Wilder Page 20

  “Yeah.”

  She inhales a long breath and then exhales it before saying, “Families are hard work.”

  I nod. “That’s the fuckin’ truth.”

  “Do you think your dad will ever understand where Paul’s coming from?”

  “He’s a stubborn man and set in his ways. I’m not sure he’ll ever understand. I’m also not sure he’d ever lift the fuckin’ phone and initiate the conversation he needs to.”

  Scarlett’s phone sounds with a text, and when she doesn’t check it, I say, “You gonna read that?”

  “When we’re finished talking about this.”

  I jerk my chin at the phone. “We’re finished. I need a shower before I head into the clubhouse.”

  Another text comes through and then another. She groans as she reads them and then says, “Your brother is getting as bossy as you.”

  I chuckle. “How so?”

  She holds out her phone so I can read the messages.

  Paul: I’ve got the tickets for tomorrow night so no cancelling on me now.

  Paul: Don’t forget you need to come early. 7pm. Don’t be late.

  Paul: And expect a lot of questions because I expect a lot of discussion over the fact you’ve only shared a sandwich with my brother. Wait, have you shared more now?

  I look at Scarlett. “What are these tickets for?”

  “Ugh, some comedy show he bossed me into attending. I was gonna cancel on him this morning, but you distracted me, so thanks for that. You owe me now.”

  I grab my phone and send Paul a message.

  Me: Get me a ticket for this show tomorrow night.

  Paul: No, you’re not coming.

  Me: I am fucking coming.

  Paul: I’m putting my foot down here. You’re not.

  Me: I’ll promise Scarlett sandwiches she can’t resist tomorrow night if you don’t get me a ticket.

  Scarlett’s phone goes off with incoming texts and she shakes her head as she reads them.

  “You’ve created a monster,” she says, holding her phone out for me again.

  Paul: Our friendship is on shaky grounds, sister.

  Paul: Tell Justin he’s not coming tomorrow night.

  Paul: And make it so you’re the boss and he has to listen.

  Paul: Like, tell him you don’t want his sandwiches, ‘K?

  “I’m guessing sandwiches is code for sex?” she says.

  I laugh. “Yeah.”

  She smooshes her lips together like she’s contemplating something. “Are sandwiches on offer tomorrow night? Should I be telling him no and you yes?” She frowns. “I mean, with all this trauma to your body, can you even sandwich up?” She shakes her head. “No, don’t even answer that. I don’t want sandwiches when it might hurt for you to make them.”

  I laugh again. “Trust me when I tell you that I can make sandwiches even with all this trauma to my body, but we’re not making sandwiches any time soon.”

  Her eyes widen. “Wait, what? You’re still intent on cockblocking me? Do you need me to help you find your balls? I’ve got goods I need to sample, remember?”

  I stand and pull her up off her stool so I can bring her body to mine. Snaking an arm around her waist, I slide my hand over her ass and rest it there. “I don’t want to rush this with you, Scarlett. I wanna take our time and build this slow and strong.”

  Her eyes search mine for the longest time while she processes that. “Okay, so how long do you usually take with this build time?”

  I wrap my free hand around her neck and brush my lips over hers. “I’ve never done this before, so I don’t know.”

  That trips her up. I know this because she blinks before saying, “Okay, right, you win points for that, but just so you know, I’m a little impatient for you. Like, you’ve got a lot of good shit going on with those lips and those muscles and those moves you’ve already shown me, so you should expect a little restlessness on my end. I hope we’re not talking weeks here.”

  I rub my thumb over her throat while savouring the fuck out of this moment. “We’re not talking weeks. Hell, we might not even be talking days if you keep giving me honesty like that.”

  “Good to know. I’ll keep that up.” She curls her fingers around the wrist of my hand that’s still circling her neck. “Until you make good on showing me the rest of your moves, this hand needs to not go anywhere near my neck.”

  Fuck, she’s testing my restraint here.

