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Authors: Natasha Thomas

Tags: #romance, #erotic, #erotica, #love, #adult, #contemporary, #new, #hea, #series, #mc romance

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BOOK: Floating
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CHAPTER ONE

Nate

 

              Jesus, fucking Christ the woman is stubborn! Veronica has been out of the hospital for three weeks now. She ended up having to stay for a day shy of a month because the bullet that ripped through her chest nicked her heart, causing all kinds of complications. Fuck me if that wasn’t some of the scariest news I’ve ever had to endure. The doctors operated, repairing the damage, and leaving behind a six-inch long scar just to the right of her left breast. With rest, and recuperation, we’re told she will heal up fine, hopefully with no lasting damage.

 

While in hospital, Veronica acted like what she did to save Kendall is no big deal. She waved it off as if it like the act was no more important than offering to pick up someone’s mail while they’re on holiday. It pisses me the fuck off. I don’t understand how she thinks risking her life, fuck nearly losing her life, is such an insignificant thing. It fucking isn’t. It’s far from it. Most of the brothers: Kendall, Dec, Lexi, Lou, Priss, Tilly, Brenna, and Priest all visit the hospital daily, she not lacking for company, that’s for sure. They offer support and gratitude so often that I’m starting to think it’s in order to ease their guilty conscious.

 

Priest paid all her medical bills, even offering to pay her usual wage until she could work again. He took care of all her regular bills as well, until she was on her feet again. Veronica was so adamant she did what anyone else would in the circumstances that his generosity comes as a shock. It isn’t generous in my opinion, its fucking well deserved. I’ll give her this, initially she did try to protest Priest’s financial help, but that didn’t last long. He told her to, ‘shut up and get better soon.’ That was the extent of the discussion; he ended it by walking out and he never mentioned it again.

 

Kendall was beside herself at the beginning of Veronica’s hospitalisation. She barely slept, and it was a struggle to get her to eat or leave the hospital for the first ten days. Cage’s attempts were met with failure and it wasn’t until Veronica kicked everyone out of her room; told Kendall to stay where they had a serious conversation at which time Kendall started getting better. According to Cage, after Kendall relayed the conversation to him afterward, Veronica told Kendall that she would personally get out of bed and kick her pregnant ass, if she didn’t start taking better care of herself and her baby. Seeing it would cause her undue pain and suffering she asked Kendall to pull her shit together and get over it. She also absolved Kendall of any guilt, reminding her that Kendall would have done the same thing if put in her position. 

 

There are days Veronica’s subdued and withdrawn. It’s not like her, and even though it’s been years since we spent time together and people change, this just doesn’t sit right with me. There aren’t many of them, but these are the days no one can get through to her. She doesn’t smile, or laugh, and she doesn’t let anyone help her. There’s only one person that seems to lighten Veronica’s mood during these times, and unfortunately it isn’t me. Priss’s fifteen-year-old sister, Tilly bonded with Veronica over their mutual love of painting, and the arts. I think the main reason Veronica has taken such a vested interest in her is because Tilly’s like the sister she’s always wished for in Verity.

 

Tilly has every intention of going to art school after graduation, and is genuinely interested in all Veronica’s experiences and abilities. They talk for hours about anything and everything. Tilly has hundreds of questions and Veronica’s more than happy to answer every one of them. Tilly isn’t a painter, she’s a charcoal artist. I have no idea what all that shit means, but Veronica seems impressed with what Tilly does. Nevertheless, they spend hours chatting and laughing with their heads bent together over sketch pads, Veronica shows her different ways to fine tune her skills. Kendall joins them occasionally putting her two cents in, but usually it’s just them. When they’re like that I can’t help but feel left out. I know, it might be fucking childish to say, but it’s true. I can be in the room and no one even realises it until they go to leave. In the end, as long as Veronica’s happy, that’s all that matters.

