Czar texted first. We haven’t gotten to the bottom of the problem.
Another brother will have to do it. Broke another promise to my old lady. Taking her home. She didn’t ask. I need to take her home. That should be all he should have to say—and it was.
Immediately, because they were his brothers, they offered to help. Destroyer brought the truck as close to the campsite as possible. Reaper packed Savage’s gear in the truck while Savage placed Seychelle carefully in the sleeping bag. She kept her eyes closed, but he could tell she was awake when he put her in the seat and buckled the seat belt.
“Watch Alena,” he warned his brothers.
“We’re packing up as well,” Czar said. “We did as much as we could for Plank and the others. We’ll see if the Diamondbacks still try to pin anything on Alena. If they do, I might take Plank out myself after all we’ve done for him.”
Savage understood. He nodded and slid behind the wheel. “Meet you back home. Take care of my bike for me.”
“Transporter and Mechanic will keep it safe,” Reaper assured him.
Savage set out on the road, putting on soft music in the hopes to lull Seychelle to sleep. The road was nowhere near as smooth as he would have liked, but the truck was in perfect shape and had a full tank of gas. He could make it home before morning easily without pushing it too hard. Still, with few people on the road, he made good time. The truck was a rocket if need be. His gut knotted more every time he glanced toward his woman.
She hadn’t said a single word of recrimination. Not one word. Her body, in spite of the lotion that should have numbed her and the pain pills, still shuddered occasionally. She had her fist pressed tight against her mouth. Her hair had spilled over her face, but he could see her cheeks were wet from her tears. She tried to turn her head away from him, but he refused to let her. He dropped one hand onto the top of her head, preventing movement, and slowed the truck.
His own eyes burned. Shit. For a moment, his vision blurred. That was all he fucking needed. To kill them both because he couldn’t see. He slowed the truck even more. He wasn’t holding it together. Where was his famous control? This wasn’t going to work. He thought he had it all with her, but it wasn’t going to work because he wasn’t doing this shit to her. He was taking her home, cleaning her up and then he’d take her back to Sea Haven. To her cottage. She loved that little house. He knew she was leaving him anyway. He’d had her in his life for months, and he wasn’t going back to living without her. He just couldn’t do that.
There was a gun in his boot. Another one in the glove compartment. Another hidden in the compartment between the seats. He had a spare in a holster under his arm. Once he had her safe, he didn’t need his bike to exit, driving it over a cliff. He just needed one of those guns. He fucking knew this was going to happen sooner or later. He’d known it all along. How could she really love him? It wasn’t possible.
Seychelle groaned as she shifted her weight in the sleeping bag, struggling to sit up.
“What the hell are you doing? Stop moving around.”
Deliberately, she looked at him, tear-wet face, spiky eyelashes dripping water, eyes swollen, her gorgeous face red and puffy from crying. Hell, she was still crying. Still silent, just like he ordered when they had sex. Her defiant little chin lifted and, looking him right in the eye, she released the safety belt. When she did, the sleeping bag slithered down her body and pooled around her waist.
He was forced to look back to the road to see where the fuck he was going before they wrecked. Fortunately, the road was straight. “Put your damn seat belt on, Seychelle.”
She didn’t answer him, and he glanced at her again. Her tits were jutting out, the welts from the thin branch showing very clearly over the curves. The thin band of his shirt was still plastered to her nipples, which meant at least the lotion was sticking there. But the sight of those dark stripes over her generous curves put so much steel in his fucking cock he had to adjust his jeans as he drove. He hated himself for that reaction.
He clenched his teeth, doing his best not to swear at her. He really wanted to swear at himself. He’d done this to her. She was sitting in the truck with a monster, and she knew it.
Except she was no longer sitting. She was up on her knees, her tits against the backrest. She pressed so hard as she leaned over, she flinched. His fucking cock noticed and jerked.