Page 5 of Burned in Stone
The phones keep ringing, insistent. I scramble off the table, grabbing my bra and fumbling with the clasp as I hurry toanswer mine. Cash is already reaching for his, jaw tight with frustration.
Caller ID flashes as I swipe my finger across the screen—Ginger.
“Ginger, what’s wrong?” I answer breathlessly.
“Mercy, thankgod. Get to the hospital now. Poppy’s in labor—like, really in labor. Axel’s freaking out and we need all hands.”
“Oh my god. Of course.” I almost trip trying to step into my skirt and balance my phone at the same time. “I’m leaving now.”
I click the phone off. My fingers are clumsy as I shove it into my back pocket. My heart is still hammering, but for an entirely different reason now.
Poppy.
I snatch my T-shirt from the table and pull it over my head just as Cash says, “On my way,” and ends his own call.
He shoves his phone away, expression grim. The raw hunger in his eyes is gone, replaced by the cold focus of a soldier getting his orders.
“Poppy?” I ask, my voice still husky from his mouth and my own want.
“Yeah. That was Tank. You?” His gaze meets mine. For a second, the heat flickers back to life, a ghost of the fire we’d just been stoking.
I glance away. “Ginger. She said all hands on deck.”
“Let’s go then. I’ll take you to the hospital.” It’s not a question. He grabs his cut from the booth and shrugs the heavy leather back on like he’s donning a suit of armor. The man frommoments ago is gone, replaced by the Stoneheart MC Treasurer. The shift is so sudden, so complete, it gives me whiplash.
As we head toward the door, the weight of what just happened settles over me.
Five minutes ago, I was spread out on the table, ready to let him do whatever he wanted. More than ready—desperate for it.
And part of me wonders if that phone saved me or robbed me. Saved me from having to face the morning after, when the wanting fades and reality sets in. When he realizes I’m not just the confident woman behind the bar, but someone with baggage and scars and a past I can’t quite shake…
“Mercy.” His voice stops me at the door. When I turn, he’s right there, close enough that I can smell the whiskey and want still radiating from his skin. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing over my swollen lips. “This isn’t over.”
The old me would spiral right now—he’s just saying that, he doesn’t mean it, once he knows the truth about you, he’ll leave. But I’m not her anymore. I left her behind in Ailington along with everything else. So I meet his eyes and let myself believe him, just for tonight. Even if that critical little voice is already reminding me that I’m setting myself up to fall.
3
CASH
The ride to the hospital is pure torture. Mercy’s arms lock around my waist, her body pressed tight against my back. All I can think about is her spread out on that table—how fucking close I was to knowing what she sounds like when she comes.
Her thighs grip my hips as I take a corner. I grit my teeth against the images flooding my brain.
Five more minutes. Five fucking minutes and I would have had my mouth on her, would have tasted her, made her come apart on my tongue.
I’ve been patient for months, watching, waiting for her to stop running from what we both know is going to happen. Tonight was supposed to be the night I finally took what I wanted.
What we both wanted.
The hospital parking garage is chaos. Bikes and trucks scatter everywhere as the brothers converge. I cut the engine. Mercy slides off behind me. When I turn, she won’t meet my eyes.
She’s already pulling back, gaze fixed anywhere but on me.
Not fucking happening.
I’ve let her set the pace long enough. She wanted me tonight. I had her wet and ready on that table. And one phone call isn’t going to erase that.
“Do you know what floor maternity is on?”
