“And Vi’s brother, Valen,” Billie said, nodding, but there was something off in her gaze.
“What? You don’t want them to?” I asked.
“I love my family and I respect their decisions. But I think we all know I am not a fan of guns. Or any sort of violence for that matter.”
“I heard your mother once shot a guy who was after Sugar,” I said.
“Yes, well, I’m not my mother. We’re similar in many ways, but not that one.”
“Were we not supposed to shoot the guys who shot at us?” I asked.
To that, her gaze slid to the table as she exhaled. When her eyes lifted again, I saw uncertainty there.
“I think if there was no arms trade to begin with, it wouldn’t have been necessary.”
“And if there wasn’t an arms trade, your father never would have met your mom. Your aunts wouldn’t have met your uncles. You and your cousins wouldn’t exist.”
“Okay,” she said, voice sharp. “Enough. We are not debating personal opinions. We’re talking about your injury. So let’s go get you naked, shall we?” she asked, jumping up.
I won’t lie.
I knew she didn’t mean what it sounded like she meant.
But my cock didn’t.
And it was the first time since the fall that I could feel it start to stiffen.
Over her.
The woman I could never have.
CHAPTER FIVE
Billie
I swear he looked at me as though I’d electrocuted him.
I’d just been trying to lighten the mood with the naked comment.
He just looked so… wrecked.
A lot of things came up in my various business ventures. Yoga and energy work and even massage could be surprisingly emotional for people who typically had a tight grip on their feelings. It was one of the reasons I loved my jobs so much. I liked watching people get the release they need. Whether that being shoulder and neck pain eased by massage or acupressure, or pent-up emotional pain released with proper breath work and gentle stretching. Hell, even the tantric sex workshops could help heal strained sexual relationships between couples.
I loved being a part of that.
My heart always went out to the clients and their various situations.
But I would be lying if I said my heart didn’t go out just a little bit more to Rowe. Despite knowing my heart being anywhere near him was the most dangerous position for it to be in. He’d already shown me what he did to it when it was close enough for him to stomp all over it.
Still, it wasn’t like I could help myself.
I cared about him despite my better judgment.
On top of that, the man was going through something really traumatic, even if he didn’t want to admit that aloud, or even to himself.
It hurts, Billie. It fucking hurts.
God, he nearly cracked my heart in half with those words, with the raw emotion in them.
Strong men like him, they never wanted to admit they were in pain. Not emotional pain, or even physical pain. I’d grown up around dozens of steady, stalwart, stiff-upper-lip men; they would tell you they were absolutely fine with half a limb hanging off. For better or worse—and in my personal opinion, it was always for the worse—that was how they were built.
So Rowe admitting that to me with only a little bit of prompting told me just how bad he was feeling.
I guess I was a safe person to talk to. I was part of the Henchmen family, sure. But because of my avoidance of him, and therefore the clubhouse as a whole, I wasn’t as much in the inner circle as I used to be. I was low risk for him.
He never would have told me if I was a part of his life. Or if he wanted me to be a part of his life.
I pretended to ignore the ache in my chest at that as I waited for Rowe to move the chair away from the table.
He reached to set his brakes, making me hold up a hand. “You can use the chair, Rowe,” I told him. “The doorways are plenty wide enough,” I added, waving toward the doorway into my bedroom where I had my massage table set up.
“I’m supposed to walk,” he said, but even as he put his feet down on the floor, he was gritting his teeth. By the time he got his weight onto his feet, and his back mostly upright, sweat had beaded up in his hairline and on his brows.
“Fuck,” he hissed after taking only three steps, just coming to the edge of the counter.
“Okay, enough of that macho man bullshit,” I declared, moving forward, lifting his arm, and wrapping it around my shoulders as I reached around him to grab his other hip.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” I corrected. “Lying isn’t going to help.”
“I thought you were all about affirmations and manifestation and shit,” he grumbled.