Move the Sun (Signal Bend #1)(34)

Isaac touched Lilli’s arm, and she spun on him, backing off instantly when she saw it was him.

“Asshole got fresh. Frien’ a yours?”

He brushed her cheek, while Bohler continued to writhed unattended. “You okay?”

“Sure. Room’s a little spinny, but I’m good.”

“You mind if I take it from here?”

“He’s all yours. I’m gonna sit.” She wandered unsteadily back to their table, and Isaac grabbed Bohler by his shirt, got him to his feet, and dragged him outside. He met Havoc, Len, and Show coming in, looking like they’d just been scrapping, too.

Show got a look at Isaac and Bohler, and asked simply, “Need help?”

“Nope. Somebody stay with Lilli. I’ll be back.”

“He hurt her?”

“She hurt him. But he took liberties. Needs a lesson.”

As he dragged Bohler out and to the back of the building, he heard Len tell Show, “I got his back.”

When he was done with Steve Bohler, he was well certain that there was no amount of drunk that would cause that cooker to forget his manners again around any woman, much less Isaac’s. He shouted a reminder as he was mashing Bohler into jelly.

His woman. Fuck. He had a woman. Hell, it had been his idea. He wanted her. She was not whom she claimed to be, and he needed to give a shit about that. She could be a threat to the club, and that made her a potential threat to his town. But he wanted her anyway.

He turned, shaking the blood off his beringed hands, and saw Len leaning against the corner of the building, regarding him curiously. Isaac walked past him without a word and went back in to find Lilli.

oOo

They left when Tuck and Rose closed up. Lilli had sobered up a little, but Isaac was still concerned about her ability to sit the bike. When she’d made the turn from buzzed to drunk, it had happened quickly.

Something for him to keep in mind. Still, she’d managed to disable Bohler handily. Isaac wondered what she was truly capable of sober.

He pulled her close. “You good to ride, Sport?”

She smiled up at him, and in the sodium glare of the parking lot lights, he could tell that her eyes weren’t quite as focused as he’d like. “Abso-tive-ly. Let’s ride.” She grabbed her helmet and fumbled it.

Alrighty. He made a snap decision. For this woman, he was doing lots of things he’d made a point not to do. Why not keep it up? His place was half the distance hers was. He was bringing her home.

He mounted, and she climbed on behind him—a bit awkwardly, but not so bad that he thought they’d have to hoof it down to the 7 Eleven for a giant coffee.

“Hold on tight, Sport, okay? Don’t want to lose you.”

She laughed. “You’re just tryin’a get felt up.” But she did—she held him tight, and he felt her breasts on his back, her thighs squeezing his.

He took it slow, but they were still pulling up to his house within fifteen minutes. She dismounted and took a quick extra step, finding her footing. “Hey. Where are we?”

He’d purposely neglected to tell her where he was taking her, figuring she’d fight him, and it was much harder for her to do anything about it from here. “My place. C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

She glared at him, standing akimbo. “Did I say I’d stay at your place?”

“You didn’t say no.” It wasn’t a lie—he hadn’t asked, so she hadn’t refused. His assertion confused her, and diffused the fight in her. He held out his hand, and she took it. He led her into his house, which was unlocked, for the most part. There was a room in the house, as well as two outbuildings, he always kept locked. Otherwise, he only locked up if he was leaving overnight.

As soon as he got her into his front hall, she yanked on his arm, pulling him back to her. She reached up and pulled the band loose from his braid, unwinding his hair. Then she fed her fingers into it and brought his face down to hers. Before she kissed him, she asked, “Got sheets on your bed?”

Fuck it. He’d show her around in the morning. They’d talk in the morning, too. Getting her to talk might be easier when she was like this, but he could get it done when she was sober. What Bart found out was best discussed in the light of the day, anyway. His hands under her shirt, on the satiny, firm skin of her belly, and then on her back, unhooking her bra, he kissed her.

“I do. Wanna mess ‘em up?”

INTERLUDE: 2002



Lilli wondered if it always rained at funerals. She knew that couldn’t possibly be true, but she’d now been to three funerals, and it had rained at every one.

Her mother.

Her nonna.

Now, her father.

She was alone in the world now. And she’d left him to die alone.

She’d been on a training exercise at aviation school when he’d fallen ill, and it had taken a day for the message to reach her. It took another two days to work out the logistics to get home. By the time she got to the hospital, he was gone. He’d had a massive coronary. The doctors told her he’d never been conscious since “the event”—that’s what they called it, “the event,” like it was a f*cking prom or something—so he didn’t know he was dying alone.

She knew, though. She knew.

He was buried with full military honors at the veteran’s cemetery. The place had a haunting beauty, a stillness and symmetry, every stone the same—white, narrow, and precisely aligned. The “mourners”—she guessed they were called mourners even if they would leave the cemetery, grab tacos at the drive-thru and go on about their damn lives—were all his former Army buddies or his business associates. Her father socialized a lot; as a high-level executive, it was part of his job. But he didn’t have many friends. He was naturally a loner, a family man who preferred the quiet of his home and his family. He was not quick to trust people. Except his old war buddies. They were far flung, though, and only met annually for a big fishing trip. Or when one of them died.