feel like doing any back-room medicine tonight.
Fingers crossed it doesn’t come to that.
“I don’t like this shit,” Havoc grumbles. “Something feels fucking off.”
He’s right. I thought it was just me feeling the tension, but obviously not. It hangs heavily in the air, smothering us all.
I lean forward and glance in the side mirrors. The headlights of the car behind us are reflected, but it doesn’t seem to be driving erratically or doing anything suspicious.
I sink back into my seat. “Let’s just get this shit over with.”
Havoc drives to the meet, not speaking a word. Itchy tension crawls up my spine, making it hard to concentrate and Amy keeps infiltrating my thoughts. I want to see her again, claim her, make her mine, but she had been a little uncertain with me. I’m not sure why she had flinched when I touched her, but I don’t want her afraid of me. Not ever. I know I’m a scary looking bloke. I’m well over six-foot tall and built like an ox. Since I got Stateside, I cut my chin-length hair short and have let my beard grow more, making me look like Grizzly fucking Adams. Add the kutte I wear on my back and I understand why she might be nervous.
I’m not a regular Joe. My life is fast, dangerous and I often walk a knife-edge between the legal and illegal. I probably shouldn’t drag her into my shit, but I’m not willing to give her up just yet. She interests me in a way no other woman has. She doesn’t fawn over me, she doesn’t see the leather on my back like every other club bunny has done in the past. She looks at me and I feel like she sees me. The real me. The man beneath the kutte. The fucker broken by years of patching up soldiers and witnessing fucking horrors that still give me nightmares.
“We’re here.”
My thoughts scatter at the sound of Havoc’s voice. He stops the van next to a large container and cuts the engine.
“Show time,” I mutter.
As I climb out of the van, a man approaches. He’s heavy set, with a large belly and graying hair. Over his top lip is a thick mustache. Havoc greets him with a lift of his chin before leading him around to the back doors. When he opens them, the guy glances over the three crates in the back.
“They’ll go out tonight,” he says.
The three of us unload the crates into the container. It’ll be on a plane tomorrow to the UK and Ravage will have the weapons he needs.
Relief at having completed the task is heady and when we get back into the van, Havoc lets out his own breath.
“I’m getting too old for this bullshit,” he mutters.
I let my lips quirk at the corner. “Ain’t old enough to think about retiring yet, Hav.”
“I feel fucking old enough.”
The atmosphere is lighter as we head back to the clubhouse. I need a fucking drink after that, but I’m glad we got the guns out okay. Rav will need them and I worry about my brothers back home. I should be there if they’re going to war, but my president ordered me to be here, and I’ll do what I’m needed to.
When we get inside the building, it becomes clear there was an issue at the other drop. Flash is sitting at a table, a towel pressed against his arm. It’s blood soaked.
Doctor mode kicks in and I head right for him, carefully peeling back the material. Blood gushes as soon as I do.
“Fuckers were waiting for us.” He winces as I apply pressure back to the wound. “Took the shit right from us, even though we were prepared. They’re like goddamned ninjas. They came out of nowhere.”
They got a truck full of empty crates.
I patch Flash up while Havoc goes to talk to Omen. When I’m done, I head up to room and I flop down on my bed. What a fucking night.
I pull my phone out and fire off a message to Amy.
ME: How was your day?
I don’t expect her to message back, but my phone pings a moment later.
AMY: It was okay. How was yours?
ME: Busy. I can’t wait to see you again.
AMY: Me neither.
I stare at that Me neither, a grin tugging at my lips. Yeah, I can’t wait to fucking make her mine.
9
Amy
The ER is frantic this morning. I bustle around, seeing patient after patient, checking their vitals and administering drugs prescribed by the doctors.