Controlled Burn (Blackbridge Security 8)

I press my lips to his chest, storing the feel of his skin against mine deep inside of me so I’ll have it forever as he presses his lips to the top of my head.

“We need to talk.”

I feel the rumble of his voice under my lips.

“And as much as I’d like to do that now, I have a meeting I can’t miss.”

I pull away from him, and he lets me, so this must be very important.

“We’ll have plenty of time to talk when I get home,” he says as he leans down and brushes his lips against mine before crawling out of the bed.

Shamelessly, I watch, also cataloging the sight of him as he dresses.

Unaware of what’s going through my head, he notices, tossing a saucy wink my way as if promising me so much more is coming my way later.

I manage to keep the tears at bay, as he pulls on his boots. I even have a smile on my face when he leans down to kiss me, and I use the opportunity to wrap my arms around him and squeeze tight. He holds me against him for an extended moment, but then he’s gone.

I have so much to get done, and very little time, so the second the front door closes, I jump out of the bed, clean up, and get dressed.

I’m in the middle of packing when the doorbell chimes through the condo, and I’m breathless when I answer it to find Whitney, Wren, and the kids standing there with big smiles.

“Hey,” I say, immediately dropping to my knees so I can wrap the kids in a hug.

They must’ve really missed me because they all comply, even Kason who is already getting to the point where showing me affection in front of others is uncool.

“Thank you so much for looking after them,” I tell Wren and Whitney when I stand.

“It’s no problem,” Wren says as he walks past me into the condo.

“Seriously,” Whitney says. “Anytime.”

She follows Wren inside, and I’m left staring at their backs, trying to figure out a way to get them to leave because I need to finish packing up the kids and get the hell out of St. Louis.

Unable to think of a reason quick enough, I close the door.

“How about some breakfast?” I ask the kids, walking toward the kitchen.

Knox is tugging Wren’s hand toward the room he shares with Kason, and that terrifies me because two little suitcases are open and halfway filled on their bed.

“Breakfast!” I say again. “Knox, do you want some peanut butter toast?”

Knox pauses in the hallway, and relief washes over me.

“We already ate. Uncle Wren ordered Taco Bell.”

My gaze shifts to Wren as I scrunch my nose and mouth. “Taco Bell?”

He shrugs, a youthful smile on his face. “Taco Bell is perfect for every meal.”

Whitney laughs as if she’s heard this more than a few times.

Knox continues down the hall, dragging Wren into his room.

“What are they doing in there?” I ask Kason a few minutes later when they still haven’t come back out.

“Knox promised to show Uncle Wren how to use a blue crayon.”

“Uncle Wren?” I ask Whitney once we’re alone in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” she says with a shrug. “Don’t ask me. Knox started calling him that after Wren tried to explain that he was closer to Finn than just someone he works with. He said they were like brothers. Knox started it and now all three kids are calling him that.”

It’s fifteen minutes before Wren and Knox reappear, and although Wren meets my eyes twice, he doesn’t say a word about the suitcases that were on the bed.

Maybe he was so attentive to Knox he didn’t even notice them.

Chapter 35

Finnegan

I’d be a liar if I said my heart wasn’t racing as I park my truck. I’m on enemy territory, and I don’t mean personal enemy or even a Blackbridge enemy.

The Keres MC is an enemy to every law-abiding citizen worldwide. What they lack in compassion, they make up for in twisted apathy. Not only are these guys hardcore club members, but when it boils down to it, they’re mostly about themselves. The loyalty to the club keeps them in money, drugs, and women, and all of that becomes insanely clear to me when I walk through the front door like I own the place.

Men are lounged around the common area—one getting his cock sucked by a naked redhead while another watches with his own dick in his hand. Cocaine dots a mirror on the coffee table as a baseball game plays on the massive television mounted to the far wall.

“You must have balls the size of Russia, walking in here like this,” the one getting his dick sucked says without pulling the redhead off his meat.

“Maybe he’s on a suicide mission,” another asks on a growl, the warning clear in his voice.