Page 62 of Devil to Pay: Cutter

“What?” I ask, confused.

“Did you do it for money?”

“Fuck no. We did it because someone had to and no one was.”

“Right. Then I think you get where we’re coming from. No man who puts his life on the line to help vulnerable people in need with no compensation in sight gets left flapping in the wind.Period.”

“Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say, but I mean it down to my soul.

There’s a knock on the front door, then it opens and I hear, “Cutter?”

Fuck. Aja. It’s good to hear her voice.

“Back here, baby.”

She burst into the room in a panic, only settling when she sees me. I’m smiling. I’m being worked on by a guy who knows his shit.

“Cut,” she says. “You got shot, didn’t you?” She points to my bandaged shoulder.

“Not the first time, babe. Probably won’t be the last.” That comment would send most bitches running for the hills, but not Aja. She nods.

“Can I touch you?” she asks.

“Fucking better,” I answer.

Her laugh comes watery as she walks over to the table and bends in to kiss me. “I was so worried,” she whispers. Then she looks over to Gene and Nubs. “I’m not normally so soft, but I’m pregnant. I think it’s the hormones.”

Hormones, my ass. Aja has the biggest heart of any woman I’ve ever met.

Nubs craggy voice asks, “Your first?”

“Yup,” I answer. “Looking forward to finding us a place when we get home. We’ve been staying at the clubhouse, but with a little one, that won’t work.”

“Sure as fuck won’t,” Nubs answers. “Got seven of my own. Now I’ve got four grandkids and ’spect that number to keep going up.”

Jesus, seven kids and four grandkids?

“Seven kids? Did you do anything besides fuck?”

“Yup.” He smiles. “Changed shit-filled diapers.” We all laugh, but it hurts and I clutch my shoulder.

“Let me clean your face,” Stitches says to Aja. “Make sure there’s nothing in there that’ll cause infection.”

I sit up and she hops onto the table next to me, letting me take her hand as Stitches cleans her face. He has to use his tweezers to pull a couple tiny shards of glass from a couple of the cuts. At least she has less than I did. Those two each need a stitch after the glass is gone.

“There,” he says. “You should be good to head home, but promise you’ll follow up with a doctor when you get there.”

“I work for a physician’s assistant,” Aja says. “She’s the club’s doctor.”

“She’s married to one of the brothers,” I add. I doubt he cares, but it’s something to know about us. That we not only catch the attention of women as beautiful inside and out as Aj, but that we have professionals as well. We aren’t Rage’s club any longer. We haven’t been in a while, but we really aren’t now.

Not too long after Stitches finishes fixing us up, our ride home arrives. One of the older men—he introduces himself as Bobby—shakes my hand, nods at Aja, and then says, “We should get goin’.”

Bobby wears a faded Cincinnati Reds baseball cap that he flips so the brim faces backward. The look doesn’t jibe with his ratty T-shirt and blue jean overalls. But he’s kind enough and holds the door for Aja to climb in the backseat of the truck.

The two young ones on the bikes volunteer to be our escorts. The way they handled themselves with the Death Bringers, I have no complaints.

“Waite,” the more vocal one says to introduce himself. “And this”—he points to the other young guy—“is Damien.” They’re both hard-looking motherfuckers but Damien’s just a bit too pretty, like he’s the Hollywood version of a biker, whereas Waite could be the real deal. The hook-shaped scar under Waite’s right eye has quite a story attached for such a young buck, I’m sure of it. He has that dark, ruggedness that women go crazy for. I bet he’s got pussy lined up for miles just begging for a ride on his dick.

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