Page 28 of Property of Brute & Axl

I shiver as he walks back to the truck, watching Axl place me on the back of his bike.

“Helmet,” I’m told, while he carefully places it on my head and buckles the strap.

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before.” Nibbling my lip, the sting from Brute’s bite shoots straight to my core.

“You just hold onto me, and everything’ll be fine.” His hand glides over my belly, rubbing where the baby wiggles around before swinging a leg over the seat. “Get up in close, clingy girl.” Snorting, I do as he says. “Hold tight.” He wraps my arms around his waist, settling them under his shirt. Double-checking that my feet are in the right place, the bike rumbles to life, and he takes off. Izzy follows until we’re in front of Brute in the truck.

I can feel the caress of his eyes as we pass him, and I wish it were him riding beside us instead of Izzy. Leaning my head against Axl’s back, my eyes close, and the trip into Jackson feels less claustrophobic with the wind gliding off my body.

The sun’s warmth soothes without metal and glass blocking its rays. Looking back, I see Brute leaning forward, like he’s trying to get as close to us as possible. I offer a smile, so he knows I’m okay. His head nods slightly, and the muscles in his tense jaw loosen, or maybe I imagine it.

Entering the city, I try to shake off this ominous energy that’s hit me. Nothing sticks out while traveling the roads to my condo; however, it feels as though a timer is counting down somewhere.

Shaking the sensation from my head, my attention refocuses on the man I’m clutching. My fingers stretch across his stomach as much as possible, the muscles ripple, and a moan vibrates through his chest as my hands wander around his body. Thankfully, my shoulder no longer hurts as much, and I’m able to move my arm more easily, so I opted out of wearing the sling today. The cast is still a nuisance but doesn’t keep me from feeling Axl up until he captures my hands in one of his.

Turning his head slightly, he warns, “You keep it up, and I’ll be fucking you as soon as I get you inside.” I know it’s meant as a threat, but it feels more like a promise.

Scooting in closer to his body as he releases my hands, I continue my exploration of his chest. Tracing scars I come across, skimming my fingers through the patch of hair between his pecs that travels down to below his belt. It’s thick and keeps me warm at night as he’s pressed into my back.

Buildings pass by as we enter the downtown core, where I apparently live. Nothing is familiar, but some feelings stir as we pass a few places—like the coffee shop with cats painted on the window, playing with yarn. It brings a smile to my face and makes me wonder if I go there often.

A bookstore on the corner has a cute setup in the window. It’s a replica of a scene from 101 Dalmatians, where Anita sits on the bench reading her book. A rush of happiness blossoms in my chest as I recall seeing it for the first time and being so amused that I stopped inside to praise the setup, only to wind up spending hours searching for books and walking out with four.

Axl slows down as we come upon a building with a circular drive and a doorman appearing a bit startled as we stop a few feet away. The silence after the motorcycles shut down is a little startling on the ears but provides me a chance to take in the building. It gives me nothing, the way the bookstore and coffee shop did.

“I live here?” I whisper as Axl dismounts and unstraps the helmet, removing it, and checking the healing wound on my head for any bleeding.

“Lived,” he corrects, drawing my attention. “You aren’t living here anymore. Gulfport is your home now.” He cocks an eyebrow and helps me off the bike, my thighs shaking hardcore. “You think something different?”

Glimpsing towards the building again and the doorman watching me curiously, it’s apparent that he recognizes me. “Maybe,” I mutter and walk out of Axl’s arms to the man who may know me.

“Miss Collins! You’re alive. What a relief.” Stunned, my step falters, and I’m nearly run over by Axl, who steadies me from behind.

“Alive?” I croak, my throat dry.

He swallows roughly as he eyes up the men around me. They’re terrifying if you don’t know them. “Mr. Reynolds was here a couple of days after you left for your trip, said there was an accident.”

“Shawn Reynolds?” Brute’s cold tone takes me by surprise.

“Yes, her fiancé.”

“I don’t fucking think so,” Axl growls, sliding a hand around my belly protectively.

Glancing down at my fingers, I don’t notice any ring marks. No tan lines. Nothing to indicate I was ever engaged. “Are you certain?” I ask, and he confirms.

“What did he say about the accident?” Brute crosses his arms. His muscles bulge from his white T-shirt sleeves, the black vest with his patches making him more intimidating.

“Kings of Anarchy…” The doorman mutters, his face paling.

“Speak.” The bark in Brute’s voice makes him jump.

“Yes, right. He said she was shot. She and the baby were likely dying.”

Swallowing back the tears pinching their way out of my eyes, I take a deep breath and stand straighter.

“Well, we’re very much alive.” He bobs his head like a child, as if I’m correcting his behavior. “You said trip. Where was I going?” Confusion creases the man’s eyes.

“The family cabin in Bay Springs. You wanted to unplug for a couple days.”