Nautier and Wilder (Nauti Girls 1.5)

“This isn’t good,” Piper muttered, suddenly aware that she could have pushed her brother right over an invisible line none of them had known existed. “Dawg never just leaves.”

Jed turned back to her. “I think you should have told him, baby. But we’ll see what hardheadedness gets you first.”

The smile he gave her was as chilly and polite as her tone was to her brother, but far more mocking.

She stood there staring back at him, the vulnerability he could see her fighting—and the need and the hurt hiding behind the chilly facade—breaking his heart.

He turned and left, just as the Mackays had. He had no other choice. Because as pissed as her brother and cousins were, she had no idea he was even more so.

She had left without him, faced danger without him, and been determined to handle it all on her own—without him. And now, even knowing he would have to face the full force of the Mackay fallout, she wasn’t volunteering enough information to her brother and cousins to even give him hope that Dawg, Rowdy, and Natches wouldn’t try to kick his ass to hell and back.

And he still couldn’t imagine betraying the trust she had placed in him. Even knowing the enemies he could make, the budding friendships that could be destroyed. The Mackays were strong friends to have, but they could be brutal enemies, too. But, Jed had realized the second he had walked into that fucking hospital room that nothing mattered more to him than being with Piper. Protecting her, touching her, having her.

Nothing else mattered.

No matter what.

EIGHT

Dawg stood next to the pickup, his wrists hanging over the edge, his head bowed, and he had no idea how to unknot the burning fist growing in his chest.

Where was Christa? God, why hadn’t he brought Christa with him? She could have talked to Piper, could have made her understand that he had—he had—to make certain whoever hurt her never—fucking never—hurt her again.

He felt as though every breath he was trying to take was restricted.

“Fuck, hurts to breathe,” he muttered.

“No shit,” Rowdy was hoarse.

Natches wasn’t speaking.

As he wiped his hand over his face, car lights sliced into the parking lot, drawing his gaze as he found himself staring at the little car he’d bought Christa several months before.

As it pulled to a stop behind the truck, it wasn’t just Christa who stepped from the car. Rowdy’s wife, Kelly, and Natches’s wife, Chaya, moved slowly toward them.

It was Natches who moved first.

Two steps and Natches was pulling Chaya into his arms, burying his face against her neck and holding on tight as Christa moved slowly to Dawg.

“Jed called,” she told him. “He told us everyone was safe, but you might need us?”

Her hand, so delicate and fragile, settled against his arm.

“What’s wrong, Dawg?”

His throat was so fucking tight. Hell, he hadn’t felt like this since the night he learned Christa had lost their child so long ago. Like tears were burning in his gut and refused to be shed.

“Someone beat her.” His voice was grating, so rough he barely recognized it as he turned to her and pulled her to his chest. “Christa, someone beat her face and she won’t let me help.”

He couldn’t understand it.

It was tearing him apart. His guts were being ripped straight out of him and he couldn’t make it stop.

“Who? Who, Dawg?”

“God. Piper,” he snarled, so furious with her, so broken inside he had no idea how to find all the pieces. “Piper, Christa. She just fucking disappears, then comes back, her face swollen and bruised, and she won’t let me help.”

“Did you offer to help, baby?” she asked gently, her expression understanding, knowing. “Or did you demand?”