Blood & Rust (Lock & Key #4) (14 page)

But there were a thousand electric threads of Tania prickling in my veins right this very second.

My heart thumped in my chest, and I succumbed to its thrum, an inexplicable, bewildering, almost eerie rhythm.

“
YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO PAY
for the room.”

“You bought breakfast,” Butler said.

“Coffees and oatmeal raisin bars are not exactly going all out, Rhett.”

“We need to head out anyway.”

By the time I’d woken up this morning, Butler had already gotten dressed. There hadn’t been any awkwardness.

At least not too much after we’d murmured the initial, “Good morning,” to each other.

I had gone about getting dressed while he went to the front desk, and we were now packing our things into my car and on his bike.

“Are they expecting you at the club? Jump, I mean?” I asked.

He zipped up his leather jacket. “No.” He tucked his gloves on.

“Is this going to be a good reunion or a not-so-good reunion?”

He winked at me. “That all depends on Jump.”

Jump, the president of the One-Eyed Jacks, had kicked Butler out to begin with last year. Or had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. I wasn’t quite sure how this club shit worked. Would Butler have to pay for his crimes, make some sort of ancient tribal sacrifice to the One-Eyed Jacks’ gods? Whatever happened, I couldn’t imagine it was going to be easy.

“Ah, so, we might have fireworks over Meager this evening?”

He let out a deep laugh as he swung a long leather-covered leg over his Harley and settled in his saddle. “Maybe.” He shot me that I-don’t-give-a-shit grin of his.

Butler pressed a hand on one of his formidable thighs, and my insides tightened for a painful moment at the memory of me squirming against that impressive thigh last night. I blinked and took in Butler on his massive bike. All man.

I adjusted my sunglasses and cleared my throat. “I just wanted to let you know—”

“Just?”

I let out a dry laugh. “I don’t want things to be awkward between us. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. Meager’s a small town. Grace and I spend a lot of time together.”

“I won’t be spending much time with Grace, Tania.”

“Don’t be a jerk. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know. No awkwardness from me. It was good to talk, to hang with you.” His teeth dragged across his lip as he leveled his gaze at me.

The unspoken hung between us.

“Get there, baby. Let me take you there.”

The burn of his hand on my bare ass remained, the press of his rock-hard leg in between mine, the knowing rhythm of his fingers over my flesh, those small groans he’d made—

His lips tipped up. “You want to get in your car now, Scarlett?”

I shoved at his shoulder, and he laughed.

Heading west on I-90, we got into Meager over four and a half hours later. Following Butler on his bike was fun. Not only did he look amazing on his Harley, but watching him command his bike over the road reminded me of seeing Grace and Dig tool around town on his bike in the old days. Man, woman, and machine—one integral sexy unit roaring past, both of them relaxed, happy, enjoying those small moments together.

Seeing Grace on the back of her new husband’s bike around Meager when I was last home had made my heart sing in a new way. My dearest friend had found real love once more with another man, a very good man, and a happiness she so deserved. The sight of them riding together was living proof to me that there was the possibility of that second chance for the rest of us.

My divorce from Kyle would most certainly not be the end of the road for me.

Fooling around with Butler had shown me that, and I was grateful for it. I could respond to a man. I hadn’t shut down. I hadn’t kissed or touched anyone else since Kyle and I had first gotten together, and that was almost eleven years ago. Kissing Butler, feeling his hands caress me, his fingers tease me until I twisted with need and exhilaration, had me feeling all sorts of good crazy.

He was right, of course. His touch was much, much better than my own fingers or any vibrator.

Perhaps it had been presumptuous of him and easy of me, but I’d liked it, enjoyed it, and I didn’t regret it in the least. Although him not letting me go near his dick was odd.

Butler, the generous, self-controlled gentleman. With age comes wisdom? Or, maybe, with pain comes wisdom and caution.

The thin cotton of my tee had been as heavy as chain mail on my body. My shorts and panties had been shoved down, trapping my legs, and that constriction had only made me squirm, made me want to be utterly at his mercy. To feel his bare skin against mine, to fuse my rising heat with his.

I had come at the skillful, determined, and violent hands of a man who wanted to stop time and give me that moment of pleasure. With that hand, he’d guided me through doorways and defended me with a knife, and now, he had given me this sweet bit of wild. And afterwards, falling asleep in each other’s arms—that had been a simple and unexpected pleasure in itself.

Stolen intimacy.

I’d been a flaming tide of liquid fire crashing in the dark.

Sipping on fire.

One night, when I was all of thirteen, my daddy had let me try his whiskey. I’d wanted to know what all the fuss was about, what made that bottle so special to him on a cold winter evening, sitting around the fire with Mom, talking quietly into the night, the stereo filling the room with music. I’d actually enjoyed the harsh caramel-like flavor, the heat seeping through my mouth and rising in my veins all at once. But I’d been in shock over the burning sensation that had lingered long after.

