Page 45 of Painless
Mari pulled away to look at me. “What, you don’t believe in soul mates?”
“I dunno anymore,” I admitted. “I mean, this feels right with you. It would feel right if you had a hundred other guys, as long as you still had time for me—”
“Always,” she interrupted with a quick kiss to my mouth.
I smiled lazily at her. “I guess the main reason it took me so long to jump in was because I wanted what my grandparents had. They set up this big expectation that there’s one person destined for all of us, and life is all about finding your other scissor blade.”
“What we have doesn’t make thatnottrue,” she replied. “Your grandparents had something unique, but so do we. So did you and Beth. Just because you’re with me now, it doesn’t invalidate your time and memories with her.” A wicked smile curved on her lips. “Wherever she is, I hope she’s well. And I’m grateful for what she taught you.”
“Hm, me too,” I chuckled and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Especially if it makes me your favorite.”
“Nope, I don’t pick favorites.” Mari shook her head insistently. “It’s impossible to choose.”
“That sounds like I have to try a little harder,” I grinned, pulling her leg over my lap to straddle me.
“Gunner…” She said the first half of my name with a soft growl, like a warning. The second half left her mouth in a decadent sigh as I kissed her neck, pulling her flush against me.
My lips moved lower, tracing the swells of her breasts as my hands memorized the winding curves from her ass to her waist. She writhed in my lap, rolling her core against my dick that was already hardening for her again. I started to wonder if we could really get away with fucking on the patio of this establishment, when a stray glance over her shoulder alerted me to the three massive bikers approaching our table.
Horus screeched, extending his wings to the sides. Freyja arched her back like a Halloween cat and hissed.
I slid Mari off my lap and warily examined the guys on the other side of our table. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”
The big dude in front lifted his chin at me. He had a shaved head, dark beard coating his lower jaw, sharp amber eyes, and was covered in tattoos. The patch on his cut readSgt. At Arms, essentially the same title I had. His road name read T-Bone. But what caught my attention was the raven perched on his shoulder, its glossy black feathers reflecting the sun like obsidian.
“You Gunner Youngblood?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice.
“Depends who’s asking.” I reached slowly for the gun in my holster, watching every breath of movement he made.
One of the guys behind him stepped up, a taller, lanky dude built similar to me. His head was shaved too, except for a strip of dark hair along the top of his head tied off in a topknot. He went by Dyno according to his patch, and was his club’s Road Captain.
“That’s him, T. The Steel Demons arms dealer, couldn’t be anyone else.”
“I’m flattered y’all can recognize me from afar. That still don’t tell me who the fuck you dicks are.” My hand wrapped around the pistol’s grip, finger hovering over the trigger.
The third guy walked up. He had more than enough hair on his head and in his beard to cover both of his friends. I didn’t get a chance to look at his cut before he tossed something onto the table.
It landed with a thump and rolled a few times. I braced my arm in front of Mari, not knowing what to expect. Once it stopped moving, I realized it was a leather, drawstring bag. Parts of it were discolored, like dried blood had soaked through.
“A present for me? Aw shucks, boys, you shouldn’t have,” I sneered up at them.
T-Bone jerked his chin at me again. “Your uncle. He could’ve used a hand from his family.”
The blood drained from my face, as did all bravado, as I stared at the bag on the table. Slowly I reached over and pulled open the top.
“Oh my God,” Mari whispered, covering her mouth.
Uncle Jerry’s hand had been crudely sawed off at the wrist. Dried blood coated his fingernails and the gaudy, jeweled rings he wore. It washishand, no mistaking it. The same hand that ruffled my hair as a boy and snuck me hors d'oeuvres in napkins from my parents’ parties.
It didn’t take much effort to school my features. I felt oddly blank. The biker might as well have dropped a pineapple in front of me. Uncle Jerry was never outwardly horrible to me, but he was every bit as manipulative and self-serving as my father. That said nothing of the atrocities he committed while killing and enslaving his way to ruling the Colorado territory.
When I didn’t fit my dad’s mold of me well enough, he cast me aside. Uncle Jerry, with no kids of his own, then tried to groom me into his perfect successor.
Both of those fuckers failed.
“Where’s the rest of him?” I asked impassively.
“His top half might be somewhere down in Texas by now,” T-Bone answered in a bored tone. “Cock and balls fed to the buzzards. Other hand probably up in the Dakotas. Oh yeah.” He snapped his fingers as though suddenly remembering. “His head’s been spiked through on that god-awful fucking front gate to his mansion.”
