Page 12 of Edge (Redline Kings MC #4)
EDGE
T he hum of the engine on the ride home lingered in my bones, adrenaline still pumping through my veins.
My knuckles were split, tacky with blood, and my cut carried the metallic reek of it, soaked into the leather where I hadn’t had a chance to wipe it off.
My jeans were stiff in spots, darker patches mapping out the places where other men’s mistakes had sprayed me.
By the time I keyed open the lock on my apartment, I wasn’t calm.
I was coiled tight, balanced on the edge I’d crossed hours ago and not sure I was ready to step back.
The lopsided smile still curved my mouth, sharp and twisted, because blood on the floor always had a way of stripping life down to the bare truth.
And the truth tonight was simple—I’d told Rye’s crew no. They hadn’t listened. Now they were fertilizer in a warehouse district.
The door creaked open, hinges groaning low. I stepped inside, my boots heavy on the floor, and paused when I saw her. Shit. It was late, and I’d expected her to be in bed, giving me a chance to calm down and clean up before she saw me.
Callie was on the couch, legs tucked under her, the throw blanket pooled useless at her side.
She’d left a lamp on, lighting the worry carved into every line of her mouth, every shadow under her eyes.
She’d been waiting—probably the whole damn night—and the second she saw me, her body jolted upright like a string had been pulled tight.
Her eyes went wide, flicking over me, catching on the stains smeared across my shirt, the dark streaks drying against my skin, and the wild glint in my eyes I knew I hadn’t shaken. For one heartbeat, I half expected her to shrink back, to flinch like any sane person would.
But Callie didn’t hesitate.
She crossed the room quickly, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood. And before I could unlace a single thought, she threw her arms around me.
“I don’t care what happened,” she whispered into my throat, voice trembling but fierce. Her arms locked harder, holding on like I might disappear. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Her warmth bled straight through me, soft skin and steady heartbeat seeping past the chaos still raging inside my head.
My expression softened, the twisted edge dulling for the first time since the fight.
My arms came up slow and deliberate, circling her small frame and pulling her close until her body was anchored against mine.
The blood, the screams, the bones snapping under my hands—it all clung to me still. But Callie didn’t care. She didn’t recoil. Didn’t ask for distance. She just held me tighter.
And fuck, I didn’t realize how much I’d needed that until right then.
Her heartbeat pounded steadily against my chest, a rhythm that cut through the chaos still thrumming in my blood. I lowered my head, breathing her in—she smelled like home instead of the graveyard I’d just walked out of. Not trusting myself to let go, my grip tightened.
“Come with me.” It wasn’t a request.
Her hand slid into mine without hesitation, her fingers swallowed in my larger palm.
I led her down the short hall, and once we were in the bathroom, I stripped my cut from my shoulders, tossed it aside, then peeled my ruined shirt over my head.
The fabric stuck in places, stiff with blood, and Callie’s breath hitched at the sight of the mess I was.
She didn’t say a word, though. Just reached for the faucet and turned the water hot, steam billowing fast. When I pulled her into the shower with me, her hands moved over me, slow and steady—washing the fight off my skin, rinsing red away in spirals that bled down the drain.
Every touch gentled me, piece by piece, until I could breathe again.
By the time I carried her out, wrapped in nothing but damp heat and my arms, the high had burned itself into something else. Something I’d never fucking felt before. Something I never wanted to lose.
I laid her on the mattress, then followed her down, and the way I touched her wasn’t how I’d touched anyone ever before.
Not brutal. Not feral. Still intense—always—but threaded with something reverent.
Worshipful. Like I’d walked through blood just to earn the right to have her here, open and soft and mine.
Her breath caught on every thrust, her hands clutching at my shoulders like she didn’t want to lose her hold on me. And I let her see it all—the hunger, the need, and the edge I never let anybody touch. Because she wasn’t anyone. She was Callie. She was mine.
Afterward, I stayed buried deep, refusing to let even an inch of distance come between us. My mouth found hers, slow and claiming, heat and softness tangled until I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.
When I finally pulled back just enough to look at her, the words ripped out before I could stop them. Rough, raw, and absolute.
“I love you.”
Silence stretched between us, thicker than the heat still clinging to our skin. Her Prussian blue eyes went wide, lips parting, but no sound came out.
