Page 7 of Honey Heat (Sin & Steel #9)

It was insane how much Ethan thought of Lucio. Was that normal? The wolf had only been gone for two hours. Ethan shouldn’t be missing him this badly.

His gaze slid to Raphael, a wolf shifter Lucio had tasked with guarding Ethan. Although the guy was nice, he wasn’t Lucio.

Gah! Ethan wished he had his phone. He needed to call his best friend. By now Stewart would’ve heard that Ethan had been found and was recovering, but Stewart would still be losing his mind.

Plus, Ethan needed to talk to him about Lucio. The wolf shifter confused him and made butterflies erupt in Ethan’s stomach whenever he was near.

Ethan lay still, eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles as rain tapped against the clinic’s roof in a restless rhythm. Even through thick walls and sterilized air, the storm crept in. He could smell the sharp bite of ozone, taste it like metal on his tongue.

A low rumble echoed in the distance. His body went rigid.

Thunderstorms had never bothered him before, but ever since the accident that had taken his mom’s life…

The heart monitor beside him stuttered into a faster rhythm, each beep echoing the panic crawling up his spine. Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts.

For a moment, he wasn’t in a clinic bed at all. He was back in the car, rain blurring the windshield, tires skimming water. His mother’s voice, gentle and calm, echoed through his memory.

The windshield wipers were set on high, and even from the backseat, Ethan could see how useless they were.

Rain blurred everything into streaks, and the storm was only getting worse.

Thunder cracked like the sky was angry, lightning tearing jagged veins of fury across the clouds.

Each time the sky lit up, Ethan saw the river climbing higher, water slamming against the banks like it was trying to break free.

“We just need to cross the bridge, baby,” his mom said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The water’s still below it. We’ll be home in no time.”

But halfway across, Ethan spotted it. A fallen tree, thick and gnarled, rushing toward them like a battering ram.

He opened his mouth to scream just as it hit.

The impact was deafening, wood cracking and metal groaning as the bridge lurched beneath them.

Then vanished.

“ Osito .” Lucio’s voice was a whisper against the storm, tender as the fingertips stroking Ethan’s cheek. “Look at me, sweetheart. You’re safe. It’s just a dream. Open your eyes.”

Ethan couldn’t answer. His chest heaved in shallow gasps, lungs refusing to cooperate. He shook his head, eyes clenched shut like the dark behind them might be safer than whatever waited in the room.

“Not a fan of thunderstorms?”

The mattress dipped. Then… warmth. Strength. An arm wrapped around him, gathering him close until he was pressed to a solid wall of muscle and heartbeat. Lucio’s body cradled his like a shield, his scent—dark, smoky, unmistakably his —flooded Ethan’s senses.

Lucio began to hum. The tune was unfamiliar, slow and aching, but the sound rippled through his chest like a lullaby forged in thunder.

Each vibration bled into Ethan’s bones, untangling the panic knot by knot until all that remained was the heat of Lucio’s skin and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

The way Lucio gently rocked him told Ethan this wasn’t the first time the wolf had comforted someone like this. Maybe his sister.

Rain still tapped against the roof. Thunder still rolled through the sky like a warning. But wrapped in Lucio’s arms, those memories couldn’t touch him. Not here. Not now.

“You back with me, carino ?” Lucio’s hand moved in slow, soothing strokes up and down Ethan’s back—steady, grounding, patient.

Ethan didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just pressed his face deeper into Lucio’s chest, too overwhelmed to speak, too raw to let go.

“I’ll hold you for as long as you need.” Lucio’s voice was low, almost reverent, so intimate it made something inside Ethan unravel. It wasn’t a promise. It was a vow.

And Ethan believed him.

Between the humming, the warmth of Lucio’s hand, and the fierce safety of his embrace, Ethan began to drift.

The storm hadn’t stopped, but it no longer threatened.

It was a lullaby now, sung in thunder and rain, cradled in the arms of someone who refused to let him go.

* * * *

Chopper rode the curve of the road, taking pleasure in the sun on his face and the thrum of his motorcycle between his legs. Thankfully the earlier storm had passed and the asphalt was dry.

Tucked in the front of his leather was the puppy Cesar wanted to surprise Jamie with for his elegido’s birthday. The human was going to melt into a puddle when he got a look at the one Chopper had picked out for him.

Cesar had been clear. A small dog. He didn’t want a large breed that might overwhelm his mate, especially because of Jamie’s brain injury. The male became overexcited easily, and he needed a breed to match that level without the ability to knock Jamie over.

So Chopper had purchased a Jack Russell Terrier.

And since he had a soft spot for the underdog, he’d picked the runt of the litter.

A little furball that kept trying to poke her head out of his jacket every five seconds.

He kept gently pushing her back inside, afraid the wind would be too much for her to handle.

Warmth spread across Chopper’s chest, soaking through his leather jacket. The smell hit him a second later, acrid and unmistakable.

“ Mierda ,” he muttered, glancing down at the puppy whose head poked from his leather jacket. Those innocent brown eyes stared up at him, not a hint of remorse for what she’d just done. “Really? Couldn’t hold it for five more minutes?”

He throttled back and pulled onto the soft shoulder, tires crunching over loose stones and packed dirt.

The road was mostly empty this time of morning, just farmland and scattered houses dotting the landscape. Birds called from nearby trees as he dismounted, the leather of his seat creaking under his weight.

After killing the engine, he gently extracted the tiny Jack Russell from his jacket. Her black eyes stared up at him, innocent and full of energy. The puppy’s white coat was splashed with brown patches, and her tail wagged frantically as she squirmed in his gentle grip.

