RIDING DIRTY (Steel Titans MC Book 4) by Franca Storm (ebook voice reader .txt) 📕

sexual, though. No, he was studying me, checking me over. His gaze fixed on the stitches beside my eye. “He did that?”

I shrugged it off. “Again, nothing. I’m fine. Compared to you, especially,” I pointed out, frowning at his beat-up state.

“He do anything else to you?”

I tensed automatically at the question. I didn’t like being seen as a victim in any way. It made me feel powerless, like I had no control over what happened to me.

But I also knew Slade. He wouldn’t drop it. It was probably eating him alive, not knowing. “He wanted to, but he didn’t.” I’d turned the situation around pretty damn fast, agreeing to work for him, before he’d gone any further down that road. “He thinks I have a thing for bikers.”

“He knew about us,” he realized.

“He knew about a hell of a lot. You. Ricky. The Jackals. My humanitarian side. He’d had Ricky under surveillance for a long time, bugged his phone, the whole deal. He wasn’t above using any of it to get what he wanted.”

Slade sighed heavily and took a long swig from his glass of whiskey. “This is the last time, all right? For the both of us. Getting hurt like this, risking our lives… no more after this is dealt with.”

I gave a nod of acknowledgement. “Freeman’s invasive research into Shadow has burned me several times over.” I leaned against the bar wearily. “And, even if it hadn’t, I already told you that I’m ready to leave that life behind.”

He chugged more of his whiskey, until he’d drained the glass. “You gonna come with me?”

I didn’t miss the fact that he wasn’t looking me in the eye, or that he was staring aimlessly at the empty glass, his right hand clenching it so tightly I was worried it might shatter under the strain. The fingers of his other hand tapped at the worn oak of the bar top.

I smiled to myself. The almighty, impenetrable, unshakeable Slade Mitchell was nervous.

“That’s it?” I couldn’t help teasing.

He put the glass down and finally graced me with his eye contact. A grin spread over his face as he realized I was kidding around, and taking the edge off the situation and the weight of the ask at the same time. He shifted on his stool and reached out. Taking my hands in his, he spoke, “Once this is over, I’m walking. Going to ground. I always thought I’d be doing it alone. But, this thing with us… it’s made that impossible. I don’t want to let you go. Fuck, I don’t know if I even could.” He gave my hands a squeeze. “So, darlin’, I gotta know… do you want to come with me, leave all this behind, and find peace with me?”

He was laying his heart on the line, being vulnerable, laying everything bare and open.

It was surreal experiencing something like that from a man like him. Just as I had, he’d spent so much of his life being hard, tough, and closed off. But he clearly didn’t want to waste another moment of his life doing that. And neither did I.

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” he pressed, his eyes burning into mine.

“I don’t want to let you go either. So, yes, I’m coming with you when you go.”

His whole face lit up and it offered a glimpse into the man he had been before the brutal world he’d gotten caught up in had stamped it out of him.

He kissed the top of my head, hugged me tight, then slapped his hands down on the bar. “Well, that’s something worth celebrating, ain’t it?”

I laughed. Happy Slade was a confounding sight to behold. “Definitely.”

He called out to the prospect who’d been keeping to himself in the back, giving us privacy, just like the rest of the club seemed to be doing, because there was nobody around in the bar or lounge area at all. It was late. Perhaps they were all down for the night.

The guy walked out and came up to us behind the bar, a fresh bottle of whiskey already clutched in his hands. He knew well what his President liked. He grabbed another glass, because I hadn’t touched a drop yet. I’d been too thirsty, opting for a couple of orange juices instead. It was weird for me, but I’d just put it down to the long ride and the long night as a whole.

“Thanks, Wyatt,” Slade said.

“Anytime, Prez.”

Slade slid a glass to me and snatched up his own, as the prospect left the bottle, then started wiping down the rest of the counter, and tidying up.

“By the way, you should know that I don’t have a thing for bikers, just you.”

“Real glad to hear it, darlin’.”

He raised his glass and I followed suit.

A glint in his eye, he made a toast, “To finding peace.”

We clinked glasses.

Bringing the glass to my lips, I went to take my first sip when a sudden wave of nausea took me over. My stomach had been turning on the ride up here. In fact, it had been off since I’d woken up at Freeman’s penthouse. Maybe it had something to do with the sedative he’d given me. Those kinds of things could be hell on the gut.

I tried to stave it off, but it wouldn’t go away this time.

Before I could do a thing, I lost control, lurching over my stool, and vomiting all over the floor. It was violent and brutal, leaving me gasping for breath. I could hear Slade calling to me, then a bucket being placed in the firing zone.

When it finally stopped, and I managed to catch my breath, I straightened on my stool to find Slade eyeing me worriedly.

“Darlin’, you okay?” he asked, rubbing my back gently.

“It’s just been a rough few days.”

Right away, I saw that he wasn’t buying that. “Nah, I’m gonna call our club doc to come check you over.”

“No, it’s not necessary.”

“Willa.”

I shook my head and slid off the stool. “I’m going to freshen up and take a shower.