I slide off onto the mattress, giving her some room to breathe.
“It really does, doesn't it?” I ask as I look over at her profile, face limned with faint gold leaking in from around the curtains on either side of the bed. Lyric's mouth is full, her nose small and pert, her forehead sloped and gentle. And that hair … I'm a big fucking fan of that new hair. Maybe Mia did us both a little favor. “I'll get the hang-arounds to come up here and do some dusting.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Lyric says, turning to look me in the eyes, her mouth parting gently as she cradles her hands beneath her cheeks. We stare at each other for a long moment, neither of us used to this casual intimacy that's building quick and steady between us. “Get it ready for the FBI raid that's probably coming your way.”
I make a face, mouth pressing into a thin line, the warmth of the orgasm already fading from my blood. Nothing like the threat of the feds to put a damper on that after sex glow, now is there?
“Guess I'd better deal with this before it goes all to pot,” I say with a sigh, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed before I glance back at Lyric. Her expression is resolute, full of strength and determination.
But her eyes … they're full of fear.
I'll have to do my best to make sure she has nothing to be scared of.
“This the last fucking thing we need,” Dober growls under his breath, raking a hand over his beard and glaring daggers at the scratched but freshly polished hardwood floors beneath our feet. The chapel is quiet, just me and my officers discussing the newest batch of shit to fall into our laps. In the back of my mind, I'm aware of Lyric's presence in the clubhouse, like I can feel her through all the space and walls between us.
Dear God, I must be going mad. I run my fingers through my hair and try not to let on that when it comes to the new woman in my life, I'm a goddamn nutter.
“So we've got a turf war brewing with Mile Wide, an old lady turned snitch who's on the lam, several dead prospect, and two FBI assholes sniffing around the death of a third agent.” Glacier ticks tattooed fingers off with each item he lists, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully while he goes about it. “Did I miss anything?”
“Nope,” I say with a tight frown, lighting up a smoke and leaning back, boots up on the table, fingers tapping a rhythm on the arms of my chair. “I think you've managed to cover everything. Thanks for the summary, Saint.”
He grins big and white at me, not at all worried. The man never seems to be worried about anything. Must be a side effect of being a psychopath.
“Can we trust this girl to keep her head?” Dober asks, making eye contact with me. His gaze is hard and dark, like polished onyx, fit to be carved into some sort of weapon. But, as frustrating as I find his question, I get it. Like all of us, he wants to protect himself, the club, his family. “Because if the feds put enough pressure on her …”
There's a long pause as the men around me consider this new relationship I have with Lyric. If Bill was still president, he'd tell me to get rid of the girl—permanently. That, or marry her ass, seal her as my old lady for good. And hey, on the plus side, the courts can't make a wife testify against her husband. It's one of the reasons weddings are so important around here. Just calling someone your ol' lady doesn't necessarily make it so. The boys—and their wives—want to see commitment, dedication.
“I trust her,” I confirm, nodding my chin, lifting my cig in two fingers as I scan the faces staring back at me. Jack nods first and grunts noncommittally under his breath, surprising considering he's almost twice my age. Jack's one of the few old-timers who doesn't secretly wish I'd die in a motorcycle accident. “And so can you. Come this weekend,” I lean forward and drop my boots to the floor with a harsh sound, stabbing my cig out in a silver ashtray, “I'll be asking her to marry me.”
Glacier's blond brows shoot up and both Smoky and Mug swear under their breath, but Dober nods his chin like I've made the right decision. Fuck. Thought I'd never get the approval of my new VP. I almost imagine Landon's reaction to the news, the way his mouth would pull back in one of those crooked grins of his, how he'd run his fingers through his dirty blond hair and squeeze my shoulder in a brotherly grip …
I banish the thoughts from my brain. Fuck them. Fuck them all. Landon is dead and gone, his body gracing the sandy floor of the Pacific Ocean …
“How do you think that'll go over with Daddy Dearest?” Mick asks thoughtfully, blowing out a puff of silver smoke and staring at me with a slightly apologetic look etched into his features. He knows as well as I do who was responsible for initiating the attack on Lyric. Glinda and Mia have always been close. Glinda's practically desperate for Mia to marry into the Wolves, so she can officially join her ol' lady club.