Page 83 of The Biker's Brother

“You’re not on birth control?”

“No. I didn’t have any reason to be. I haven’t been, um, sexually active for over a year.”

“A year?” He sounded so incredulous that it made her feel a little embarrassed. She didn’t know why. “A year,” he repeated as if he was still trying to process that. She nodded slightly, looking away. Seeming to reach a conclusion, he said, “Your divorce is final.”

“I know.”

“That means you can marryme.”

“Marry you? Brandon, we…”

“Love each other. Right?”

She searched his eyes. “Yes. We love each other.”

“I have the means to take care of a wife and child.”

The entire situation was so absurd that she started giggling.

“Brandon, you killed that man. You’ve still got his blood on you.”

He looked down. “Some of it’s on you, too.” He grinned.

She went on, “The body is right next to us. And you’re talking about marriage and babies?”

“Yes. I’m glad to see you’ve been following along. By the way,” he said as his penis went soft and slipped out, “that was…”

“Spectacular.” The very word he’d used to describe it. “What are we going to do about…?”

“In a minute, when I feel like I can let go of you, we’re going to get cleaned up and… Wait a minute. Why was Edge…?”

Brandon’s mind began racing.

“I had drifted off, which is why I didn’t hear him come in. That and the music, I guess. He said that Trey had sent a message for me.”

“What?”

“That it isn’t about the money.”

Brandon rolled onto his back and clenched his teeth. “He bought off a member of the club. To kill you. Not even for money. Just to be a vindictive asshole of the most evil sort.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

He turned back toward her. “Like I said, we’re going to get cleaned up.” He looked at his watch. “Then I’m going to get my dad and my brother in here and we’re going to decide what to do. As a family. But tonight you’re coming home with me.”

“Okay.”

They got in the shower and washed each other off between long slow kisses and the casual exploration of each other’s bodies. Then towel dried.

Cami had found that one good thing about her closely cropped hair was that it dried almost instantly after a few passes of a towel.

“You can’t put those clothes back on,” she said.

“This used to be Brash’s room. I’m betting there’s something still in here.”

He walked out and opened the closet. Sure enough. A couple of pairs of jeans hung there along with three of his brother’s signature long-sleeve tees. He plucked the Rage Against the Machine shirt off a hangar and pulled it on.

When they were both clean and dressed, with slightly damp hair, but no mascara raccoon eyes and no blood, except for what remained on the front of Brandon’s cut, he said, “You’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you alone again tonight.”