Leave a Trail (Signal Bend #7)(33)

And Badger was released. Len helped him up, as Tommy and Isaac pulled Show back.

Len straightened his kutte and gave him a light cuff on the chin. “Shake it off, little brother. Then get on out of here. You’re okay. You did good. You did right. Gonna take some time. But you did right.”

Badger hoped that was true.




CHAPTER SEVEN



For the third night in a row, every night they’d slept together, Adrienne came awake with a start, yanked from sleep by Badger’s shouts. She rolled over and sat up, her heart pounding.

He was already sitting up, his back to her, swelling with every heaving breath. She knew not to touch him yet, or he’d jump out of bed in a shock.

“Badge?”

Even at her voice, he jumped at little, but then he looked over his shoulder. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I should —I should stop sleeping here.”

Now she could touch him, so she scooted over and laid her head on his back, circling his waist with her arms. His skin was damp with sweat.

“No, you shouldn’t. I like having you with me. And you shouldn’t have to wake up from that alone.”

Though he didn’t turn around, she felt him begin to relax. A rhythm for his nightmares was emerging— he’d bolt awake, shouting, at least once every night. She’d wake with him and then wait as he sat on the side of the bed and worked to come back to real time. If she touched him before he was aware of her, he’d jump like he’d been touched with a live wire and leap off the bed, his eyes scarily wide. But once he knew she was with him, she could offer him some comfort.

Eventually, he’d be composed enough to turn back to her, and he’d need to have sex before he could sleep again.

Actually, he needed to have sex a lot, several times a day, and sometimes he was pretty frantic about it.

Maybe it was just the excitement of this new thing they had—excitement she felt herself. But Adrienne was beginning to wonder if sex was replacing another need he was trying to master.

She didn’t mind. Their sex was brilliant—totally worth waiting for—and she loved the way he made her feel. She wanted to help him, too. She’d told him she would. But she was starting to get pretty sore.

For now, though, she held him, her cheek on his back. His back was gorgeous—ridged with muscle, his shoulders rounded and wide. He was tall and thin, his hips narrow, but he was a lot bigger than he’d been when they first met. He had this set of muscles that ran from just under his arms to almost meet at the small of his back, two dimples just below. So very sexy. He had a scar near his right shoulder blade, puckered and rounded—from a bullet. That was sexy, too, but not because it meant he was tough—though he was. It was sexy to her because it was poignant. A sign of how much he’d lived through. She guessed that was what scars did—told tales of suffering. And Badger had suffered so.

He didn’t have ink on his back. He had a few pieces on his well-defined arms, all of which were crossed with scars now.

And his chest. God, how it hurt her to look at his chest. It didn’t gross her out at all, but it made her hurt for him so much. She didn’t know what had happened; he still wouldn’t tell her. There was a slight concavity under one arm, as if his ribs didn’t quite curve the right way anymore. Not very noticeable unless her hand was right on it, but it was there. The scar was the worst of it. It was almost like he’d been horribly burned. But not quite the same—at least she didn’t think so. From just inside his shoulders, just below his collarbones, to about three inches above his navel, all the way across, he was one big scar. The scar had formed in odd kinds of stripes, cut with scant ribbons of the flesh he’d had. She knew this because there were remnants here and there of the tattoo he’d had across his chest. He’d lifted his shirt one time, years ago, to show her his club ink—and his really nice chest, all lean and muscly. That ink was gone now, except for random traces. And he didn’t have nipples. It looked like he’d been filleted with a rusty saw or something. But that was completely crazy.

Unless she thought of Show’s back. And Len’s eye. And the scars they all had on their arms. Something really horrible had really happened. Something completely crazy.

But he wouldn’t tell her what. He would hardly talk at all after a nightmare, except to apologize. He’d just do what he was doing now, turning and taking her in his arms, laying her down, lying over her, kissing her, touching her. His hand moved between her thighs and slid into her folds. He grunted when he found her already wet. She’d been ready for him since she’d put her arms around him. He reached to the box of condoms they hadn’t bothered to put away. Their second box of a dozen.

When the condom was on, he slid inside her. It did hurt, a little, like she was abraded inside. But she knew it would pass soon enough. In the meantime, she focused on what felt good—his hands and his lips on her. The way his beard and his long hair brushed against her skin, tickling in a dazzlingly sexy way. The sound of his breath growing harsher against her ear.

And, finally, the feel of him moving inside her. He was bigger than she’d imagined. Quite a lot, actually, and she’d been scared at first. And it had hurt a lot at first. But there were places inside her she’d had no idea could feel the way he could make them feel. She didn’t feel the abrasion anymore; instead, she felt him pushing deep, against a spot inside that made pleasure so rich and intense that sparks happened in her head.