Page 29 of Devil's Own: Roughneck

“Yeah, babe. The door to the garage wasn’t locked. I always lock it, but I guess I forgot this time.”

“Well, wehadjust finished showering after messing up the sheets,” she says and that’s probably it. How is a man supposed to remember everything when he’s got Gia on the brain after just having her on his dick?

“Speaking of messing up the sheets, babe—get in the room and get naked. I’m making sure you feel me between your legs even when I’m at work.”

“Big words,” she goads, whipping her tee over her head and tossing it at me.

“Big dick energy,” I tease while scooping her up into my arms and carrying her to the bed. I drop her on the mattress and begin to strip down.

Gee licks her lips. “Big dick, indeed.”

Jesus—this woman.

10

Iwatch Rough sleep, lying partially on my stomach and side. He only has the sheet pulled up to his waist, exposing all that expanse of muscled, bare chest to me. He’s beautiful, but that’s not why I’m watching him. What he said earlier about the garage door being unlocked bothers me.

It’s possible that he just neglected to lock it. And true, I haven’t known him long. Still, the man I do know wouldn’t leave the house without locking the door. He’s too meticulous with details like that. Someone killed one of their men, and men from a friendly club were attacked. I don’t see it.

Who unlocked the door and what were they after? Getting into the garage and then opening the door to the house requires keys or some skill. Would anyone else have a key to his house? Wouldn’t he have thought of that, though? Not many people have the skills to break into someone’s home without breaking the door. Those people are usually criminals. He didn’t do a thorough check, but nothing seemed to be out of place at first glance. Still, I’m feeling sicker by the minute thinking about this.

I close my eyes, shaking my head while laughing softly. Jesus, my boy, myonly son, wants to be a part of this life? He’s eighteen, so I can’t stop him, but as his mom and just being the two of us his whole life, I know I have a great deal of sway in his life choices. Do I put my foot down? Do I give him my blessing? It’s been one thing after another for the Horde. Who the hell knows if they’ll finally catch a break?

Rough adjusts himself by rolling partially on his side. Once again, I’m forced to acknowledge how much of a damn hypocrite I’ll be if I pitch a fit about Waite joining. My brother is part of this life. The man whose bed I’m sleeping in is part of this life.

What’s going to happen to us?

His eyes crack open. “Baby, you still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I answer.

“Come ’ere.” He reaches out to snag me, pulling me to rest against his body as he drapes his arm around me to hold me. I snuggle down with my head sharing his pillow and close my eyes.

“Like having you here,” he mumbles.

Yeah, Rough, me too. “I like being here,” I answer. He rewards me by squeezing my waist.

Sleep still eludes me, and I don’t even rest comfortably. My mind whirls a mile a minute about anything and everything that’s been going on since the moment I decided to head up to Kentucky. Foremost, I’m going to talk to my brother and Rough about letting my son prospect for the club. He might try a different club if he doesn’t join the Horde. At least here, I’ll have him close, where I can keep an eye on him. I’ll have Daniel close, and I’ll have Roughneck closer.

After another half hour of restlessness, I finally throw in the towel on my war with sleep, sliding out from under Rough’s arm and roll off the bed, bending down to swipe his T-shirt from the floor to slip on. I get the coffee going first because coffee, and then I check his fridge and pantry to see what I have to work with regarding feeding my man.

There aren’t many advantages to being poor, which, unfortunately, Waite and I were for a good portion of his life, but there is one. I learned to cook cheaply. Still, just because we were poor didn’t mean I wanted my boy tofeelpoor, so I learned to cook well, too. Our struggle meals never tasted like a struggle. Even his best friend, who came from a two-parent-income, middle-middle-class household, liked to eat at our house.

Rough has a can of biscuit dough, eggs, some leftover cooked sausage patties, cheese, onion, peppers, and mushrooms. All ingredients I’m familiar with. It takes me no time to whip together a breakfast casserole and get it in the oven baking.

About the time the house fills up with the aroma of brewing coffee and baking casserole, that gorgeous man walks out of the bedroom wearing a pair of sweatpants and a huge smile.

“What smells so good?”

“I cooked.”

“Hell yeah, you did.” He walks toward me with purpose. I step back until I hit the counter and he wrangles me, putting an arm to each side of me, caging me in. His eyes grow soft and heated at the same time. “Love this,” he says. “Love waking up to you here.”

“That’s good because I love being here.” I lock my hands behind his head, holding him close. He smiles, lowering his mouth to mine, taking my lips in a scorcher of a kiss.

When he pulls back, he stares into my eyes. “What’s on your mind?”

“Why do you think something’s on my mind?”

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