 

Priss drops Tilly off after school every day, and brings Veronica a large mocha with extra foam and a cinnamon scroll knowing they’re her weakness. Veronica has been constantly bitching about shitty hospital food, so she’s glad for the opportunity to eat anything from the outside world. Priss can’t stay long each day, half an hour at the most. However, her presence brightens Veronica’s day giving her something to look forward to at the arrival of Tilly. Not that Veronica doesn’t look forward to seeing Priss because she does. I think it’s just Tilly provides such a good distraction, and breaks up the monotony of lying in her hospital bed, day in and day out. Tank is the one to pick Tilly up at close to dinnertime every day. He takes her home, or to diner if Priss is still working. Tank doesn’t say a whole lot to Veronica. Shit, he doesn’t say a lot to anyone, other than Priss and Tilly. Even then after watching him interact with them for years it’s strange to see him so open with them. No one should take offence at his behaviour, it’s just the way he is. He smiles at Veronica and asks her how she’s feeling, but that’s about it. No small talk, and no lengthy conversations it’s not his MO.

 

That isn’t to say Tank doesn’t like Veronica, he does and he proves it by managing to smile at her in the first place. Not everyone gets a ‘Two dimple Tank special’. Don’t ask me, that’s what the women around the club call Tank’s smile, fucked if I know why. He’s reserved and watchful with Veronica and she tends to mirrors his behaviour usually opting to sit quietly during his visits, both reading the paper, or magazines in companionable silence. I’ve never left the hospital once during her admission. I figured it wouldn’t be long before I went stir crazy at the sound of the machines, squeaky nurse’s shoes along the hallways, and pagers going off 24/7, but there was no way in hell I was leaving her. From the minute the paramedics brought her in, until the second I drove her home to my place, I was with her every minute of every day.

 

Ronnie, as I’ve reverted to calling her, it was funny how quickly I fell back into my old habits with her, was fucking furious I wouldn’t allow her to go home to her apartment. Protests, cute as fuck temper tantrums, complete with foot stomping, and non-cooperation ignored, I loaded her up in Cage’s SUV, and took her back to my place undeterred by her threats of castration and two attempts to maim me while I buckled her in. I only had my bike currently and this was something I intended on rectify ASAP. A big ass SUV or truck to drive her around in while keeping her safe, sounded like a fucking excellent idea to me. While I’d love to have her ride with me, she’s not fit to in her current state, but I’ll abso-fucking-lutely be putting her on the back of my bike as soon as she’s healed.

 

Unlike her; who lives in a one bed, studio apartment above Skin Fusion I live in a four bed, three bath, single story log cabin style home on the outskirts of town. It’s only about ten minutes from the clubhouse and fifteen minutes from town. Even though that isn’t far, its woodland setting makes it feel far more isolated than it really is, and I fucking love that about the place. I bought the house outright about two years after patching in with Devil’s Spawn MC. That is going on five years ago now. At the time I wanted to put down roots, have somewhere permanent to call home because I hadn’t had one of those in a fucking long time. I found this place and knew it was exactly what I was looking for.

 

I’ve done a shit ton of renovations to the place since originally purchasing it though. The previous owner was the one who built the place and I don’t think in all the time he’d lived there he’d replaced a single thing. I updated the kitchen to include stainless steel appliances, added smooth, sealed concrete bench tops, and replaced the outdated pine cabinets with dark stained timber ones to match the flooring I laid throughout the house. The dated kitchen door handles I changed to brushed steel hardware and installed a new pantry because the previous one was half the size of a regular sized pantry. In the master bathroom I installed a corner whirlpool tub big enough to fit four. I’ve never tried that out, but I was assured by the sales guy it would. A double sized shower including rain shower heads, and his and hers sink later and the whole thing was set up like a wet room. It was Trig, a brother in Devil’s Spawn, and also my contractor’s idea. He said it was easier to clean or some shit and the ladies apparently love them. I wouldn’t know. I don’t invite women to my house, ever. Sandstone tiles cover the space creeping three quarters of the way up the walls. It make the room look like something out of a magazine, and I have to admit I’m fucking proud of how it all come together in the end. It cost a fucking whack, but the results were worth it.

