Page 33 of Blackbeard
I even tried to call Torch, hoping he would be available to hookup. Just like old times. He didn’t answer his phone either.
But none of itmatteredwhen my head was so light, I could just float off into the atmosphere.
Burying my face in Blackbeard’s neck, I breathed deep, inhaling the salty musk of his skin, earthy leather, and the tangof gasoline. He kept his hands straight at his sides and made no move to touch me in return.
“What took you so long?” I mumbled, nibbling at his earlobe. He angled his head away from me, out of reach. “I’ve been waiting ages for you to get back.”
Finally, Blackbeard pried my arms from his neck and stepped to the side, distancing himself.
“I made a pitstop at Hot Shot’s house to see how he was doing,” Blackbeard said. “The stitches in his leg are holding up, but he needed new bandages.”
Guilt twisted in my stomach, but I squashed it. That was the cost of a turf war. People got hurt when bullets started flying.
“I’m glad to hear it. Would you like me to send him a care package? A get well soon card and some chicken noodle soup?”
I was being a brat and I knew it. Sympathy was a slippery slope and I couldn’t afford to lose my footing in this game.
Blackbeard’s eyes darkened.
“I think he doesn’t want to see you right now. Especially when you have this attitude going on. Don’t pester him. He needs to rest. Let the painkillers and antibiotics do their job.”
“If you say so.”
He took my wrist and pressed a small black box into my hand.
“Here’s your ring. So you can stop nagging me about it.”
I opened the box’s lid and found a stunning ring inside, laced with half a dozen diamonds, twined around a vivid green emerald. It must have cost a fortune. I slipped it onto my finger, admiring the way it dazzled in the light.
I never gave much thought to marriage. Didn’t have any girl friends to talk to about stuff like that, and conversation in my father’s club never turned to gushing over dresses or wedding venues.
But I had to admit, I liked the way Blackbeard’s ring looked on my hand. Vain as it may sound. It didn’t mean anything more than a pretty trinket to appease me, but I could pretend. I was good at that.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” I said softly. Then I clasped the ring to my chest. “Does this mean we get to have sweaty, sloppy newlywed sex?”
Blackbeard scoffed and skirted around me, making sure no part of his body even brushed against mine.
“Does your libido ever take a break?”
“Nope,” I replied.
He surveyed the living room, littered with a pack of empty beer cans, then his gaze scanned over me.
“You’re drunk,” he said.
“Only this much.” I held up my thumb and index finger to indicate a pinch. “You’re a very lucky man, you know that?”
“Why? Because I married you?”
I twisted and toyed with the ring, rocking back on my heels.
“Because of your family. Your club. There are a lot of people in this world who have your back.”
My throat grew tight and my voice cracked on the last word.
What the fuck? Why was I getting emotional? This never happened. I didn’t let anyone see me cry. Ever. And Blackbeard was my enemy, my target. I definitely couldn’t afford to crumble in front of him.
I shook my head and pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes. Stuffing down this tsunami of emotions I wasn’t supposed to feel.
