Page 68 of Forsaking All Others

So, I raise my hands and she inches up on tiptoe to wrangle the material over my head. Once she’s got the shirt off, we both lower our arms and I forget where we are and what I’ve done. I forget everything and fight the urge to pull her against me.

Been too long since I felt her body against mine.

Her eyes move from mine and slowly travel the length of me. I watch her throat as she forces a swallow and fists my shirt. Then she lifts those gorgeous eyes back to mine and I wait for her to say something.

Anything.

On my knees, on my knees.

She says nothing.

Not breaking our stare, she takes my hands and wipes the excess blood from them with the shirt. When there’s no more blood to be found, she squeezes my calloused hands with her soft ones.

“Clean now,” she whispers softly.

Actions.

They’re the strongest line of communication, and as she turns and walks my blood-stained shirt to the slop sink in the back of the garage, her message is clear.

I may be wearing King’s blood, but I’m clean from Colt’s.

* * *

Holly leftmy shirt to soak in the sink and went back to the kids. The boys rolled out a tarp and took care of King’s body, putting his tongue on ice until tomorrow and I walked across the lot to kiss my kids.

There was more work to be done but tonight was for them. We were still on lockdown and would be until we settled our score with The Corrupt Bastards, but I’d make it work.

I took a quick shower, threw on a clean tee, an old pair of jeans and shoved my feet into my Timberlands.

Making my way back to the common room, my gaze lands on my girl. Sprawled out on the couch, eyes glued to her cell phone—bored as fuck and sad as shit. It’s been a while since the kids were forced to come here on a lockdown, but they’ve taken it in stride and I don’t know if that’s because they are just as emotionally spent as their mother or if Holly and I have let this shit become their norm. Sighing, I walk over to her, lift her legs and take a seat on the couch.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Just looking at TikTok.”

My brows pinch together. Kids—just when you think you’ve got them figured out, some jerkoff comes around and invents something new for them to obsess over and you to learn.

“What the fuck is a TikTok?”

A giggle slips past her lips and that sound is all it takes for me to release the tension that’s been rolling inside me for the last two days.

“It’s an app,” she replies, sitting up. “Here, look.” She moves closer to me, burrowing herself in the crook of my arm as she shares her screen with me. I kiss the top of her head before I divert my eyes to the video.

“Tara, baby,” I start, pausing to watch the broad on the screen eat a bell pepper. “You’re killing your brain cells with this shit. The woman is eating a fucking pepper.”

“Wait for the crunch.”

The what?

Crunch my ass. The woman sounds like a cow chomping away.

I study my daughter for a beat. Is this a cry for help? Some sort of teenage girl drama? Does Holly know our daughter’s watching people eat peppers? Is that what all the kids are doing these days?

I’ll say it again,kids—man.

“Are you hungry? I’ll send Tiny out for Chinese.”

Another giggle sounds and I decide right then and there to shut my mouth. If watching some lady eat a pepper keeps that music in my ears, I’ll watch all the TikToks. Every last one. I’ll download the fucking thing on my phone and send this broad all the peppers she can eat.

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