The Wayward Sister (The Wayward Sons 5)

I take a sip of caffeine and wince. Goddam split lip. “I was outside of Sierra’s house.”

“Outside?” Adrian asks.

With hesitation, I tell them about what I saw the night before. How I’d been at the bar alone when I’d heard a faint “No” over the music and talking. It’d sounded familiar. Distressed. And that’s when I saw that asshole was all over Sierra. And then she’d looked at me—begging for help. “He’s lucky he still has his fucking fingers.”

“Mother-fuck—I knew that guy was shady as hell,” Holden curses and guilt crosses his expression. As if he could have done something about it.

He couldn’t, but I did.

“Well, it’s taken care of.” The prick got arrested for causing a disturbance at the bar. Luckily the cops believed me when I told them what happened. To get him off the streets though, Sierra is going to have to go down and make a report.

“Is she okay?”

I shrug. “I went by after and she just looked worn out. I didn’t feel right leaving her there alone all night, so I camped out in the driveway. Slept in my truck.”

Adrian and Holden exchange looks. Here we go.

“When are you going to tell us what happened between you two?” Holden asks.

“When I decide it’s your god-damned business.”

“It’s been six months. Sierra is back in our lives. Maybe it would help if you just told us.” Adrian shakes his head. “This is the kind of shit you do that always makes it worse than it really is.”

Robbie looks curious, too, which means Sierra hadn’t told Katie. Why would she? I’d humiliated her. All because I was a fucking wimp.

“I’m going to shower.”

I don’t look for their reaction, other than knowing they’re tired of me avoiding this. What happened between me and Sierra was unfortunate, and Adrian’s right, it’s the kind of shit I do that always makes things worse.

I know they think it’s harder, but it’s not. It’s easier this way. Letting someone in—easing down my walls? That’s when things in my life get bad.

I turn on the shower and strip down, glancing at my face in the mirror. The bruise is already turning from red to purple. My split lip is swollen, but the wound's dry.

I step into the steaming stream of water and try not to think about New Year’s. It’s as futile today as it is every other day. It’d been just after midnight. We’d gone down to the lake for a bonfire. It was cold as fuck, but we were all a little buzzed. The guys were shooting off fireworks. Sierra and I were alone for a minute, and I’d spent the whole night soaking her in. So pretty, funny, and strong. I was impressed by her; the business she ran, the kids she took in. She was good. Too good for a fuck-up like me.

But she didn’t know that.

She didn’t know about my past, my record, my family. And as I heard her explain what she’d gone through with her brother, I knew the last thing she needed in her life was more baggage.

I shampoo my hair and soap up my body, feeling the tight desire building in my lower belly. It happens every time I think of her that night. She’d worn ripped up jeans that showed a sliver of her thigh, a tight red sweater that clung to the swell of her breasts. Her smile was infectious. Her lips perfect.

Everything seemed right. She seemed right.

My hand lowers between my legs, my erection already building. Dammit. I told myself to stop doing this. To stop thinking about her. I press my back against the wall, letting the water pour down my body, the soap streaming with it. My hand strokes up and down, thinking of the way Sierra had looked at me.

How she leaned into me.

How she kissed me.

I hold onto that moment, closing my eyes, reliving the way her mouth felt on mine. It’d taken me by surprise. Honestly, I thought she was into Adrian. Which is good, Adrian is stable. Safe. I’m…not the guy you want to take home.

Turns out, Sierra Falco may not have anyone, and that’s trouble for the both of us.

That night, her tongue slipped between my lips and her hands wrapped around my waist. It was a great kiss. Amazing. So good that all these months later I can still get hard thinking about it. I can jack off at the memory of it—her. The way her tongue tasted like champagne.

I work myself, feeling the build-up in my balls. I bite down on my lip, wincing at the pain from the split. I guide my hand down my length, thinking of those lips, that mouth, her small, but controlled hands.

And I exhale, groaning out as my body jerks, spilling my seed across the shower floor.