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– LYNN –

I walk through my closet and glance at my clothes. What to wear? Isn’t that an everlasting question right next to “What are we gonna eat?” It used to be so much easier, eating and picking out clothes.

When you’re young you just eat whatever you like. Now, at my age? I have to watch what I put in my damn mouth ’cause indigestion sucks ass. When it comes to clothes it’s basically the same thing; my old body makes everything less fun. My boobs were perky. Now? Everything is saggy and not as tight and flexible as it used to be. My ass is flat no matter how many squats I used to do, and my skin is all wrinkly.

Fuck life. I wouldn’t change a thing about it, or want to go back in time to be young again though. The things I’ve done in life, the personal experience, and knowledge I’ve gained…even the bad stuff isn’t something I’d trade or want to lose for anything in the damn world.

My kids are my everything. The grandkids I’ve been blessed with mean the world to me. Even if the life behind me is longer than the years to come, I still rock every day like there’s no tomorrow.

Of course, these days it takes more than a cup of coffee to get my ass going in the morning. Body aches make rolling out of bed a fucking task on its own. Whatever, complaining about it won’t change a damn thing. I sigh and grab two shirts and stalk into the living room.

“Deeds,” I snap and hold out the two shirts. “What time is the Royal Banquet?”

My annoying husband has his ass planted on the couch and keeps reading something on his tablet when he replies, “It’s just eating food with our daughter and son-in-law, Hotlips. Nothing royal about it.”

The glare I give him goes unnoticed. What the hell is that man reading?

“We’re royal–” I start, but the fucker cuts me off.

“Our daughter is the queen because she married the king of Ryckerdan.” His voice is matter of fact, eyes still locked on whatever he’s engrossed in.

Pissed-the-fuck-off, I drop the two shirts I was holding to put my hands on my hips, and snarl, “Are you saying I’m not royal?”

A sigh rips from him, and he mutters something. I might need glasses these days, but there’s nothing fucking wrong with my hearing. Scanning the room, I locate my purse and shove my hand in there to grab my hammer. Oh, now the asshole’s head whips up.

“Darlin’.” The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Do not darling me, Deeds,” I grit and take another step in his direction. “Calling me a royal pain in the ass? Really? You need a little tap on the head to knock some sense into you, and I’m more than happy to oblige.”

He puts the tablet down and closes the space between us.

Fearless man.

Wrapping his inked hand around my throat, he rumbles, “You are my royal pain in the ass, darlin’. Gonna deny it?”

My heart flutters and I get hit with a horny wave that gives my body a damn hot flash. Fuck. This man. Sharing a life together decade after decade has never once made our feelings for one another fade. We’ve had our difficulties, ups and downs, bodily issues, and bumps in the road life threw at us.

Still, we’re strong together while our bones get brittle, our hair gray, and sex is sometimes a challenge and on occasion needs more lube or a blue pill to get back to the level we used to go at one another.

I narrow my eyes. “Denying is for pussies who hide behind words. I always own my shit.”

The smirk he gives me slowly slides across his face. He tightens his grip around my throat a twinge and it makes my breath catch.

Leaning in, he feathers his lips against mine before bringing them right next to my ear. “That right there, Hotlips, is the fucking reason my cock gets hard in the morning.”

I release an involuntary snort. “Your testosterone peaks during REM sleep. At least give me credit where credit is due…morning wood isn’t one of it.”

A chuckle rumbles through him, and he presses his pelvis against my lower body. Damn that man, he sure feels good, pressing his hard cock against…wait.

“Why are you distracting me?” I quickly make a dive for the tablet on the couch but fail when I feel an arm holding me around my waist.

“Don’t,” he growls.

Turning around, I shove both hands against his chest and glance over his shoulder to locate the hammer I dropped when he successfully managed to distract me.

“You’re acting weird. Why are you keeping secrets from me, eh?” I throw back.

Another sigh rips from him and he releases me, slowly stepping aside to drop his ass on the couch. Taking the tablet, he taps the screen and turns it around to show me a photograph. At first, I want to ask why the hell he’s looking at a picture of me in my younger years. Though, when I lean in and take a closer look?

“Who the fuck stole my looks and lives to show it off?” I snap and take the tablet from his hands. “She sure looks like me…well, my twenty-something-year-old version.”

I hand my husband his tablet back and he states, “Archer is meeting with his government contact as we speak. He stumbled onto the photograph by accident when he was asked to consult about a case.”

A sigh rips from me and I move toward the window to stare out at the gorgeous view. The waves are crashing down onto the sand as they come and go.

“A small town in California has been dealing with a motorcycle club for a few decades. Recently they’ve been spiraling out of control at rapid speed. Local authorities have asked a federal task force to help out. They’ve managed to put in an agent undercover and will add another one in a few months. One already infiltrated into the club, and they’re gonna have the second one move into the building located next to their clubhouse.”

“What’s the MC’s name?” I ask.

“Shouldn’t you get ready?”

I glare at my husband, something he’s grown used to over the handful of decades we’ve spent together, and respond in an annoyed tone, “Strange name for an MC.”

Deeds chuckles. “We’re retired and have better things to do. Like, for instance, your Royal Banquet. What time did Linnette want our asses at her place?”

I whirl around and take a step in the direction of where I dropped the hammer.

“Fine. Forget the hammer and sit your sexy ass down. I’ll let you glance through everything.” Deeds pats the cushion beside him.

It’s a bit condescending, and yet this man knows me through and through. The mentioning of knowing I was going for the hammer proves it. Stomping toward him, I drop my ass on the couch and hold out my hand.

“Wisely Dicey MC,” he grunts.

I wrinkle my nose. “Yikes, they don’t have a good reputation. Some old fart is their president, and he’s been linked with a lot of bad shit. Linked, but the government has difficulties proving it.”

“Getting injured means you need to rest, and what do you do? Read up about crime shit, especially other motorcycle clubs.” There’s a slight grumble in his voice, but the lip twitch shows I amuse him.

Tapping on the tablet, I explain, “You know I’ve watched mostly documentaries, and catching up on crime shit allows me to help out whenever one of our kids hits a roadblock with one of their cases.” I shoot him a grin. “Like now.”

My smart husband nods instead of telling me they weren’t going to ask me shit. They can try to hide or not bother me with these things, but in the end? I know everything that goes on in every damn chapter of Broken Deeds MC.