“Yeah, yeah. Not your fault. Just excited, aren’t you? All this noise and movement.” Chopper sighed, holding the wriggling puppy away from his body. “Jamie better appreciate what I’m going through for his surprise.”

Carefully, he unlatched one of his saddlebags and created a makeshift nest with a spare bandana. “Just chill there for a minute while I clean up.”

The puppy sniffed around her new temporary home then flopped down with a tiny huff.

Peeling off his leather jacket, Chopper grimaced at the wet spot. The smell of puppy urine mixed with the scent of leather created a pungent combination that made his nose wrinkle. His black T-shirt underneath hadn’t escaped either, clinging to his chest in an unpleasant warmth.

“Cesar owes me big time for this,” he told the puppy. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The tiny Jack Russell yipped in response, making him chuckle.

Just as he pulled the shirt over his head, leaving his torso bare in the afternoon sun, Chopper saw flashing red and blue lights reflecting off his bike’s chrome.

The crunch of tires on gravel and the low idle of an engine announced trouble before Chopper even turned around.

One glance at the driver confirmed his suspicions. Deputy Gilmore sat behind the wheel, his face a mask of smug authority as he took his time exiting the vehicle. The sun glinted off his badge while he adjusted his belt, making a show of his approach.

“Fucking perfect,” Chopper muttered, reaching for his phone. His fingers moved quickly, sending a text to Matias. Pig sitting on my back. Need as many frying pans as you can spare. He added his location pin before setting the phone on the seat.

Gilmore sauntered over, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, a toothpick bobbing between his lips. His eyes traveled from Chopper’s face down to his bare chest and back up again, assessing him like prey.

“What do you want, Gilmore?” Chopper growled, making no effort to hide his contempt. He hadn’t broken any laws, wasn’t speeding, hadn’t even done anything to warrant this prick harassing him.

The deputy’s mouth curved into a smirk as he removed the toothpick from his lips. “Public indecency for starters. Didn’t your mama teach you to keep your shirt on in civilized society?”

Chopper’s jaw tightened. Mariana was a sweet woman with a big heart. Gilmore even mentioning her made Chopper want to knock the guy’s teeth down his throat.

“I’m changing shirts.” He gestured to the wet clothing draped over his bike seat. “Unless that’s illegal now too?”

Gilmore’s smirk widened as he reached behind his back and pulled out a gun. Not his service weapon. This was a personal piece, smaller and easier to conceal. Untraceable.

“Been waiting for a chance to catch one of you mongrels alone,” Gilmore said, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper.

Chopper recognized the threat a second too late. The gunshot echoed across the quiet countryside as the bullet tore through him.

He dropped to his knees, hands instinctively pressing against the spreading warmth on his stomach.

From the saddlebag came frightened whimpers, tiny and desperate. The puppy sensed danger but thankfully stayed hidden. Chopper fell sideways onto the gravel, each breath sending fresh waves of agony through his body.

“Always hated you scum,” Gilmore said, approaching with the gun still aimed at Chopper. His boots crunched on the gravel, each step bringing him closer. “It’ll be my pleasure to rid Blackthorn of your menacing presence, one piece of biker trash at a time.”

He aimed the gun at Chopper’s head, his face twisted with cruel satisfaction. Chopper bared his canines, a low growl rumbling from his chest despite the pain.

The bastard wouldn’t have the satisfaction of seeing him beg.

The sudden roar of an engine starting up in a nearby driveway made Gilmore’s head snap around. A truck was backing out of a garage, the driver oblivious to the scene unfolding on the roadside.

With a curse, the deputy tucked the weapon away. He bent down, bringing his face close to Chopper’s. His breath reeked of stale coffee and cigarettes as he spat, the glob of saliva landing beside Chopper’s head.

“This isn’t over,” Gilmore said, offering a mocking two-finger salute before he retreated to his cruiser.

Tires spun on asphalt as Gilmore accelerated away, leaving Chopper bleeding on the roadside. He wanted to shift, but it wouldn’t do him any good. No matter what form he took, he wouldn’t be able to heal his wound quick enough.

The sun beat down mercilessly, flies already beginning to buzz around the blood seeping into the dirt. The puppy’s frightened whines seemed to come from far away now.

“Hang on, little one,” Chopper whispered, his voice rough with pain. “Help’s coming.”

At least he hoped it was. The message to Matias had gone through, but would the pack find him in time? The thought of dying on this lonely stretch of road, with only a terrified puppy as witness, wasn’t how he’d pictured his end.

Fighting against the encroaching darkness, Chopper dragged himself toward his bike, leaving a smeared trail of blood behind him. Each movement sent fresh agony rippling through his gut. He needed to reach his phone, needed to call this time, but his limbs felt heavier with each passing second.

The puppy’s whimpering grew more insistent, tiny paws scratching at the inside of the saddlebag. Chopper’s fingers finally closed around his phone, but they were too slick with blood to grip properly. The device clattered to the ground, just out of reach.

“Shit,” he gasped, collapsing onto his side. The sky above seemed impossibly blue, clouds drifting lazily across his dimming vision. How strange that such a beautiful day would be his last.

In the distance, the rumble of approaching motorcycles cut through his fading consciousness. His pack was coming for him.

Engines idled, and boots pounded against the ground. Familiar voices called his name as hands pressed against his wound. Faces swam in and out of focus above him.

“We got you, brother,” someone said. Suero, maybe. “Just hold on.”

Chopper’s gaze drifted to the saddlebag. “Puppy,” he whispered then coughed, sending a spray of blood onto the dirt. “She’s scared.”

His eyes drifted shut against his will, and the last thing he heard was someone shouting his name before consciousness slipped away entirely.