  I drop both my hands from her and take a step back. “I’m gonna go shower. You reply to my brother and let him know he needs to get me a ticket for tomorrow night.”

  “What if I want to just hang out with him tomorrow?”

  I stop myself from demanding what I want and slow my freight train down. “Is that what you want?”

  She smiles in a way I rarely glimpse. “No, but the fact that you would give that to me is all I needed to know.” She waves her hand at me. “Go. Shower. And then I’ll rub oil onto your bruises and hopefully torment the hell out of you with my hands since I now know how much you like having girls’ hands and legs all over you.”

  I grin. “Not girls plural, Scar. Just one.”

  As I walk to my bedroom, she calls out, “When you come back, Justin Miller, do not put your hands and legs everywhere. We’re done with PDAs for today. Unless you’re ready to make sandwiches, and then you can put your hands and legs anywhere you want.”

  I might be in a fuckload of pain, but I’m barely feeling any of it. Not while Scarlett’s calling me by my name and smoothing all her edges for me.

  25

  Wilder

  “Ted Channing has been found,” Griff says once J, Colt, and I all arrive at the clubhouse. “He confirmed what the McConaughey brothers’ phones showed. They were responsible for the ambushes and also for the break-in at the restaurant.”

  “What was their reason?” I ask. Shit doesn’t add up in my brain for some of this.

  “Channing has refused to give Zane much, but they wanted the drugs we were transporting. Channing was helping them with their surveillance of us.”

  “So why vandalise Trilogy? It makes no sense,” I say.

  “I agree,” Griff says, “but they took photos of the restaurant after they trashed it. We found those photos on their phones, so all we can assume is it was them.”

  A text comes through on my phone, distracting me from what Griff’s saying when I see it’s from Scarlett. I open the text and work like fuck not to laugh when I discover she’s sent me a link to the song “WAP” on Spotify. No message, just the song link.

  She drove me to the clubhouse after applying her oil to my bruises. She took her sweet fucking time doing that, and I was hard for her by the time she finished. Who fucking knew that my dick liked a little pain with pleasure, because it sure as fuck hurt having her touch all my bruises and swollen skin. She assured me the oil concoction she’d blended would help the recovery process. I don’t care if it doesn’t; I’ll take more of that shit any time she wants to dole it out.

  When we arrived at the clubhouse, I told her not to wait around for me because I wasn’t sure how long this’ll take, but being Scarlett, she paid no attention and told me she’d be waiting. And when Harlow walked in a few minutes after us and dragged Scarlett into the kitchen with her, I laughed at the mock defeat on her face. Scarlett puts up a good fight, but she adores Harlow. Anyone can see that.

  Me, though? I’m not convinced “adore” is the word she’d use for how she feels about me and my cockblocking. This “Wet-Ass Pussy” song is clearly her way of communicating that.

  I send her a text back.

  Me: You thinking about my dick, Scar?

  Without waiting for her reply, I slip my phone into my pocket. I need to concentrate on what Griff’s saying about the work we’ve got on today.

  He eyes Colt and J. “You two take a drive over to the warehouse where Zane’s got Channing. See if you can convince him to share more with us.” He looks at me. “You and I a
re gonna go over all the current security we have in place for the restaurants and figure out how to tighten it. The McConaughey brothers might not be a threat anymore, but there’ll always be new threats. We need to stay on top of this.”

  “Agreed,” I say.

  Colt and J leave, and I head out into the clubhouse to let Scarlett know I’ll be a while. I find her sitting on a step outside. Her face is to the sun, her eyes are closed, and a smile is on her lips. A mug of what I presume is tea sits in her hands.

  “It’s like a cup of peace for you, isn’t it?” I say as I fold my body onto the step next to her, ignoring the shooting pain as I do so.

  She opens her eyes and turns to face me. “The tea?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah, it is.” She frowns as she takes me in. “Why are you sitting? Surely it hurts too much to scrunch your body up like that.”