The whiskey had humbled me, spanked me on the butt, made my mouth pucker, and it’d made me realize that I wasn’t ready for it, nor was I worthy of it just yet.

“You’ll see, sugar cube. One day, you just might like it. You’ll appreciate it then,”
Dad had said.

I was sure I would age and mature like the words on the bottle noted, and then the mysteries of that elixir would be mine. Then, I would understand the richness, the secret pleasure, the sage adult wisdom it had to offer.

Even though I had kissed and been kissed many, many times and very well in my life span thus far, last night with Butler had been something else entirely. There was a delicate thread of honesty to it, a savoring, an enjoyment of the little moments. There had been no race to a finish line. Our lips, our tongues, had spoken their own heady carnal language while our fingers had searched over each other’s skin.

Butler and I had fooled around before, but that had been grabbing, grandstanding, jeering at each other.

This?

Oh, that stinging fire made sense right now. Only, last night, I hadn’t wanted to sip. I’d wanted to gulp it down, swallow as much as possible.

And not think about tomorrow.

We stopped for gas and a quick sandwich, helping out several Canadian tourists decipher their maps and choose from the lesser-known local sights. I checked in with my mom and Jill, who were on their way to one of my mom’s many weekly physical and occupational therapy appointments. I called Grace and let her know I was on my way.

“Good. Come by the club,” said Grace. “I have Becca with me. The guys are working on my car, so pick us up, and I’ll help you unpack.”

“Oh, you’re such a good friend. What did I ever do to deserve you?”

She let out a laugh. “Can’t wait to see you!”

I didn’t tell her about Butler. Let him make his grand entrance.

I shut down my cell phone and turned to Butler. “I’m going to follow you to the club and pick up Grace from there.”

He raised his chin. “All right. Let’s go.”

Having sung through my favorite Fleetwood Mac CD earlier—sometimes, a girl just needed her Stevie Nicks on—I flew through another favorite CD from my other rock goddess idol, Carly Simon, until we arrived in Meager and circled the town to get to the One-Eyed Jacks’ property.

At a stop sign, I sent Grace a quick text that I was two minutes out.

Once there, the long metal gate slowly drew open, and the club member walking up to the gate waved me in. His eyes widened as Butler raced in front of me. The return of the fallen warrior from faraway lands.

I parked my Yukon away from the row of gleaming club bikes and to the side of all the other vehicles. When I got down from the truck, a smiling Grace charged toward me. We’d been close since we’d first met in kindergarten. Now, Grace and I were older and wiser, but her hazel eyes still lit up with that familiar genuine warmth, and we still hugged each other super tight the way we always had.

“Hey you!” She squeezed me.

“Hey!”

“Good to be home?”

“
Very
good,” I replied, planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Didn’t get a chance to mention it over the phone, but it’s been a really interesting day so far,” said Grace, sweeping her caramel brown highlighted hair out of her way.

“For me, too, actually. I bumped into Butler on the road yesterday.” I gestured at him.

Butler had parked his bike on the other side of the line of Jacks’ bikes, and a group of men strode toward him, huge smiles on their faces. Grace’s husband, Miller “Lock” LeBeau, tall, dark, and austerely handsome stood apart from them, stock-still, except for the harsh chewing motion of his jaw. Grace had told me her husband had taken up a lot of gum-chewing now that he’d quit smoking, but this seemed to be something more than a sudden nic fit he was experiencing. The now very rigid chiseled angles of Lock’s face along with his longish black hair, which had grown out since I’d last seen him, gave him a severe appearance. His heavy dark eyes were pinned on Butler.

Boner, a One-Eyed Jack who was a close friend of Grace’s from the old days, held Becca. He immediately moved toward Lock, clamped a hand on his shoulder and handed him my niece. He then went over to Butler, shook hands with him, and gave him a big rocking hug.

“You bumped into Butler?” Grace asked, her gaze focused on the men talking and laughing, thumping Butler on the back.

Her tone of voice made me glance at her. “What is it?”

“Things just got extremely interesting then.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well—”

“It’s about time. Where the fuck have you been?” shouted out a twenty-something thin blonde, who came out from behind Jump, marching toward Butler.

A scowling man stood at her side, sporting Flames of Hell of Ohio colors.

Butler froze, staring at her. She swung her long hair out of her face before her hands landed on her narrow hips.

“What are you doing here?” Butler’s voice was low, controlled.

Jump shook his head as he crossed his arms. Everyone looked from the blonde back to Butler.

A prickle shot up the back of my spine, tightening an icy noose around my neck.

I leaned in closer to Grace. “Who is that?”

“That’s Nina. She showed up the day before.
She’s
the interesting part.”

Jump sported an acidic smirk on his face. “Well, well, well. Not happy to see your old lady?”

My heart stopped. “She’s Butler’s old lady?”

Nina grinned at Butler.

Oh.

My stomach dropped. She was the epitome of how he’d described his type of woman.