Ama even had the white blonde hair, adding to her angelic image. With her light green eyes, creamy alabaster skin, and a mouth that made a rosebud look free of color, she was everything I wanted, and nothing I’d ever thought I could have.
But…
Maybe I could.
Where there was a will, there was a way, right? Wasn’t that what Dorie, my stepma, always said?
“Anyway, I don’t want to fight,” she was grumbling now, those tits still plumped up.
“Who’s fighting?” I retorted, amused. If anyone knew what a fight was, it was Ama. Her momma and dads could argue like no one else. Of course, it usually ended with shit no daughter would ever want to be around, but I’d seen Flame fuck the mad out of Lucie a time or two—accidentally, of course.
If any of her fathers knew I’d seen Lucie naked and being fucked, Jesus, they’d have my eyes.
But I knew, deep down, Ama held that kind of spirit too. She was good, pure, but there was a wicked streak in her. I knew that and wanted to expose it. Wanted to mine that vein like it was made of gold, because to me, it was.
She huffed again then changed the subject. “When are you back?”
“You already know,” was all Keys said.
“Four days. We’ll be back on Thursday. We’re only going up to Fort Hancock.”
She pursed her lips. “Has to be because of Granddaddy.”
“Maybe.”
The war between the Hell’s Rebels and Satan’s Knights, whose main clubhouse was located in Fort Hancock, had long since celebrated a ceasefire.
No one had known exactly why Satan’s Knights had pulled up roots from their temporary clubhouse an hour’s ride away, not until Ama had been abducted.
Wolfe had called on Lucie’s father, Lucifer, the Prez of the Knights, to ask for help in finding Aaron Sanchez’s bitch mother. More manpower, more brains working to eradicate any threat against Ama. With that had come the revelation that Lucie wasn’t the old Prez’s daughter, and that she was the reason behind the Knights’ sudden disinterest in our business.
She squinted at me. “Maybe?” She hummed. “That means yes. You never say ‘maybe’ unless it’s yes.” Ama reached up and began plucking at her bottom lip. “Wonder why Momma isn’t going.”
I snorted. “Because this ain’t for fun, baby doll. It’s all business.” We had a shipment of cigarettes that Lucifer was going to take off our hands. We ran them up the East Coast, he took them along the West.
Business, no pleasure now.
I’d intended to enjoy some of the Knights’ clubwhores when I got there, but after fucking Bubbles? After potentially being tied to the bitch forever?
No fucking way.
When I came back, Ama was mine.
No more waiting around, no more fretting like a pussy. It was time to claim her, and I just hoped she was ready to be mine. When I cut Keys a look, I amended it to ours, because that boy loved her just as much as I did. And hell, I loved him too. Not in a gay way, but like a brother, and we’d always been the three musketeers. Always.
I didn’t see any reason to change that shit, not considering her past.
15
Ama
“Ink?” I whispered his name as I crawled into his bed. He didn’t stir, never did usually, so I climbed in and settled at his side.
The second my body curved into his, I released a relieved sigh.
With Keys and Saint having left for my granddaddy’s clubhouse, I wasn’t happy. Hell, that was an understatement.
I hated it when any of the people I loved went on a run, but knew there wasn’t much I could do about that. Saint and Keys would be going on more and more. Ink, less so, and my daddies had stopped around three years before. Most of the younger generation, except for the Road Captain, handled the runs now, which was great in one sense because I didn’t have to worry about my fathers, but Saint and Keys? Nope. They’d be doing this stuff for a long time to come.
Men didn’t always come back from runs.
Sometimes they were shot by rivals and died. Sometimes they were arrested. Sometimes…
God, sometimes were just as bad as what-ifs, weren’t they?
My throat felt thick as I turned my face into Ink’s back. He scented of smoke, the soap he used—lime and mint, which was my favorite fragrance in the world, so he smelled like a mojito—and just that faint, underlying essence of him.
With my nose burrowed between his shoulders, I forced myself