Conjugal Visits (Souls Chapel Revenants MC 2)

I agreed wholeheartedly.

When my command had asked me to help, I’d been more than willing even before I knew that Easton would be the one heading up the case.

“I would’ve thought that you loved what you do. Easton tells me that your record for solving cases is amazing,” I said. “I’ve been keeping up with you through him. He said that you have a very impressive record and that most so young don’t accomplish that. Your superiors are impressed, and he said you could go as far as you wanted.”

She thunked her head against the wall of my chest.

“I don’t want to,” she blurted. “Even if I hadn’t seen you today, I had my resignation letter all typed up. It’s actually sitting in an unsent email on my phone right now. Seriously. It’s only seconds away from being sent.”

I smoothed my hand up her back, loving the way she felt pressed up against my side.

“You want to move to Florida for a bit?” I offered. “I have the room.”

She looked up at my place through the windshield.

“Who was that guy?” she asked, her voice husky and sexy.

I grimaced.

“That guy was a little pecker weasel by the name of Justin Beard. He didn’t like that I came in here with my ‘big dick swinging’ and took over everything from him. The thing is, he’s not leadership material. Everyone knew it. Even him. But to save face, he’s tried to get a rise out of me every time we’re in the same space,” I told her.

She hummed something then said, “You should’ve pounded him into the ground a long time ago.”

I laughed. “I should have, but I was trying to appear professional.”

“Will you get in trouble for today?” she asked. “For fighting?”

I shrugged. “No clue. Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t really give a fuck.”

She looped her arms around my neck and squeezed it lightly, all the while pressing her lips to my cheek. “It’ll be okay.”

It would or it wouldn’t.

But this time, Justin had gone too far.

And there I went, getting angry all over again.

To get my mind off of going back into town and finding out where Justin lived, I instead started to talk to get my mind back into some place that wouldn’t get me arrested.

“You didn’t say anything about the car,” I said quietly, turning the key to the off position, the motor rumbled to a stop and everything around us went silent.

She looked at me, her heart in her eyes, and grinned. “I knew you would get the car, Troup. And I also knew that you would love it. I love it, too.”

I’d texted her about two years ago and told her that a car had come up for sale.

She’d immediately known what kind of car and had told me to get it.

When I’d mentioned that it was going to cost me forty-grand to do it, she’d told me to live a little.

I had lived.

I’d bought the 1971 Plymouth Cuda with every single cent I had in my bank account.

And it was one of the best decisions I’d ever made.

“Let’s go inside,” I urged.

She scrambled off of my lap when I threw open the door, and her eyes went absolutely huge when she took in my place.

“You planted flowers,” she said softly, wandering over to the flower bed and coming to a stop.

The floodlight that I’d installed a couple of months ago flipped on, and she gasped, finally able to see the flowers clearly.

When she turned just her face to look at me, I knew she knew.

“These are ours,” she murmured, turning back and dropping down to her haunches so she could see them better.

I was not a flower man.

Not at all.

So when I’d gone to the home improvement store a few weeks ago and gotten these, I knew that everyone would be looking at me.

I’d left the store with an entire cart full of daisies.

They weren’t the Brown-Eyed Susans that grew wild in Texas in our field, but they were close.

And I knew that she knew they were.

“I buy them every year, and plant them wherever I happen to be,” I admitted as I looked down at the flowers. “They remind me of home. They remind me of you.”

She reached forward and pressed the tip of one finger carefully on top of one petal, then stood up.

“Take me inside, Troup,” she ordered.

I walked to the front door, also painted her favorite color—red—and pushed it open.

I gestured for her to go in front of me, and she did, stopping to press her hand to the front door and look over her shoulder at me before walking inside.

I flipped on the lights when she paused about halfway into the living room, and she gasped.

I knew what she was seeing.

The entire place was bare.

Sure, there was furniture, but there was no real ‘life’ to the space.