  “It hurts like a motherfucker, but there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.”

  She sips some tea. “Why weren’t you this friendly towards me the whole time you’ve known me?”

  I chuckle. “It was that day you spilled tea on your shirt that did it. I came into work and found you half fuckin’ naked in the kitchen and couldn’t get you out of my head afterwards. And then you stole one of my shirts and the rest is history.”

  “Stole is a little extra.”

  I arch my brows. “Have you given it back?”

  “I’ve chosen to borrow it, which is a lot different to stealing it.”

  “Borrow would imply you asked. I don’t recall that happening.”

  “So basically what you’re saying is I should have flashed my tits at you when we first started working together and then you would have been nice to me. Yes?”

  “When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound good. Let’s go back to the shirt and agree that you’re borrowing it.”

  A smile teases her lips before she sips some more tea. “Are you finished here?”

  “No. I’ve got shit to do with Griff. It’ll take a while. You should go.”

  She finishes her tea and stands. Looking down at me, she says, “I got a call from Bailey’s psychiatrist. I have to go in for a meeting, so I’ll come back to pick you up when I’m finished.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “He didn’t elaborate on the phone. Just asked me to come in.”

  I pull myself up to stand next to her. “I wanna tell you not to worry about coming back to pick me up, but I also don’t want you to be alone after that meeting.”

  “You really are a big softie underneath all that bossiness, aren’t you? I’ve been looking out for Bailey on my own for years. I’m good. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “It’s nice to have someone worry about you, Scar. Trust me.”

  She picks up on what I’m saying about having her look out for me and slowly nods as she hands me her empty mug. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  I watch her go while thinking about her brother and hoping like fuck that this meeting won’t slay her like her last visit to him did.

  Griff and I spend an hour and a half going over all the security measures we have in place for Storm’s restaurants and the clubhouse. We figure out what new measures we need to adopt and also come up with plans for the next run we do for King to tighten security on that.

  Colt and J don’t return from talking with Channing, but J calls to let Griff know that he doesn’t think we’ll get any more information from him. J’s almost certain Channing doesn’t know any more than he’s already shared.

  I finish with Griff and have just walked into the clubhouse bar when Scarlett arrives back from her meeting. I take a long look at her. I’ve spent a good deal of the last couple of hours thinking about her. If I’m not mistaken, she’s been crying.

  She holds up her phone as she comes to me. “Did Brody call you about the mess he’s dealing with at Trilogy?”

  “Yeah, I just finished talking with him.”

  “And? What’s going on? His text to me was so vague I struggled to make out what’s going on.”

  “It’s not even worth discussing. He’s pissed off with the staff for some reason I don’t have the brain capacity to fathom today.” I rest my ass against a table, keeping my hands to myself even though I want them on Scarlett. My gut tells me she needs her space right now. “I’m more interested in how you are after that meeting.”

  “Ugh,” she says with a deep breath in and a long one out. “Now that was a mess. Bailey tried to check himself out this morning, and his doctor thought that I may have some sway over him.”

  “Did you?”

  “Well, he agreed to stay for now, but I’m not sure how long that decision will last.”

  “How was he?”

  “Not great.” She pauses, her eyes pleading with me as she adds, “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Okay.” If there’s one thing I know with deep certainty about Scarlett, it’s that pushing her doesn’t usually work out well, so I choose to let it go. “I’m nearly finished here. I need about ten more minutes.”

  She hits me with a look of gratitude. “Thank you. Oh, and before I forget, Paul got you a ticket for tomorrow night.” As I push off the table, she steps close to me, grabs a handful of my shirt, and adds, “Also, it didn’t go unnoticed that you managed to keep all your hands and legs to yourself for this conversation. I feel like you deserve a medal for outstanding behaviour and maybe a special reward. I could make that happen.”

  My mouth lifts in a smile and my hand goes to her ass. “What kind of reward are we talking here?”

