The Biker and the Loner (Oil and Water #3)- S. Ann Cole Page 0,10

when I was still too young, gave me a home with the brotherhood…

To outsiders, he's not a good man. A criminal, a felon. But to me, he’s Judge, the man who saved me.

"Christ, it's good to see you in one piece," he grunts as he draws back and looks me over.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Onyx asks. "No one’s noticed the bastard’s got nine and a half fingers now?"

Judge's dark eyes shift to my hands.

It's true. Half of my trigger finger’s amputated. Got mangled under crunched metal when the copter went down.

"Yep.” I hold my hand up to show him. "And I got metal where bone used to be in my right leg, so guess I'm one-and-half-legged, too."

Judge shrugs. "Better than being bound to a wheel-chair, or dead."

"True."

Onyx points to me with his beer bottle. "Sonuvabitch went and got himself a permanent scratch, too. What, you couldn't find any wildcat lady soldier over there to claw you up?"

Both father and son chuckle at my expense. And as they continue to gab and jab, I zone out.

For them, going to war and returning in one piece with scars to show is like doing a ten-year stint in prison. It’s stripes, it's high-level respect, it's heroism, it’s street cred. Something they can joke about only because they've never experienced it.

Time in prison can change a man either for better or for worse.

Becoming a soldier flat-out changes you. There's no scale of “better or worse.” You're just different. The person you were before dies without you even realizing it. The things you see, experience, survive...you’ll never be the same again.

I'm tougher—inside and out—ever-vigilant, ordered, aware. The feeling of being trapped in a floating bubble watching the world outside is perpetual. Don't know how else to explain it, but I'm just not me anymore.

"Welcome home, son." Judge jerks me into another hug, bringing me back to the now. "When you get the time, let's chat."

Translation: We need to discuss getting you back to club business. No pressure, no rush, but it's got to happen.

I jerk a nod and he gives me a strange, narrow-eyed look before he leaves.

"We've got some new Club Cats. Fresh, young, tight…for now," Onyx tells me, bumping his shoulder to mine. "But Cookie's bringing two of her best strippers over for you. Don't imagine you got your dick wet often over…"

Of all the brothers in the club, Onyx and I are tight. Trust him with my life, yeah, but he’s no Grunt.

Grunt and Kendra—my adopted siblings—and I have lived the same life. Experienced the same shit. We’ve got a bond that only we understand, that only we share. Being a few years older than them, I’d always felt the need to protect them, provide for them. And that’s what I spent my life doing. They’d been my purpose. Until they grew and became strong and independent. No longer needed me. Left me feeling useless.

Now Grunt is out of the club and living a new life, a better life, a clean life. Kendra fell in love with a rich nerd and is doing the same.

That leaves Onyx. His devil-may-care personality can be irritating at times, but he's a solid guy. Loyal and dependable.

What I’m not about to tell him, though, is that I haven’t had sex at all since I left. Not since her.

Not that there weren't plenty of opportunities, it just wasn't my focus. When I did get in the mood on occasion though, all I thought about was her.

She invaded my thoughts, my dreams, parts of me no other woman has ever been. Even when I wanted to die in battle, another part of me subconsciously fought to live so I could see her again.

When I walked out of the airport this morning, although it felt great to see Grunt and Toni there waiting for me, it was her who I wanted to be there. Waiting for me. With her quiet smile and broken eyes.

Wishful thinking, considering she stopped taking my calls over two years ago.

“Don’t see Ley here,” I say levelly, taking a swig of beer. “She coming?"

Onyx shoots me a knowing smirk and shrugs. "Don't think so. I told you, she doesn't come around anymore."

Before I left, I'd charged Onyx with getting close and keeping tabs on her, and to let it be known that no one, unless word was received that I was dead, should touch her. She belongs to Scratch.

First time I called her was two days before my graduation ceremony when we got