Adrenaline Rush (Death Chasers MC 4)

“Actually, I could use some tea with some whiskey in it,” Drake states while sinking to a chair with a long groan, covering his face with one arm.

“We called in a team, but they said it’d take at least two days to gather intelligence and strategize,” Axle bites out. “Your phone took us to the middle of the highway. They managed to ping your location with the tracker you apparently have imbedded in the back of your neck, by the way.”

Maya’s eyes widen and she slaps the back of her neck. “That son of a bitch. He said he was going to do that. How did he do that?”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad he’s an overprotective, boundaries-pushing dick guardian right now,” Axle adds.

“See? Controlling men can be undeniably useful,” I say pointedly to Kara, who just exhales in presumably exasperation as she drops against me, putting her head on my chest.

“Is there a shower here? I could use one,” Kara tells Sarah, who is staring at her pot on the stove as if the damn thing will run away if she takes her eyes off it.

“First door on the right. There are actually three showers,” Sarah adds.

“Drex isn’t answering my calls,” Axle says around a grunt as he shifts on the couch.

“Just let me look at it,” Maya snaps at him.

He stands abruptly, drops trou, and his jeans clap the floor as he stands before us in his very predictable black boxers.

Mine are Christmas themed. I like Christmas. I felt jolly…until Kara went missing.

She’s barely been out of sight for a few minutes, and I roll my eyes at Maya as she gets on her knees in front of Axle to inspect his knee. Drake arches an eyebrow as he takes in the scene. Sarah is still staring at the pot with concentrated eyes.

“Drex is probably getting his dick waxed. Try Snake. If he’s not at the hospital, he’s likely at the club,” I state dismissively. “Or Sledge.”

I’m already following the sound of a shower that’s just kicked on when Axle says, “Sledge isn’t answering either.”

Thunder crackles outside. Of course the damn girl decides now is the time for a shower.

Rain pelts the tin roof as I push through the bathroom door, immediately feeling the smile stretching across my face when I see the bare body through the glass.

A few bruises are all that show today was even a struggle for her.

Her head tips back under the water, running over her shut eyelids as she releases an audible sigh.

“Are you watching or joining?” she asks, causing my smile to stretch more.

“Just waiting on an invitation,” I tell her as I pull my shirt over my head.

After pulling off my boots and socks, I stand to let my jeans and boxers drop in unison, and I kick out of all of it, undressed in record time.

Her hands immediately slide up my bruised chest where I took a wailing few hits from a high-powered rifle.

“One of the perks of owing Sarah favors is that she just lets you keep the gear after the jobs are done,” I tell her as she leans over and kisses one of the spots.

“You’re way too reckless. You’re lucky you took them to the vest and not to the head or femoral artery or any other uncovered place that could have gotten you killed,” she says as she looks up at me like I’m the one who has pissed her off.

My fingers slip through her wet hair, as my other hand slides down the curve of her spine, the spray of the water assaulting her back as she stares up at me.

“Worried?” I muse, lips twitching when her eyes narrow.

“You seem to think I started hating you when I ran away. I still loved you, Rush. I just hated that you chose the club,” she says.

“I didn’t choose the fucking—”

“To a fifteen-year-old girl, that’s exactly what it sounded like. How was I to know any differently? You were so smitten with the life of the MC, and you were just a prospect back then. I’d seen the type plenty of times,” she says quietly.

“You saw wrong,” I fire back, admittedly little angrily.

Her fingers skim over the circular bruises sprinkled over my sore abs.

“I’m sorry,” she says so quietly that I almost miss it.

My brow furrows, because she sounds so sincere. She was just pissed at me, and now she sounds sad and truly apologetic. Talk about whiplash. Women are fucking hard to understand.

“Of course you are. That’s why you’re willingly going to be kidnapped, taken to an isolated location, and learn to love me again,” I point out. “We’ve established the past is the past. Now be a good girl and suck my dick for saving you.”

When her eyes meet mine this time, she looks almost annoyed and enamored in unison, if that’s a possible expression.