 

Originally my intention was to give Ronnie the guest room. It has its own bathroom attached and she would have been comfortable in there. It was nowhere near as luxurious as mine, but it was nice and serviceable nonetheless. Mainly I didn’t think that Ronnie would appreciate me putting her in my room. I figured she would see it as too personal and turn me down. However, when I heard her rehab therapist tell her that soaking the scar in a warm bath will assist in its healing I decided to hell with the protests I’d receive and I gave her my room instead. I can’t say the thought of having her in my bed, leaving her scent all over my sheets as she wrapped her gorgeous body in them, didn’t appeal to me either because I think that was actually what pushed me over the edge with my decision.

 

Other than the redesigned my bathroom; I also knocked through the wall in my bedroom adding French doors out on to the deck that wraps round the whole house. I put a two-person, table and chair setting out there and use it primarily to have my morning coffee and smoke. It’s tranquil, and overlooks the woodland my thirty-acre property backs on to. This is where I come to think when things start to weigh on me. I’ve always found nature calming, and my property was no exception.

 

I hadn’t bothered with personalising my room originally, I didn’t see the point. No one saw it and I only used it to sleep, so what’s the point in doing it up? Aside from my California King bed, with its leather head and footboard that takes up the centre of the room, a tallboy chest of drawers on one wall, and wall mounted sixty-inch TV on the other, I’ve only got a couple of side tables and a leather wing chair in the corner. There’s very little decoration and that’s the way I like it. No photos, no art work, no candles, or other girly shit that just clutters the place up. Just a straight up man’s bedroom.

 

The reason I don’t bring women home is because, not only do I not want them knowing where I live; I don’t want them spending the night expecting to cuddle and shit. I don’t do that shit. EVER. There’s only one woman I want to hold all night, and have in my bed on a permanent basis; and she’s the woman that is fighting being here tooth and nail. Go figure. The one woman I’m happy to share that part of myself with, and she would be the one to turn me down hard.

 

The only woman that’s been in my house, other than Kendall; and she’s only been here when we’ve grilled over the summer, and then only when Lexi and the other brothers are around, is been Brenna, and she proved why I don’t let women in here in the first place. Brenna saw my bedroom and rushed out immediately to buy me a black denim comforter, matching pillow cases, red sheets, and some poofy ass throw cushions. When I saw those I about lost my fucking mind.

“What the fuck are those?” I asked. I hope I looked adequately disgusted because that’s exactly how I felt.

 

Laughing at me, Brenna patted my shoulder. “They, my dear, Arrow, are called throw cushions.” I gave her a hard glare at her description.

 

“What? Like throw them out the fucking window cushions?” I said sarcastically. I don’t think she realised I was being dead fucking serious either. What the fuck did I need those fucking things for? I think she thought I was joking. I absolutely was fucking not.

 

“No. They’re decorative and set off the tone of the room. You won’t have your man card revoked because of a few cushions Arrow, don’t worry.” I was in awe of the woman standing before me. Why she thought I’d want decorative fucking cushions that set off the tone of my room to begin with was beyond me. She was also right with the next part of her statement too. I’m a fucking man, not some pansy ass retro-chic motherfucker, and I had no doubt that she was wrong about my man card being revoked for this because if any of the guys from the club saw this shit, I would be kicked the fuck out of the man club in a heartbeat. At that moment, I felt really fucking sorry for Priest. If he had those fucking things all through his house I’m surprised he didn’t take up residence in the clubhouse full-time.

 

Brenna looked upset that I came across unappreciative of her efforts, so I relented, handed her a wad of cash to cover her purchases sending her on her way quickly. I didn’t want her getting other crazy ass ideas about helping me decorate other rooms in my house. After seeing that shit, there was no way that would ever be happening. That was also when I learned something else about Brenna Rose Jacobs; she is a crafty witch of a woman. She was neither upset, nor put off by my obvious distaste for her fucking cushions, apparently she had found it fucking hilarious watching me squirm and give into her. How do I know this? Simple. A few days later when I showed up at the clubhouse I was met with hysterical laughter from my brothers after the witch herself had informed them all that I was the proud new owner of a bed full of ruffled cushions. Let’s just say, I didn’t live that down for a fucking long time. Actually, I think some of them still fucking chuckle about it from time to time.

BOOK: Floating
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