Battle Hearts (Storm MC Reloaded 3)

I thread my fingers through his hair at he nape of his neck and laugh at him while he reverses out of the garage.

“Maddox didn’t answer?” he asks as we drive to our therapy session.

“No. And he didn’t reply to my text. I hope he’s okay.”

“He’s probably with his mates.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I change the subject, wanting to keep this morning for us. I’ll think about Maddox after our session. “What are your thoughts on salsa dancing?”

“I’ve never thought about it.”

r /> “Right, but what do you think about us taking a class?”

He eyes me. “I’m thinking my dick’s gonna be in your mouth a fuckuva lot more if I have to take that class.”

My face breaks out in a huge grin. “I accept.”

“Fuck.”

“I’ll find us a class.”

His phone rings and he puts it on speaker in the car. “What’s up, Memphis?”

“Hi, Memphis,” I say.

“Hey, Birdie. Winter, quick question: How many sausages do you want me to pick up for the barbecue tomorrow?”

“I’ve got no fucking idea,” Winter says. Glancing at me, he says, “How many?”

“Get a hundred,” I say. “We’re better off having too many than not enough. And you guys will eat them during the week if there’s any left over.”

“Gotcha. Thanks,” Memphis says. “Anything else you want picked up, Pres?”

Winter looks at me. “Do we need anything else?”

Winter’s holding a club barbecue tomorrow. It’s to celebrate the club battle being over, but mostly, he just wants to bring everyone together for some fun. There hasn’t been a lot of that for a while.

“No,” I say to Memphis, “we don’t need anything else. I picked everything else up already. Oh wait, can you get some plastic forks. I don’t think we have any left from the last barbecue.”

“I’m on it,” he says. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Memphis,” Winter says, “make sure the kitchen’s clean for the morning.”

Memphis laughs. “Thorn’s already got that sorted, brother. No one’s fucking game to mess it up anymore.”

When Winter ends the call, I say, “I love your guys.”

He places his hand on my thigh. “I think the feeling’s mutual, angel. You look after them too well.”

Five minutes later, we pull into a car park and make our way into the therapist’s office. We wait for fifteen minutes, during which Winter appears a little on edge.

I glance at him. “You okay, baby?”

He nods, his body rigid. “Yeah. You?”

I join our hands. “We’re in this together. Just remember that, okay?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but the therapist calls us in.