in all the ways she could be. The short-term therapy counselor had suggested long-term therapy and Lanie had found someone she liked working with. They were winding things up seeing as his woman… no, his wife… had moved beyond the heavy shit and had been given the tools to deal with how her thoughts and memories twisted themselves and tortured her.

She still threw dramas but they were not embedded in dysfunction.

She came home from work and ranted about shit that was fixable, thus mostly unimportant, but was important to get off her chest.

She hilariously lost it when she got caught up in something and burned her first attempt at making Cody’s birthday cake.

And she bitched while he bit back laughter at the antics of her mother and father; strike that, her sober, seriously pissed off mother and her ass**le father. Lanie and Lis were Team Joellyn all the way as Joellyn made maneuvers to take her husband to the cleaners. Edward had backtracked, saying he wanted her back, and none of the Heron women could tell if he said that because he knew he’d lose a vast chunk of his fortune or he was falling back in love with the woman he’d married now that she was sober. None of them cared, either. It was an all-out female Heron offensive to make that dirtbag pay.

Hop was loving it and, even if she bitched, he knew Lanie was too. She had one parent back and she’d learned the hard way how precious life was. She wasn’t wasting any of it on an unnecessary grudge.

But the business with Benito Valenzuela was something else.

He wouldn’t let her worry. He wouldn’t let her think anything about Benito if he could control it.

So he was going to control it.

Even if he had to lie.

But he was worried about it. The one thing that could set her to sliding back was this, if she found out how bad it was, and how it kept getting worse.

“Gotta go do something with Chaos,” he told her, rolling her to her back and leaning in to kiss her throat but bracing for her reaction.

“Okay, honey.”

Okay?

He lifted his head up and looked at her shadowed face.

She turned to her side, curled her legs up but stretched her neck to brush her lips against his collarbone.

Then she settled back in.

He stared at her.

Fuck. She trusted him.

Fuck. She was good with letting him go out in the middle of the night on unknown business for Chaos.

Hop gave it a beat to let that settle then bent and kissed her neck again, smoothing a hand over her hip then in, up her nightie and to her stomach. “Take care of Ellie while I’m gone.”

“Happy to take care of Butch while you’re gone,” she mumbled dozily, and he felt his lips tip up.

He wanted a daughter who looked like his wife. His wife had informed him she wanted a son who looked like her husband.

God would decide but it was fun arguing about something that meant everything knowing neither of them really cared which way it went.

But “Butch” was new.

“Butch?” he asked.

“Ty-Ty took all the cute baby boy biker names. I’m calling him Butch until I can come up with something else.”

Fuck yeah, she was sleepy and joking.

She trusted him.

Hop stifled laughter and told her, “Ellie’s a girl, Lanie.”

“Butch is a boy, Hopper.”

“We’ll see,” he muttered, leaning in to give his wife another light kiss.

“Yeah. We will,” she replied, cuddled deeper into the bed and he rolled out.

Hop got dressed and went back to find his woman sleeping. He reached out, pulled the covers high and tucked her in.

Then he grabbed his phone, went downstairs to the locked cabinet, got his knife, moved to his safe and tagged his gun.

Then he walked out to his garage and hopped on his bike.

* * *

“Do not fire! Chaos, do not fire!” Tack roared and Hop, crouched behind a hospital bed on a goddamned f**king  p**n o set of all f**king places, with his arms up and resting on the bed, gun pointed at one of Benito’s men, stayed still but kept his finger on the trigger.