  She shrugs. “I was thinking the sandwich kind.”

  I shrug, still with a smile on my face. “I’m not hungry.”

  She lets my shirt go and begins sliding her hand down my stomach, her pressure light as fuck but still dangerous. “I think I could change that.”

  I grip her wrist and stop her progress. “You could, in a fuckin’ heartbeat, but neither of us are eating sandwiches today, Cherry Bomb.”

  “Honestly, these country-boy ways of yours are something else, Justin Miller,” she mutters. “A girl could starve and die out here in the wilderness.”

  “And here I was thinking you didn’t have a dramatic bone in that sexy body of yours. Turns out I was wrong.”

  She points a finger at me. “If you don’t plan on handing out sandwiches any time soon, you need to stop with the compliments.”

  I lift my chin at her. “Go and sit in the sun for ten minutes. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”

  I smile as she mutters her way out of the bar. I’ve no clue what she’s muttering, but it’s highly fucking amusing. As much as I can’t wait to give her what she wants, I’m half tempted to keep this up.

  I’m still thinking this when she sends me a text. Again, no words, just a song link. This time it’s to the song “Scream” by Usher. I grin and send a text back, linking her to the song “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses.

  Scarlett: I take it back. I’m not in the wilderness. It’s an actual wasteland. You’re just lucky I kinda like you.

  Me: Kinda seems a little non-extra.

  Scarlett: Oh trust me, right now, kinda is full extra.

  Me: When I make you scream, I expect a better word to describe how much you like me.

  Scarlett: Stop. Talking. Honestly, I’m cutting your hands, legs, and mouth off until you’re ready to make good on that screaming business.

  It’s not until later that I realise I’ve never smiled so damn much with a woman, and fuck if it doesn’t surprise me that the woman I’ve argued my way through countless months with is the one giving me all these smiles.

  26

  Wilder

  “Is there gonna come a point in the future when you start wearing clothes that fulfill the function they were designed for?” I ask Scarlett when she removes her jacket as we take our seats at the comedy show.

  She crosses her leg and leans into me, placing her hand
on my thigh, fucking killing me more than she already has. “Your balls are super frustrated, aren’t they? After last night.”

  She has no fucking idea.

  My desire to slow us down has been replaced by my desire to fuck her.

  Last night made sure of that.

  After we left the clubhouse yesterday, we went out for lunch before she took me home and spent the afternoon watching TV with me. We have the same taste in shows: lots of violence and action. Five hours passed fast, at which point she announced her intention to stay another night with me because clearly, I needed her assistance while I’m in all this pain. Her words, not mine.

  How I made it through the night without tearing her clothes off is fucking beyond me, but somehow we got through and worked together today, all without a single item of clothing being removed. However, she’s turned up to this show wearing those tight-as-fuck black jeans she likes to torture me with and another scrap of black material she’s trying to pass off as a top. I’m not convinced my dick can even breathe, let alone get through the next few hours with her.

  “What’s with the hands all over me?” I say. “We’re not doing PDAs tonight.”

  “I have one hand on you. One. That’s hardly a PDA. And as for my clothes, you should ready yourself. I haven’t even gotten started yet.”

  “Jesus.” I don’t fucking doubt her.

  Paul arrives and takes the seat next to Scarlett, eyeing her hand on me. “Are you two exchanging sandwiches yet?”

  “Trust me, we aren’t anywhere near sandwich level,” Scarlett says, removing her hand from my leg and shifting back into her seat fully. “We exist in some alternate universe where they have rationing coupons you have to hand over to get sandwiches, coupons I can’t fucking find.”

  Paul lifts his brows at me. “Do I even know you?”

  “I feel the same way,” Scarlett says.

  “Maybe it’s those punches you’ve taken that are messing with your brain,” Paul says. “Speaking of, this isn’t a good look on you, big brother. Tell me you had a doctor check you out.”