Doc (Ruthless Kings MC #7) - K.L. Savage Page 0,57

your sutures.” He lays a palm over my racing heart and hums happily when he feels the beat. “I want to be the person who keeps your pieces together.”

I sniffle as I hold back happy tears. “You’re my stitches?”

“Just as you’re mine.” He lays his head on my chest and sighs, his hands laying on each ass cheek still, as if he’s afraid to let go. “You’re relief that I haven’t felt in a long time, Jo. Letting you go isn’t an option.” He pulls back to look at me. “Is that what you want? Do you want me to let you go? It’s your pace, Jo. I mean it. I’ll do what you want.”

“I want you, but I want you to remember to be patient with me because I won’t be perfect. I’m not okay, Eric. I’m far from it.”

“I know that. Perfect is overrated anyway. Life is hard, fucked up, and dirty. If you don’t come out of it with a little blood on your hands, then life hasn’t challenged you yet. Jo, I’m here for it all. Every damn horrible nightmare and daydream.”

“Why me?” I ask him, needing to know what he sees in me. He could have easily had one of the other girls. Eric is the kind of guy who can have any girl he wants at any time. I’m some girl rescued from a filthy basement.

“I can’t explain it, really. It’s more of a feeling. It sounds cheesy, but whenever you are around, my soul recognizes yours. One thing brings us together more than anything, and our bodies notice.” He takes my hand, closes his eyes, and blows a breath out through his lips. Eric lays my hand on his upper shoulder, under his shirt.

I feel the ridges, the puckered, angry skin. He trembles and turns his head away to look out the window. Heat rises from his skin, and my fingers slide against sweat. This is why he doesn’t like his back touched, but he’s letting me. “The cuts.” I realize what he means now. I continue to gently rub my fingers over the ridges, and the longer I touch, the more he sweats and shakes, like he’s reliving every single tear of his skin.

I rip my fingers away, and he gasps, holding his hand to his chest as he struggles to catch his breath. Beads of sweat dribble down his temple, and he pales. “I never want to hurt you. Why did you do that?”

“Because I want your touch. I don’t want to shy away from you.” He leans his head on the window that’s drenched with condensation from our body heat.

I cup his face with my hands, rub my thumb across his bottom lip, and press a whisper of a kiss against him. “Let’s go home, Eric.”

He nods, lifts me, and places me onto the seat, and then buckles me in. He puts the truck in drive while blaring the air conditioning to cool his skin. He’s sweating through his shirt and running his fingers through his damp hair.

Watching him, I feel happier and less confused after talking to him like that. The last time I felt this good was when I was packing my bags in the trailer to go to college, but then Dad sold me. I bet my bags are still on my bed because my dad doesn’t ever change anything.

We pull into the driveway, and I let out a relieved breath that we are home. I forget all about the shit stain that my dad is.

Home.

What a foreign word.

“What the fuck?” Eric hisses as we hear shouting coming from inside the clubhouse. “Shit.” He slams the truck in park and climbs out. As always, he opens my door and helps me out. The shouting is loud and dramatic, but I can’t decipher what anyone is saying. There are multiple people talking. “Stay behind me, Jo-love.”

I nod and clutch onto the back of his shirt but then immediately let go and drift my hands down to his belt loop. I curl my fingers in as we make our way up the steps of the porch. The front door is open, dented from the bullets. We step inside, and Tongue is back, sitting on the couch, drenched in blood.

His face, hair, clothes—everything is red.

“Holy shit, Tongue. Where the hell have you been? Do you need a doctor?” Eric asks as he darts to Tongue’s side, who is currently cleaning the blood off his blades. All four of them. He