Page 57 of Klutch's Kryptonite

As I hand the glass back to Klutch, the door opens yet again. Denali steps into the room first, followed closely by Pee Wee who has McKenna curled into his side. It’s a shame he’s married. The giant of a man and she would have made a cute couple. Although, judging by the sight of them now, maybe that isn’t entirely out of the question.

“How are you feeling, darlin’?” Denali asks, coming to stand at the foot of my bed.

“Like I got hit by a Mack truck,” I admit, wincing as I shift again.

His mouth turns down in a frown as he looks to Klutch for an answer. “Is it done?”

“They won’t be a problem anymore.

Denali nods his head then turns his full attention on me. “Sorry to hear about your pop, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about your dad,” Pee Wee adds, his voice a deep baritone. “We’ll find him. Give him a proper burial.”

Fresh tears spring to my eyes at his words. “Thank you. All of you,” I whisper.

Klutch stands suddenly, his posture rigid. “She needs rest,” he announces, the statement brooking no room for any arguments.

Denali nods, seeming to understand something in Klutch’s tone that I don’t. “Of course. We’ll talk later.”

As everyone heads out, McKenna gives me one last look over her shoulder. “I’ll check on you in the morning,” she promises.

Once everyone vacates the room, Klutch scoops me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest like I weigh nothing. “Hold onto me, Blue.”

I loop my arms around his neck and rest my head against his shoulder.

“Good girl.”

He carries me out of the infirmary and up the stairs to his room. The clubhouse is quiet, much quieter than usual. I wonder if everyone knows what happened, if they’re giving us space or if they’ve been warned to stay away. Either way I’m grateful.

I expect him to set me down when we get inside the suite, but he doesn’t. He bypasses everything, going straight to his room. As if I’m made of glass, he gently sets me on the end of his bed.

“Klutch?” I eye him carefully.

“Quiet, baby.”

I watch silently as he drops to his knees in front of me. “Lift your arms.”

My arms go up and he carefully lifts my shirt up and over my head. Next to go is my bra and then my shoes, socks and shorts. Every move he makes is clinical.

“I wish I could bring them back and kill them again,” he growls as his eyes rake over the bruises already formed on my skin.

“I’m okay.” We both know it’s a lie, but I can’t bear to hear him talk about killing anyone else. Even if it’s them again.

“Put this on.” He reaches for one of his folded t-shirts on the dresser. Before he can slip it over my head, I grab his wrist.

“Make me forget,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Please. Just for a little while. Make me forget everything but us.”

Klutch freezes, his eyes darkening as they roam over my nearly naked body. “Blue,” he says, his voice strained. “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“Please,” I beg, desperate to feel something other than this overwhelming grief and guilt. “I need you.”

“I’m not in a state of mind to be gentle,” he warns, his hands clenching at his sides.

I meet his gaze unflinchingly. “Then fuck me hard.”

A growl rumbles deep in his chest, and something wild flashes in his eyes.

Grabbing the collar of his shirt he yanks off his shirt. I eat up the sight of his muscular chest and abs decorated in colorful ink. He’s beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

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