Lazarus (The Henchmen MC 7)

Their rules of conduct were entirely different.

It wasn't good enough to hold your woman after someone hurt her and tell her all would be okay with no proof that it would.

These men weren't satisfied with that.

These men wanted to make sure that when they said those words, that they knew they were true, because they had already handled the situation themselves.

Was it barbaric and illegal?

Sure.

But there was a certain kind of poetic justice to it as well.

I wasn't going to cry over the pain or death of men who had caused nothing else to everyone they crossed paths with.

And so long as Lazarus was okay with the whole situation, I was as well.

So after I gave him a good five minutes after I heard the water hit the floor of the shower stall, I moved into the bathroom, stepping over the discarded clothes saturated with blood, and stood in front of the shower, slowly peeling off my clothes.

Lazarus, sensing my presence, opened his eyes, turning his head slightly to face me, the water cascading over the top of his head and down his back, sliding all over the areas I suddenly longed to touch.

His eyes went heated as my breasts were bared, as I reached to slide my pants and panties down my legs, stepping out of the material and standing there naked for a long time, letting his eyes rake over me, sensing his need to take me in inch by inch, fighting any urge to hide myself from his hungry gaze.

He pushed off where his hand was planted at the wall, languidly stretching to his full height and offering his hand toward me, waiting for me to slide my fingers into his before yanking me forward, crashing my full body to his.

My air exhaled with a grunt that ended on a small groan as I felt his hard cock press into my belly- promising an eventual end to my sudden torment.

"Heard you were worried about me." His voice was low and deep as his arms crossed under my ass, holding me tightly against him as, despite the hot water, my nipples tweaked and hardened almost painfully against his chest.

"I have callouses to prove it." I lifted my hands for him to inspect, but his hands refused to budge from my bottom so he leaned down instead, kissing the raised, painful and rough patch right underneath my fingers.

I put my hands to his chest and slid them upward, wrapping around the back of his neck and letting out a rush of breath when it forced his body closer to me- his erection somehow even harder already.

"Also heard you talked to Amy." At my blank look, he added, "Amelia. Shooter's girl."

"Oh. Right. Yeah, I really like her. She's very, um, non-invasive and just... accepting. I wasn't expecting that."

I always thought of any kind of therapy as someone asking inane stuff like 'what color are you feeling like today' and 'you need to start a feelings journal' or other nonsense like that.

It was refreshing to know that not all people in that type of field were that way- that some were just... real with you.

He nodded slightly at that and gave me a soft smile. "I plan to take you to bed for at least a week. But once we climb out of it, we are going to start going to meetings. Together," he clarified.

"I don't need you to..."

"No. You don't need me there to hold your hand. But wouldn't it be better if I was there? I go to meetings still, sweetheart. I probably always will. And it's something you need to incorporate into your routine as well. So we're going to do it together."

Maybe it wasn't a grand romantic gesture.

Maybe it wouldn't make a 'normal' girl swoon.

But to me, that really meant something.

He saw a future with me. And he was under no illusions. He understood my addiction and his addiction would always be a part of any relationship with us. He didn't want to gloss over that, hide it, act like it was a source of shame. It was just part of who we were as individuals and a couple. He was okay with that. He wanted to be a support system for me and I wanted to be that to him as well in any way that I could. It didn't make us weak. If anything, it was genuinely a source of strength between us- how we wanted to raise each other up whenever we could.

That was unique.

Not everyone had that.

I still may not have felt deserving of it, but I was so incredibly thankful that I had it.

"I like that," I admitted, giving him a smile I felt down to my soul.

"Know what I like?" There was a depth in his tone, something heavy and meaningful, the weight of it making me somewhat uncomfortable.