Blood & Bones - Rev (Blood Fury MC 8)

The drone of the TV filled her ears before she blinked open her eyes, taking a few seconds to remember where she was and why. She wiped the saliva away from the corner of her mouth, brushed breadcrumbs off her chest and sheets, then glanced at the time on her cell phone again since it had to be the middle of the night.

She groaned. It was only nine. She’d slept away the last three hours.

If she tried to go back to sleep now, she’d never sleep through the rest of the night.

What was the solution? Whiskey. Maybe a few hits of pot.

But did she have any? Hell no.

Did she know who had some? Hell yes.

Now, was he willing to share?

She didn’t know, but it couldn’t hurt to ask, now could it?

Chapter Six

After splashing water on her face, running a brush through her snarled hair, and tugging a few strands forward to cover the scar along her temple, she glanced down at what she was wearing. Without a bra, her breasts hung a little lower but they were still damn perky for their size. Her nipples were punching through the thin, silky royal blue fabric, but it wasn’t like Rev hadn’t seen nipples before.

He’d seen plenty. He just hadn’t seen hers yet.

Yet, being the key point.

She went back to the doors connecting their rooms, opened hers and saw his was still closed. She put her ear against it to hear voices and music droning on his side.

Instead of knocking, she tried the little knob and blinked in surprised when it turned easily within her fingers.

He’d unlocked his, but he hadn’t opened hers? Had he checked on her while she was sleeping?

Huh.

Or maybe he had come in with the intent to ravish her, found her asleep and decided otherwise. Damn. Did she cock-block herself? That would be her luck.

She nudged the door open and tentatively peeked into his room. It was dark except for the ebb and flow of colorful light and shadows caused by the television.

She immediately glanced at the bed. He was sitting up against the headboard with a half-empty whiskey bottle in his hand.

Damn. He’d hit that hard. How he was still sitting upright, she had no idea. The room also smelled like pot. She hadn’t checked to see if their rooms allowed smoking or not. Most likely not. Not that Rev would give a shit.

But it wasn’t only the amount of liquor and the lingering smell of quality bud that caught her attention, it was the fact he wore nothing but jeans.

His denim-clad legs were stretched out with the ankles crossed and his feet bare. The waistband of his jeans was unbuttoned right at the bottom of a dark blond happy trail—she would have to inspect it closer to make sure she wasn’t seeing things in the funky light. That meant he was completely shirtless.

The light of the TV flickered off something reflective on his chest.

Something reflective on his chest.

Much smaller barbells than what were in his ears divided each nipple.

Holy shit.

Holy… fucking… shit.

He had pierced nipples just like Deacon. Not that she ever saw Deacon’s—she hadn’t—but she knew he had them because Reese had mentioned it a couple of times. And it wasn’t a secret.

No one ever mentioned Rev’s. And if they had, that information had never been spilled around her. This was important information she should’ve known! Who the hell was holding out?

Because… Daaaaamn.

Even in the uneven light of the TV, she could see his upper chest was covered with a huge tattoo, too, that blended into both inked sleeves covering his arms. Of course, she’d seen him wear short-sleeved shirts plenty of times, but she wasn’t kidding when she said she’d seen his ass and cock more times than his torso. Which was a big, fat zero.

“Problem, buttercup?”

Yes! He had been hiding some very important information. “I don’t get the whole buttercup thing.”

“Not for you to get.” His voice was low, slow and held a touch of a slur. The whiskey and pot must be doing their job.

“I’d have to argue that point since you’re calling me by that name.”

“Ain’t a bad name. Fits you.” Oh yeah, his words were a bit fuzzy around the edges. She bet his vision was, too.

“It does?” She didn’t think so.

She stepped farther into his room as he lifted the bottle to his lips and she focused on his Adam’s apple smoothly sliding up and down as he took a long swig of whiskey.

“I have so many questions,” came out on a breath.

“Nothin’ new.” She waited for a drunken hiccup to be the exclamation point on that statement.

It didn’t come.

“Did you check on me?”

He swiped his hand over his mouth before answering. “Yeah. You were droolin’ and snorin’.”

She gasped. “I was not!”

“The fuck you weren’t, buttercup.” The alcohol in his system made the word butter sound like budder.