For a split second, the wrong kind of tension coiled in my gut. My chest heaved, jaw locking tight.
“Not the reaction I was expecting, baby,” I growled, my voice low enough to rattle in her chest where it was pressed to mine.
Her body jumped when my cock flexed deep inside her, the hard twitch making her gasp. Her breath hitched, back arching, and a shiver wracked her body. I clamped her jaw in my palm, forcing her to look at me, to see the green fire burning through her wide-eyed silence.
“Say it back,” I ordered, my voice dark, like silk over steel. “Or I’ll drive you to the fucking edge and hold you there, buried so deep you’ll feel it every time you sit down for the next week. And I won’t let you come until you’re hoarse from screaming it.”
Her blush flared hot across her cheeks, blooming down her throat. Her teeth caught her bottom lip, biting down like she was weighing her options—but the little curve tugging at her mouth gave her away.
My growl rumbled deeper, vibrating between us.
That did it. Her laugh spilled out, soft and bright, the sound wrapping around me like a fuse being lit. She brushed her lips against mine and whispered, breathless but certain, “I love you too, Tatum.”
The words hit me harder than a bullet. I love you too, Tatum.
They washed through me, scouring the grime that lived under my skin, cleansing me in a way nothing ever had. For the first time in years, the storm in my chest went quiet—and then the need roared back twice as loud.
I needed to brand her. To mark her so deep she’d never forget that I loved her. That I’d claimed her. That she was fucking mine.
My cock throbbed inside her, already straining for more. My lips brushed her ear, my voice dark with promise. “Gonna make you scream it anyway,” I growled, teeth scraping her jaw.
Her breath caught, blue eyes widening again as my hips rolled slowly and deliberately, making her shiver. “Every time you fall apart on my cock, you’ll remember who you belong to. You’ll remember you’re mine.”
With a rough growl, I tore myself out of her slick heat, flipped her onto her stomach, and yanked her hips up before she could catch her breath.
My fist tangled in her hair, dragging her head back so her throat arched, cheek pressed into the pillow.
She gasped, the sound sharp and desperate, her back bowing as I lined up and slammed back inside her in one hard stroke.
Her cry ripped the air, high and broken, her body clenching around me like she couldn’t decide whether to fight or beg for more. I covered her with my chest, sweat-slick skin sticking to hers, my weight pinning her down like I was branding her into the mattress.
My mouth found her ear. “You think saying it once was enough, baby?” I gave her hair another sharp tug, making her whimper. “No. I’m gonna fuck it out of you again and again, until it’s all you can say. Until the only thing in your head is me.”
Her whimper was still in the air when I shifted, bracing one hand hard on the small of her back, the other clamping her hip in a bruising grip.
I pulled out just long enough to feel her cry of protest, then slammed back in with one brutal thrust that punched another ragged moan from her lips.
The bedframe groaned, the headboard thudding against the wall with every savage snap of my hips.
“Hell, yes.” My teeth bared in a grin as I ground deeper. “That’s it—take every fucking inch.”
Her muffled moans bit into the pillow, but not from pain. Her back arched under me, pushing that sweet ass higher, offering me more. She was panting, shuddering, and meeting my thrusts even when they rattled her bones, her body clenching down on me like she couldn’t get enough.
I pulled her tighter against me, the angle perfect for pounding into her with relentless force. Each slam drove my cock into the tight clutch of her pussy, wet and hot, gripping me like she was made for this. Made for me.
“Pretty little pussy was built just for me,” I growled against her ear, my voice low and rough, every word dragging heat down her spine. “Nobody else gets this. Nobody else ever will.”
She gasped my name—soft, shaky, broken between breaths. It wasn’t enough. I fisted her hair and yanked her head back so I could hear her better, see her flushed face as she cried out. “Say my name again while I ruin you.”
“Tatum!” The sound tore out of her, high and wrecked, her body trembling but grinding back into me, desperate for more.
“Good girl,” I snarled, pistoning into her harder, relentless now. “Now tell me you love me. Say it while I’m buried inside you.”
“I-I love you,” she cried, voice breaking on a moan, her eyes squeezed shut as her body spasmed around me.
Her pussy fluttered like it was trying to drag me deeper, her nails clawing at the sheets, knuckles white. She was shaking, but every sound spilling from her lips was need, every gasp pure pleasure.