Blood & Bones: Cage (Blood Fury MC 5)

She could do her best to stick to her guns and leave when she got the right job offer. She knew it wouldn’t be too long before the right one came along.

Sticking around until then was what she promised Judge. It was what Cage expected.

She needed to stop being a coward for Dyna’s sake.

“Motherfucker,” she whispered as she shoved open her driver’s door and grabbed her big slouchy purse. She slammed the door shut, threw her key fob and phone inside her bag and slowly made her way closer to the trailer entrance. Like a dead man walking. Her heart thumped in rhythm with each step she took.

When she got closer, she realized he was wearing a baseball cap pulled low. Even if he wasn’t, she wouldn’t be able to read his eyes or expression since the night was so damn dark. The promise of rain was now in the air, so the moon was in hiding.

Once her eyes adjusted to the inky-darkness, she saw he’d shed his cut, his belt and his boots, and sat in only jeans and a dark, most likely black, sleeveless undershirt, what was commonly called a wife-beater.

Weird how a tank would make his shoulders seem broader than when he wore his cut or even when he went shirtless. Which was a lot.

Another reason she needed to keep her distance as much as possible. It was like he had a sixth sense that, when she was close to him, she could barely resist touching his skin. Which meant he rarely wore a shirt while home like he was purposely trying to break her will.

If skin to skin contact wasn’t so good for Dyna, she’d ask him to put one on. But he loved to recline on his bed or the couch with the baby on his bare chest. It helped father and daughter bond and was a medically-proven good practice for infants.

That meant she kept her mouth shut and tried to remain strong.

Too many times she caught herself reaching out to brush her fingers over his chest, or the breadth of his back, when he was near. She’d pull back just in time before contact was made and she’d move away to give herself space and keep her sanity.

The only time she allowed herself to touch him was during the unavoidable contact when handing him the baby or taking her from him, or when checking his healing ribs.

He sat in the seat next to the wood steps. As she went to take the first one, his hand came out in a blur and snagged her forearm. His warm long fingers circled her arm and slid slowly down to her wrist.

She didn’t pull away because he gripped her loosely. He wasn’t forcing her to do anything, but his hold was more of an ask. A “don’t go inside yet” without words.

She stared at the door for a couple heartbeats, then cleared the thick in her throat to ask, “She asleep?”

Without a word, he lifted the used baby monitor from his lap. The one Jemma was lucky enough to score at the consignment shop in town. While there, she’d left her name and number in case a convertible crib came in.

He gently tugged her arm, and she went with it, moving from the steps and around him. When she sighed, he released her and she settled into the plastic chair next to him.

She stared up into the sky. She couldn’t see any stars because of the cloud cover. The night had become humid and overly warm.

Not only could she smell rain in the air, she could smell him. The scent of the soap he used combined with his shampoo, a faint mix of tobacco and pot, along with exhaust, oil and grease.

The only thing that was missing tonight was the scent of warm leather. It was too hot to wear his cut and he was nowhere where he needed to represent his brotherhood.

She took his cue of looking relaxed and kicked off her sandals so she could curl her legs underneath her.

He lifted the hand-rolled to his lips again. With these guys all smoking hand-rolleds, it was hard to know if it was tobacco or weed unless you asked or inhaled.

She preferred not to inhale any pot since she was job hunting and could be drug tested. Marijuana wasn’t legal for recreational use in most states yet and she had no idea where she’d land a job. Plus, legal or not, most employers frowned on a hot piss test for medical professional applicants.

On the flipside, pot was recommended for cancer patients, and others, to help relieve their pain and suffering.

“Is that pot?”

He shook his head. “Tobacco. From the Amish. Saves us a lot of fuckin’ scratch. Got a joint in my wallet, though, if you wanna hit.”

Jemma shook her head. “I don’t want it to screw up my employment chances.”