“I don’t feel so wound up about everything anymore. I feel calm now and believe we’re going to make a baby.”
“You didn’t believe it before?”
“Kind of. Maybe. But there was always this disbelief about it happening or working. I don’t know how to explain it and I know it sounds weird, but now that I’ve had the first injection, it feels very real to me and I have faith that I don’t think I had before.”
He brushes his lips over mine. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”
My smile turns sexy. “No, I’m about to tell you the best thing you’ll hear all day.”
“What?”
Pulling his face down to mine, I whisper in his ear, “When you’re up to it, I want sex. Like, really want it.” Last night, Winter was right: I didn’t really want sex. I wanted to make him happy and I thought having sex would do that. I also wanted to give my mind a rest from all the anxious thoughts. Tonight, I want nothing more than to be with my husband, skin-to-skin.
“Fuck,” he growls, “I’m up for it now.”
I frown. “Really? Someone sliced you with a knife tonight.”
“Yeah, and I haven’t touched a drop of whisky to dull the pain because that’s off the table at the moment. So you can bet your ass you’ll be riding my dick tonight because it’s the one thing that’ll take my mind off the pain.”
“You didn’t drink because of IVF?” I’m stunned. We’ve both been following a healthy eating, no-alcohol diet for months, but I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d had alcohol tonight.
He nods. “Yeah. I took some painkillers that Ransom gave me, but they’re only just touching the pain.” He scoops his shirt out of the bin, grimacing as he bends. “We’re having sex tonight. I don’t give a fuck if it kills me to do it. Going even a day without you is not how I want to spend my life.”
I watch him exit the bedroom and wait until I can no longer see him before I rest my hands on the vanity and have the meltdown I’ve been holding in ever since he arrived home. While I’ve been trying to lighten things and telling him about my breakthrough with my mindset over IVF, I’ve been freaking out on the inside. This is all new territory for me, and to say I’m unsure of how to handle it is an understatement.
The only thing I know for sure is that it petrifies me knowing someone stabbed him.
I also know I’m going to have to grow some serious lady balls because something tells me this won’t be the last time I’m going to be petrified.
5
Winter
* * *
“Who the fuck were they?” King asks me early Saturday morning while we wait for Torres to show up for our meeting. He’s referring to the three guys who ambushed Ransom and me on Tuesday night. The night I missed Birdie’s first injection.
“They were Zenith. Sent in retaliation for us taking one of their biggest customers that day.” Ransom and I had met with our customers in Ballarat and Bendigo that Zenith took from us, and negotiated new terms to keep them. We’d also paid a visit to one of Zenith’s customers in Melbourne and offered him the kind of deal he couldn’t pass up.
“You’ve taken care of them?”
“Yeah, and Vic has too.” Vic is the cop we pay to handle any mess we make. He was pissed when I called him the other night. Three dead bodies stressed him out, but I reminded him how much we pay him to make sure any investigations don’t make their way to us. I also handed over information about his ex that I discovered last week. The kind of information that will help him win full custody of his son, something I know he wants. And the kind of information that encouraged him to do what we needed him to do.
“And you haven’t heard from Zenith since?”
King looks as perplexed as I feel over this. Ransom and I expected shit to blow up, but the gang has been quiet all week. “Nothing. I’ve got Hunt looking into it for me.” Hunt is our sergeant-at-arms and a guy I served with for years.
“Axe is around if you need help.”
“Yeah, Hunt will reach out.” King’s brother Axe also served with us, and he and Hunt work well together.
King’s attention is drawn to the black Bentley SUV pulling into the lane we’re waiting at the end of. It slowly makes its way to us, and when it comes to a stop, Torres exits from the back. I’ve met with this guy twice and I’m always struck by the fact he never wears anything but a suit. Sure, it’s June and a cool day, but the other times we met with him were warm days and he still showed up in what I’m guessing is his trademark black suit.
“Torres,” King greets him, his body rigid. On alert.
Javier steps closer, his dark glasses shielding his eyes. Glancing between us, he says, “King. Winter.” Then, eyeing King, he pulls his glasses off, revealing the coldest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Are we ready to tango today?” His thick Colombian accent fills the air, and I wait for King’s response to his question. King has been stalling on accepting the cartel’s terms; if we’re not ready to do that, we may lose this deal altogether.
“We’re ready to do a lot of things, Torres,” King says, “but we need to go over the numbers again.”