Page 33 of Beautifully Shattered (Secrets & Scars #3)

My heart sinks, because I immediately fucking think she’s talking about us, but then I remind myself that we’re talking about her tits and my enjoyment of drinking from her.

“Angel, if you don’t enjoy it and don’t want me to do that anymore, all you have to do is say so. It’s your body, and I won’t fucking do anything you’re not into.”

Her teeth appear briefly as she bites her lip, considering my words.

“That’s the thing…” she practically whispers, all her anger gone as she looks at me with lost eyes. “I am into it. I do enjoy it, I just… my head’s just not in that space right now.”

“Fuck, Angel. I get that.” I reach for her, and she steps into my open arms, pressing her naked, drenched body against my clothes, the hot water instantly soaking through.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot going on in my head,” she mutters against my chest, and I press a kiss to her wet hair.

“You can talk to me, you know. About anything. I’m on your side, remember?”

She nods against me before pulling back, and my hands slide over her hot, wet skin before they fall away, and she steps back under the spray.

This time, though, she doesn’t bother covering her tits .

A small smile pulls at her lips when she notices me staring at them, and she splashes water on me with a shooing motion, giggling.

“Get out of here, you pervert.”

Chuckling, I step back, closing the shower door so she can finish, and I go and get changed since the front of my clothes are soaked through.

Once dressed, I head out to the barn, catching up with JD before we join church via livestream, which is fucking weird, but has somehow now become the new fucking normal.

Smitty is adamant that his government contact isn’t bullshitting, and by the end of this week, we’ll be back in lockdown again.

And while I don’t mind the idea of being locked away with my Angel, these fucking lockdowns are slowing down business and making it harder for the club to earn money, let alone how hard it is to hunt down the fucking rapists that need to eat lead.

Smitty explains that the man who saved our arses in the road ambush after the club funerals is apparently an old club associate, Blake Moore.

He’s a veteran who hung around the club when he rejoined society after three years in the Australian Forces, but he ended up in prison for manslaughter after a bar brawl.

He’d only been out for a few months before this pandemic bullshit kicked off.

Unbeknownst to me, Smitty had reached out to Blake and offered him a deal to get fast-tracked into our club if he went undercover and tried to join Satan’s Rebels.

It was a huge fucking ask, but since his family is estranged, keeping their distance because they can’t handle his PTSD, the chance to join our club was the closest thing to having a family he was gonna get. And since he appreciates our moral code over the Rebels’, he was happy to help.

When Blake saved us, I hadn’t recognised him.

His hair was dark, and he’d grown a thick, bushy beard, whereas before he’d been blonde with only stubble.

But he’d killed Rebels for us and let us knock him out to make it look real, and because of getting away with that, he’s been pulled deeper into their inner circle.

“So we have a confirmed location?” JD asks, and on the screen, Smitty nods.

“We do. I’ll share that only when we’re ready to move in.”

I grit my fucking teeth.

He doesn’t trust us. And fuck, he’s probably right not to. If I let slip to Abbey where the Rebels were holed up, she’d go all fucking GI Jane and try to save Darla and Nessy herself.

“Has he confirmed the condition of our Doxies?” I ask, and Smitty nods.

“They are pretty banged up.”

“And?” JD snaps, his fury bubbling to the surface.

“They’re strong women,” is all Smitty fucking says, and before I know it, JD hurls his can of beer across the fucking barn, the fucking thing clanging off the tin wall.

“Nessy hasn’t even had her twentieth birthday yet!” JD roars. “She’s not fucking strong! She’s barely moved out of her scared-mouse stage, and those fuckers are raping her, aren’t they?!”

“Hold on to that anger for the weekend, brother,” Spud says, stepping into his VP role before Smitty flies off the handle for being yelled at. “Stay focused. Nessy and Darla need that fire pointed at the sick cunts hurting them. ”

JD bends in half, letting out a fucking howling yell, and the barn door bangs open, black-clad Marx men pouring in with their guns raised.

Fucking hell.

“Stand down,” I call, holding my hand up to stop them. “Everything is fine here.”

They scan the room quickly before nodding and lowering their guns, backing out of the barn.

“I’d still like to know what you had to do to get that level of protection from the Marx family,” Smitty mutters. “I can’t even get Leo Marx to call me back.”

That’s because the Marx men are businessmen. They don’t like dealing with thugs, which is exactly how they see Smitty, with his God complex and fucking unhinged mood swings.

“I had to suck a lot of Marx cock.” I grin, and Smitty actually smiles.

“You sick cunt. Get the fuck off my screen.”

And just like that, he closes church.

JD is pacing, rage vibrating off him as he looks from the now blank screen to me.

“I want to punch the fucker.”

I chuckle. “This about the Doxies, or the fact he’s demanding Jols return to the compound?”

“Fucking Doxies, of course!” he yells, but when I raise a brow, his shoulders slump.

“Fine. Some of it’s about him bossing Jols around like he’s got a fucking claim on her.

He married her mum, and they barely see each other unless someone’s getting married or buried.

” JD scoffs, starting to pace again. “You know, I should just tell him. Walk right up to him and tell him I’m claiming Jols. ”

My fucking brows reach my hairline. “ Are you claiming her?”

He stops pacing. “Fuck. I don’t know.” He rakes his hand through his hair, leaving it a wild mess. “You think he’d kill me?”

I shrug. “Maybe. He’s killed for less.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, then gestures to the far wall still dripping with his beer. “Sorry about that. I’ll clean it up.”

I chuckle as he grabs the cleaning supplies and starts scrubbing, and I leave him to it, going in search of my wife.

When I find her, she’s at the dining table with my sisters and Jols, all of them bent over something spread out.

I approach quietly, suspicious as fuck.

“These are the locations they searched last time.” Jols points to a map. “The circles are where they searched, and the crosses are who they killed.”

Stepping up behind them, I see a map of Timber Valley pushed off to the side, with a map of Fox Pines their main focus, and it hits me what Jols is showing them.

It’s the map I’d pinned up at the compound when my men and I were hunting for Abbey’s rapists.

Somehow, Jols has fucking stolen it.

“What the fuck is going on?”

The four of them stiffen, their heads whipping over their shoulders to find me right behind them.

“Church over so soon?” Jols asks completely unfazed.

“Clearly it fucking is.” I point to the table. “Why do you have that?”

“It’s time to go,” Abbey sighs, turning to face me fully, her arms coming up to cross over her chest.

Oh, I see what’s happening. She thinks she’s making decisions without me.

“It’s time to go where?” I match her stance, crossing my arms over my chest as I stare down at her.

“To hunt the fuckers who took everything from me.”

And there it is. This is what’s been brewing. What she’s been silently plotting.

She brought this up at the lake house before the funeral, and I guess now, five days after burying her little girl, she’s ready.

Fuck, I’m not ready. I don’t want to let her do this. It’s fucking dangerous… but I can’t stop her. I can’t keep her from doing what she thinks she needs to do to heal.

After all, I did the same thing after Hope died, only there were no bad guys to punish, other than Kylie’s drug dealer. So I took my rage out on whoever Smitty told me to.

I used to think it helped, but maybe I was wrong.

“You know where they are?” I challenge, knowing she doesn’t. “You know the location of Daniel? Donny? What about Darnel?”

I’d already killed Tim, Michael, and Craig, which she knows by the red crosses on the map, thanks to Jols.

“Not exactly,” she admits. “But I’m done waiting for someone else to figure it out.” She drops her arms and turns back to the map, giving me her back. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“As if I’m not fucking coming with you, Angel,” I growl, and she shrugs.

“Suit yourself.”

I stare at the back of my wife’s head in disbelief. Would she honestly go without me?

“It’s not often I see you stumped, big brother.” Lans giggles. “I think Abbey might be your kryptonite. ”

“I think you’re right.” Mills joins in, both of them laughing at my expense.

“Both of you will feel like shit if my wife gets hurt because you encouraged this,” I snap, pointing a stern finger between them, and their smiles drop.

“Leave them alone, Cameron,” Abbey sighs, bending over the table to study the map, and my eyes zero in on her arse, and fuck, how didn’t I notice her dressed in those snug leather pants?

She’s already dressed to go.

Fingers snap before my eyes, jolting me out of my daze, and I find Jols glaring at me.

“Eyes up, Sarg.”

I fucking roll them, gently pushing Jols aside to reach my wife.

“So, if I had a problem with this, you were going to go anyway, weren’t you?

” I spin her to face me, staring her down as she shrugs, and I grind my teeth so fucking hard I swear I can taste blood.

“How did you figure you were going to leave? Did you think you were gonna learn how to ride my hog in five minutes and steal it?”

She pulls a face like that’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard of, scoffing, her eyes shifting over my shoulder before a mischievous smirk pulls at her lips.

“No. I was gonna jump on the back of JD’s bike.”

“Whoa.” JD’s voice comes from behind me as he strolls in, clearly hearing enough to know what’s going on. “I know nothing about this, man. ”

Our eyes meet, and he’s holding his hands up like he’s trying to tame a beast. But it’s too fucking late. She just mentioned riding on the back of another man’s bike.

I’m fucking fuming.

Grabbing my wife’s wrist, I yank her to my chest, a little gasp flying past her lips as I lean in close.

“You don’t ever get on the back of another man’s ride unless I give you fucking permission.”

“Language, Cameron!” Ma yells from the other room, and I clench my fucking jaw, feeling like it’s going to snap in half.

Snatching her wrist back from my tight grip, Abbey rubs at it, her glare zeroed in on me.

“You know when Rhys was talking to me about calling you Daddy, this wasn’t the context I had in mind.”

“The fuck?!” I snap, and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re acting like you’re my dad. Like you have a right to tell me what to do.”

“And you’re acting like a brat!”

The room falls silent as we remain locked in a battle of glares, the tension thick enough to choke on.

A moment later, JD’s voice breaks the silent tension.

“Ahhh, maybe we should go for a walk.” He reaches for Jols, but I shake my head.

“Don’t bother,” I spit, fisting Abbey’s upper arm. “We’ll go for a walk.”

She gasps in disbelief as I start dragging her across the room, trying to tug herself free.

“Let me go!” she snaps. “Just because you’re my husband doesn’t mean you get to manhandle me!”

I spin on her so suddenly, a whimper escapes her as I seethe in her face. “Doesn’t it?”

Before she can say another fucking word, I bend and hoist her over my shoulder, storming out the back door as she pounds her fists against my back.